Healing Services Ch. 01

"No!"

The word cracked like a gunshot from Dr. Mitchell's office, which was currently more like a dark lair as another migraine raked him over the coals. A short blond woman in a white lab coat backed out so quickly it might as well have been a real bullet she was dodging.

"Guess I'll come back later," she muttered, frowning at a red folder she carried. She looked up and saw me watching.

Reflexively, I flinched away, my eyes cast down. I felt a pinch of frustration, but I let my anxiety do its thing. I had to choose my battles.

But I stopped myself. On her face, something more than irritation caught my eye. Worry, maybe? Although I had only been at the hospital for three months, I was starting to differentiate important signs: Is that nurse rushing to deal with an emergency, or just busy? Is that lab tech lost in thought, or just lost in the labyrinth of hallways and passages?

Is Dr. Mitchell an ass, or just in excruciating pain?

That was a trick question. Dr. Mitchell is always an ass. Unfortunately, he's pretty often in excruciating pain, which he's willing to share.

I felt a rush of compassion for Lab Coat Blondie and thought I could diagnose what was wrong. Signs: the lab coat. The new face. The fact that she saw Dr. Mitchell's office was dark, blinds drawn, yet still tried to enter. The fact that she came to Dr. Mitchell's office in the first place.

She was new, and she was confused about some test or other for one of Dr. Mitchell's patients, I guessed. And when Dr. Mitchell didn't answer his phone or respond to an email, she had done the responsible thing and come straight to the source. If she had been around long enough, she would have known to go to someone else, and if she had been a nurse instead of a lab tech, she would have braved that booming "No" to get whatever she needed before retreating from the Cave of Pain.

"Try Dr. Byler," I said as the new tech walked by me. "She's one of his interns and should know about whatever that is"--I nodded to the folder--"or be able to get you to someone else who can help. Just down the hall."

She flashed me a grateful smile before following my pointing finger.

"Hey! Can you shut up out there? Why are there people out there, and why are they talking?"

I'm not saying I'm a mouse, but I did scurry away from the irascible creature breathing fire from his dark cavern.

The truth is, I should have known better. In the three months I'd been here, I'd begun to notice that his migraines had a pattern. I knew it was around two in the afternoon that Dr. Mitchell tended to shut himself away in his office--not daily, but usually toward the middle of the week.

On a bad day, this end of the hall was a ghost town. The doctors who didn't work closely with Dr. Mitchell didn't have much reason to come around, and the doctors who did work closely with him knew no reason was good enough to disturb him on a bad pain day. And forget the nurses--they were far too savvy to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was surprised to have seen even this one lonely lab tech.

Though our paths crossed and I worked with some of Dr. Mitchell's patients, I had no need to work closely with the man himself. And I heard the daily whispers about whether he was feeling fine or feeling like shit on a given day. Yes, I was perfectly equipped to keep out of his way.

So I knew it was weird that I tended to gravitate toward the dead zone around this time every day.

As I scurried to the elevator that would take me to the nursing station two floors below, I brushed aside the question that had been bothering me ever since I'd noticed this new habit in myself.

Why are there people out there? he had shouted.

Why, indeed?

***

"I'm pissed because I'm in pain."

Dan dispensed himself a cup of decaf from the vending machine, saying nothing. Evidently he didn't want to get into the same discussion we'd been having earlier.

But he was wrong, and I wasn't about to let it go.

"It's almost every day. Nothing is working. I deal with it--"

"So gracefully."

"Whatever. I deal with it. The point is, I deal with this pain. And gosh, yeah, sometimes I suppose I do get pissed," I said, letting sarcasm creep into my voice. "Can't imagine why--my head only feels like it's turning inside out." I took a long pull from the bottle of water that had appeared on my desk sometime after I had last left my office but before I'd come back for my afternoon torture. I would say "appeared mysteriously," but I'm sure it was Dan, or maybe a kiss-ass intern.

He didn't take the bait, so I slurped another drink and waited.

"Glad to see you're staying hydrated," he remarked finally.

Score one for Dr. Mitchell. "Yes. Hydrated and in pain and pissed."

"You know, if you just tried to deal with some of your stress--"

"I don't have stress."

"--maybe a little yoga, a massage now and then, something to relax--"

"Wine is good for that."

"Bah." Dan shook his head and waved me off.

I laughed and took my leave of the lounge. It was about time for some resident or intern or a nurse to find me and ask for something--advice, a consult, the answer to a dumb question, something. Okay, probably not a dumb question--that was just my irritation from the pain talking.

Except the pain was less than I was used to. I polished off the water and tossed the bottle into a blue recycling can, annoyed that Dan was probably right about staying better hydrated.

In my imagination, he was pretty pleased. I'm not even a doctor, I imagined him saying smugly, and I'm taking better care of you than the best doctor in this hospital. Meaning me, of course.

Scratch that. I'm taking better care of you than the best doctor in the country.

If I was going to have flights of fancy, I might as well indulge.

A few minutes later, I found myself standing not at my office door but at the door to a patient's room. Why?

I mentally combed through the last few hours. This was right, I knew. I was supposed to be doing something with this patient, or getting something...

Labs, which should have come in already and been flagged for me. But there'd been nothing in my inbox.

Pain lanced behind my right eye. Clenching my jaw, I went on the hunt.

***

Before this gig, I could go days at a time without talking to anyone, and every Thursday I almost convinced myself that I was ready to go back to that blessed existence.

This Thursday was no different. It was the fourth day straight of hours of interacting with patients, family members, nurses, insurance agents, and the occasional doctor, and I was wiped out.

I was also proud of myself--or at least trying to let myself feel pride. Since I'd dropped out of college, I hadn't put myself in social situations that required a lot of human contact. I had done freelance photo editing, I'd gardened for hire, I'd even washed people's pets--nature and animals didn't trigger my anxiety. (The anxiety that was all in my head, according to my mother, so why did I let it hold me back? I never had a good enough answer for her.) This volunteer position was more of a work situation than a social one, so the tasks made it bearable, but it was still far more than I had ever thought I'd be able to do.

Still, I had one and a half hours to go of my shift today, including this final fifteen-minute break. Between my knack for finding out-of-the-way spaces and my pitiful, frazzled appearance, I had been granted access to a safe haven in a break room the size of a broom closet at the back of the clinical laboratory. I was there almost every day, chugging water, snacking on whatever I'd packed that morning, and finishing a crossword the staff had been working on throughout the day while I listened to music.

By happenstance, Lab Coat Blondie happened to be taking a break at the same time; there was barely enough room in there for the both of us. She glanced at the flyer promoting the upcoming annual fundraiser gala, then offered me a tenuous smile of recognition before we both settled into our own worlds for a few minutes.

I was filling in the answer to 49-down ("ABBA") when a disturbance filtered through "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables. I plucked one headphone out of my ear to listen to whatever was going on outside the door.

"Where is the tech who processed the labs for Sarah Birmbaum?"

Lab Coat Blondie's eyes met mine. I thought she, too, recognized that irascible, gravelly voice.

Another man replied. It was Andrew, who manned the desk and was generally loved by one and all. "If you'll give me a minute, I can pull up the record for you--"

"Birmbaum, B-I-R-M-B-A-U-M. Anyone who recognizes her name, step on up."

Beneath the sheer volume, there was a current of frustration, maybe even anger. I held my breath. Lab Coat Blondie stood suddenly but made no move toward the door.

"Doctor--wait a second--"

A door slammed somewhere outside the room, and then ours was flung open.

"There's no need to go running around the lab, doctor," said Andrew, clearly flustered.

I wondered why he wasn't just carrying on with pulling up the records, since he had the patient's name. It would take all of thirty seconds and then Dr. Mitchell could be finished with us.

The doctor's searing gray gaze rested on me but a moment before landing on the petite blond woman, who had opened her mouth as if to speak.

"Labs for Sarah Birmbaum. Was it you?" he said, cutting her off.

"I--yes, the request came in--"

He cocked his head. "I know the request came in. I sent it. Well, my intern sent it, but you should know to treat communications from my interns as though they came from me. Where are the results? Why are they delayed?"

She whetted her lips. As she wiped her hands down her lab coat, I realized my hands were sweating too, and wiped my own. The movement caught Dr. Mitchell's attention, and he spared me a quick curious glance.

Finally, she spoke. "Well, I wanted to run anoth--"

"I don't care about labs you wanted to run. I care about the labs I ordered you to run. I care about labs that should have been run by now. Results we should have--"

"Did you find Doctor Byler?" I couldn't believe I was piping in. This was none of my business. What had possessed me to mark myself a target for this man's ire?

"What did you say?" he demanded.

I could feel an ugly blush creeping up my neck, and I was sure my pits were swamps of anxiety. Shouldn't have said anything, now he's angry at me...

A muscle in his jaw flexed. He took one step toward me and leaned my way in an exaggerated fashion. "I couldn't hear you. Speak up if you know something about this."

I repeated my question but looked at Lab Coat Blondie, since it was really for her.

"Uh--yes." She cleared her throat. "I talked to Dr. Byler. I had a question about the labs, and she wasn't--she said she would talk to y--"

"Why didn't you, oh, I don't know, just ask me, the attending physician?"

Her eyes slid toward me in desperation.

"Well?"

"She did come to your office." My voice came out in an embarrassing squeak.

"I wasn't aware techs had spokespeople. Or secretaries."

"It was around two o'clock," I went on. I forced myself to enunciate, then forced myself to look into his face instead of my lap. His deeply lined forehead showed a bit of age, a lot of stress, and some frustration--but also curiosity, so I offered further explanation. "That's when you ha--when your office is dark. Was dark. I happened to be in the area, so I suggested she should... should go see Dr. Byler..." I faltered and trailed off.

There was a pause while he absorbed this information, though I got the distinct feeling a few of his brain cells were focused on me. As unobtrusively as I could, I took a deep breath to calm myself and sat very still, as though trying to convince a predator it wasn't interested in this dull morsel.

"Fine. You," he said, pointing at the lab tech, "page me when you have the results. And you," he said to me, "have done your good deed for the day. You've saved a damsel in distress. You can stop sweating now." He swept out.

"Someone should do something about him," Andrew said, coming in from the hallway. "You good, Tina?"

"Yeah." Lab Coat Blondie--Tina--sounded shaky.

He grunted. "Take a few extra minutes. Nobody'll care." Then he turned to me. His brown eyes took on a hopeful gleam, and I stood abruptly.

"Well, I'd better get back," I said quickly. "Just another hour-ish, and then I'm out of here." With smiles all around, I booked it to the elevator, planning out my remaining time on this shift.

Footsteps followed me as the elevator doors swished open. I practically leapt inside.

"Wait--Hey, Jen, hang on." Andrew stuck his hand in the door. I was the only one who had boarded, so I guessed he didn't think he was holding anyone up.

Just me.

"So, what about tomorrow night?"

He was several inches taller than me--and fit, and cute, and smart, said a voice in my head.

"Ah, fuck it." He got all the way on the elevator. "They won't need me for five minutes. So," he said again, "tomorrow night, you and me, the latest Marvel movie..?"

It was the same invitation I'd heard before, but this time he was very, very near me, and we were completely alone. Some women would be afraid of what might happen to them for saying no. Not me--I was afraid of whatever would follow saying yes. Suddenly, my heart was pounding in my chest at the thought of going out on a date.

I do not date.

My throat went dry. All kinds of feelings swirled around my brain, and all I wanted was out. Heat bloomed up my neck while my hands became clammy.

"Come on, we'll have a good time," Andrew was saying, his eyes twinkling. He leaned a little closer as the carriage lurched to a stop and brought one hand up to touch my arm.

Oh, no, I was going to vomit on him. I turned away jammed the door-open button, even though I'd heard that didn't work.

"Hey, are you okay?"

For some reason, his voice was receding. In fact, the whole world was going dark.

***

"You know I'm too busy for this."

"Aren't you done with patients for the day?"

"You're right. It's time for me to go home."

"Oh, just do it. Then you can go home to whatever you go home to."

I rolled my eyes. "That's right. I go home to nobody. In fact, now that you mention it, my home life is so empty that I might as well just stay here and work twenty-four seven."

"Mitch."

"Can't they see her down at urgent care?"

"We put her in your office. It happened on this floor right as Jessica was getting on the elevator. Luckily, another employee was there to catch her as she fell. He said she's been looking worn out."

I didn't bother shooting Dr. Cho a frown. She was immune, somehow.

"Doesn't she work here, or something? Aren't there protocols for on-the-job injuries?" Dr. Cho was a stickler for protocol.

She sighed and brushed a stray wisp of dark hair behind her ear. "She's a volunteer. Quite dedicated. Jessica is seeing a patient, and you happen to be available. So go." With a two-dimple smile, she nodded me toward my own office.

"I feel another migraine coming on..."

"Maybe you do need a regular urgent care rotation," she said thoughtfully.

"Fine."

I walked the last few yards running through which questions I would absolutely have to ask before sending the young do-gooder on her way. If she was a volunteer, did that mean she was self-motivated and would be eager to get back to her work? Or would she feel she deserved special treatment for being so good?

And for that matter, where had they arranged her in my office? Probably on my couch. I couldn't be irritated at that; it would be the safest thing if she was prone to fainting. Yes, she would be lying comfortably there, maybe with a pillow under her knees, a blanket over her lap, and an ice pack on her chest, knowing Dr. Cho. I bet the hospital ran their volunteers pretty hard--maybe she'd be eager to take advantage of a break from her dedication.

I really did feel another migraine threatening to burst through. Gritting my teeth, I swung the door open.

It was the girl from the lab. Not the technician who had pissed me off, but the other one, the one who'd stuck her nose in. I couldn't be too irritated at that, either; if she hadn't, I might still be down there trying to get the lab tech to answer my goddamn question.

I was right--there she sat on my couch, with an ice pack--but I was also wrong. She perched on the edge, the ice pack balanced on her thighs. For some reason, this annoyed me. I walked to my desk and rummaged for a notepad and pen.

"That's not doing you any good there," I said. "Not unless you've got really hot legs."

She fidgeted and I noted her take a deliberate breath. Interesting. Was she working hard to control some anger at a possibly sexual comment? I sat in my wheeled desk chair and rolled closer.

When she spoke, I heard a tremble in her voice. Okay, not angry. Just nervous.

"I didn't want it to get your couch wet."

"It wouldn't, since it goes across your chest." I let my gaze fall to that part of her body. The idiots could have given her a towel, since her V neck shirt left some skin exposed.

Her lips pursed stubbornly. "I'm fine."

"Okay. Sure, let's go with that. You're fine, because fine people pass out all the time." I waited for her to react, but she wasn't giving anything away. "So what happened?"

"That's it. I started to pass out." She shrugged.

I had been looking her in the eye, but she wouldn't look back at me. Probably lying about something.

"Cool story," I said. "What were you doing before you passed out?"

I watched the skin around her chest redden. Her neck and cheeks were pink, too.

"Hitting on a patient?"

"What?" she gasped.

"You reacted like whatever you were doing was embarrassing. I took a shot."

Her eyes flashed up at me briefly before she shook her head.

Time was ticking away. "I'm an excellent doctor, but I can't read your mind."

Another purse of her lips. Stubborn. Cute. "Sorry. I was just talking with Andrew, and then I felt a little dizzy, and I blacked out. That's it. But," she added quickly, "the thing is, I haven't been sleeping enough lately, and wouldn't you know it, that makes me tired?" She gave a brittle laugh. "Seriously, I'm fine. I just need more sleep."

I thought that was probably true, but my observation so far had me thinking this was a very long-term lack of sleep, and maybe more. Iron deficiency? She seemed pale and low energy.

And because she seemed to want to get out of here, I felt an impulse in the opposite direction--I wanted to keep her.

"Okay, doctor," I said sarcastically. "But just to be safe, better get a second opinion from a real doctor. Where do you think we could find one of those?"

"I don't think I nee--"

"Oh-ho, you're in luck! I'm a real doctor. Settle down. I'll take your vitals."

***

He rolled back over to his desk and grabbed a stethoscope, a blood pressure monitor, and a small black pen-like object, which was probably a light to check my pupils. Something about the way he moved mesmerized me in a worrisome way. Between that and the way the ice pack was sweating on my pants, I wanted to leave. A clock ticked loudly from somewhere in the otherwise quiet room. I looked toward the door and shifted in my seat.

"Settle down," he said again. "Stay a while."

Maybe he could read my mind.

I had to obey. He scooted back over to me, much closer this time, and I felt too shy to look into his eyes so instead I eyed his shoulders.

He was a slim, not bulky, man, probably early forties to my early thirties. When he touched my back with the stethoscope, I was startled, but either he didn't notice me flinch or he didn't care.

Instead of telling me to take a deep breath, he did the action he wanted and I naturally mimicked him, breathing in and out at a slow pace as he moved the instrument to different places on my back.

"Good," he said softly.

Uh oh. I liked that. Why did I like that? I found that his voice, while devastating when it was raised and upset, was extremely pleasant when he was talking to me like this. In fact, his whole demeanor had changed. He wasn't touching me with anything but the stethoscope, which had warmed to my body temperature, but the nearness of his gentle, authoritative presence was wreaking havoc on my cool exterior.

I hoped my heart wasn't thumping any faster. I had to get out of there.

"Now the front." The small, round face of the stethoscope touched down over my upper chest. I found myself leaning ever so slightly toward him and overcompensated by twitching back.

He frowned.

"Sorry."

"Shh. Settle down."

A little silence fell as he listened. Once satisfied, he took my blood pressure, then tipped my chin to check my eyes with the light as a feeling of relaxation stole over me. Here was this man whom I usually found so intimidating--handsome, brilliant, perpetually short-tempered--treating me with such gentleness and care that I felt like I was under a spell.

Then he sat back and addressed me. "By the way, what did you need from me earlier?"

I thought back. Had I asked something of him and completely spaced? Nothing came to mind, so I just shook my head.

"You were here when the lab tech was here. Yet you know about my pesky little migraine problem around that time of day. Ergo, you must have needed something you felt was important enough to bring to my attention despite my preoccupation. What was it?"

I tried to get some saliva into my suddenly dry mouth.

"If it's something about a patient, and it's important, I need to know."

"No. I was just in the area."

He studied me. "You were just in the area."

"I thought--I hoped--" No. I bit down on my tongue before I could blurt out something really embarrassing. Instead, I shook my head and went back to staring at the wall over his shoulder.

He waited a beat. "Okay."

On the positive side, I was too mortified to feel ooey-gooey toward him for the rest of the exam, which lasted less than five more minutes.

He ended by telling me to get bloodwork. "Fainting could mean anemia. And get more rest."

"Will do," I said over my shoulder as I edged out of the room.

***

They say once you buy a car, you see it all the time on the road.

I know women aren't cars. But once she was a patient, I did notice her around the hospital. I learned that she was a volunteer patient advocate, and that while she was responsible for helping patients work up the gumption to ask a lot of questions, she was also pretty good about helping them organize their thoughts. Overall, I supposed she wasn't bad for communication.

Besides, I could send Jessica to do most of it. Dr. Byler was the intern I'd been working with the longest, and she was a quick study. Nor did she seem to mind working directly with that volunteer.

This was useful for me, since my migraines were coming on nearly every day. I continued to find water bottles at my desk. I didn't know why Dan didn't also leave flyers for a yoga class or meditation or whatever other thing he wanted me to try; he seemed to be content keeping me hydrated.

Good friend.

When Dr. Cho first sicced him on me, I thought she thought he would scare me, being the head of our legal department. I can picture her now, telling him to put the fear of God (or a really big lawsuit) in me. I'd say it backfired, because we hit it off right away--but the truth is, Dan knows I'm not a big liability risk.

"You're just a little... power-mad," he said once. I laughed.

But it's true.

The rules can empower the hospital, but knowing when to bend them can empower me when I need it. And it really is all for patients. I can't stand a disease I can't bring to heel.

I'd say I can't stand a patient I can't bring to heel, but that would get me in trouble. Let's just say they're difficult. Impossible to control, even if it would make my life easier. Some of them will tell you the whole truth when you're diagnosing them and take all their medicine when you're treating them, but most are frustratingly human.

So am I. And my worst trait is, as my ex-wife used to tell me, that I can be demanding. Forceful, even. Well, she might have used words like "dictator" and "asshole," but tomato, to-mah-to.

I had some words for her too. The relationship had lasted four years, and I generally considered it long over and dealt with, but I found myself dwelling on old pain to distract myself from my daily blinding headaches.

It was a Tuesday, and I was in the middle of a familiar migraine-induced rumination. I'd been caught by surprise because the pain had slammed into me almost an hour earlier than usual, right around one. So I'd had no lunch and was lying like a corpse on my couch, hurting and angry.

I had beaten the dead horse of my long-dead marriage and was allowing myself to be haunted by a parade of patients I had lost when my door glided open. Not only did a painful burst of light from the hallway make it inside, but someone was actually coming all the way into my office. No doubt they thought I was out to lunch, and they were here to look for something--or to sleep on my couch. I always suspected someone was doing that when I wasn't here. Now, I could catch them.

I was going to let them have it. I drew a breath (oh, did my head pound) and let my eyes squint open to see--

That volunteer.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

***

"Oh my god!" I jumped about a foot off the ground. I should have checked the whole room, but he was supposed to be out, and in the dimness I hadn't seen him before sneaking in.

What excuse could I use?

I went with the truth and held out the bottle of water I had brought with me. "Do you want this?"

He groaned, but it came out like a growl.

"Water. Right. Look, unless that's to wash down some fucking magic pills, I'm all set."

I felt myself shrinking back. "I'm sorry," I whispered. He looked so miserable lying there with one arm over his face, so different from how he usually looked, which was crackling with energy. I hated seeing him like this.

"Whatever."

I'd meant to leave the water for him, not to be found out. But now it would be weird to place it on his desk when he'd rejected it. God, this whole thing was weird. I was weird.

"Do you need something?" he asked harshly.

"Um... No."

"Then what are you doing here?" He lifted his arm from his face and glared at me.

My brain, which had stalled, finally unfroze. Mortified, I turned to exit.

"Hey! Stop right there. You woke me up. So what the hell did you come in here for?"

I hoped nobody from the hall could hear him shouting. This was humiliating. Anyway, I couldn't think of any answer that wouldn't irritate him further, so I went with the lame truth. "I just wanted to help."

"Of course you want to help," he muttered, letting his arm fall to cover his eyes again. Then, louder, "It's a fucking migraine." His voice was tense, the frustration blaring at me from across the room. "Tell me, where did you get your medical degree?"

What?

"Did you enroll in nursing school?" Sarcasm dripped from his words. This was so horribly unlike how I'd felt that one time he had examined me, and for some reason I was suddenly desperate to get that feeling back.

"No," I whispered.

"Then what the hell are you doing here? I'm surrounded by doctors who cannot do anything for me, yet here you are, thinking you can help? You're not a doctor, you're not a nurse, you're not going to take a scalpel and cut this goddamn pain out from inside my fucking head. It is burning, it is throbbing, and it is every day. And I am in here to escape the lights and noises and smells--I am in here for relief. You're disturbing that relief."

Apologies piled up behind my teeth as I tried not to cower.

"You might be useful to shy grannies who can't find the gumption to pester their doctors or pester their insurance agents without you there to hold their hand, but in here you offer nothing. There is no help or relief you can give me. So I can't think of any reason for you to be in here. Still standing there. Unless you're going to give me a fucking blowjob," he added.

I couldn't believe what I heard.

"Wh-what?"

"I said, are you here to give me a fucking blowjob," he repeated viciously. "Because that's the only relief you could possibly offer me. Is that what you're here for? Ready to get down on your knees and blow this migraine away?"

A searing blush spread across my face. Here he was humiliating me, and all I could think about was what on earth I could do to make him happy.

I knew it was crazy, but I heard myself say:

"If you really want."

***

Did she just offer to... blow me?

In the throbbing red haze of pain, I decided I'd been imagining things. But when I blinked my eyes open again, she was standing there, looking at me very seriously indeed.

With extreme effort, I hauled myself to a seated position. This seemed to alarm her, but she didn't run away.

"What did you say?" I could hear how rough my voice was from the pain and tension.

It seemed like she wasn't going to repeat it, but I kept waiting for her to say something or do something. A stripe of pale winter sunlight, from where one of my blinds didn't close all the way, highlighted the wispy curls around her forehead.

Uh oh. I was noticing a woman's hair.

Well, maybe that wasn't such a surprise. She had just made me a sexual offer--maybe just in my imagination, which was seeming more and more likely as she stood there like a statue.

"I said... I'll do it, if you want." She sucked her lips between her teeth as she waited for my reaction.

"You're saying you'll perform oral sex," I said blankly. "You barely know me, why would you blow me?" What was her game? I was angry and crass and didn't bother to contain it.

I couldn't tell in the darkened room, but I was willing to bet she was blushing. I recalled the way her skin had flushed when I'd given her a brief exam. Appealing.

But completely, utterly nuts.

Right?

Then she ducked her head once, like a strange little nod, and then she fled.

It was totally inappropriate, but I could only half blame her. Technically I had started it with my offhand remark. But why on earth had she taken me seriously? Hell, she'd heard me say worse. On the other hand, I realized I had almost never heard her speak if it wasn't about a patient, to a patient, or for a patient.

Anyway, it was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Maybe someone had put her up to it with just that in mind, though I couldn't think who. I decided I would pretend it hadn't happened, and then I tried to sleep through another hour of head torture.

Yes, forgetting about it was the only way to go.

I lasted four days.

***

"Your aura," I told Dan, who was visiting me on my couch in the dark, "is yellow."

"Yellow's a nice color," he replied. I couldn't tell from the look on his face if he was laughing at me, since my eyes were shut, but the tone of his voice told me he was trying to find the humor despite being worried.

"Yellow is jaundice. Yellow is cowardice. Yellow is... You forgot my water, Dan. The last few days, no water."

"What water?"

"The water bottles--" I stopped, and a piece of the puzzle snapped into place. She really was coming to leave me water. She'd been leaving me water for weeks.

Was that creepy, or sweet?

My world was reduced to a wash of agony, so I had no fucking idea.

Suddenly my brain came up with the image of her drinking from a water bottle herself. Her lips wrapped around that plastic rim. Her lips wrapped around... my dick.

This was not a surprising train of thought for me. Still, no matter how much I wished I could get aroused, all I felt was desperation. I would try anything, and she had made an offer I could no longer refuse.

"Goodbye, Dan."

He dropped a hand onto my shoulder for a moment, then left.

I counted to twenty and lurched off the couch, trying to keep my feet under me. I realized I had no idea where she would be at this hour. Obviously she had mortified herself with that offer a few days ago and had been avoiding me, but I had to find her.

The idea that I was tracking down a woman so she could give me a promised blow job--that I was embarking on a path that should theoretically end in an orgasm in a warm, wet, sucking, female mouth in twenty minutes or so--actually managed to shoot a small zing of pleasure through my body.

Holy shit. This might work.

***

Mrs. Evers was an eighty-three-year-old with a grip like a gorilla. I joked with her that she was going to have to start a personal training business as soon as she got out of here, since clearly she'd been pumping iron. Hopefully the joke--and her grip on my arm--helped her stay calm as she asked the questions of Dr. Byler that we had gone over.

She was, after all, a product of her time and her upbringing, and it was hard for her to unlearn that her role was to be small and quiet and demure. I knew it was ironic, considering that's all I ever could make myself be, except when I was at bat for a patient.

Dr. Byler was having some trouble answering a question when a gravelly voice interrupted us, sending a thrill through me and coloring my cheeks. I kept my cool as best I could while he took over for Dr. Byler.

Dr. Mitchell was abrupt and not at all gentle, but I grit my teeth and managed to get him to clarify some points about her treatment plan to Mrs. Evers' satisfaction. I hoped that would be all and would prove to him that I was not a stalker or a complete creep, and he should not report me to HR and have me pulled from my position.

"Dr. Byler, get Mrs. Evers started on her treatment."

"Yes, doctor."

I gazed after her as she marched out, and then I turned back to Mrs. Evers. I fully expected Dr. Mitchell to leave, too. It was unusual for him to have paid a visit to this patient, but it wasn't my business to wonder about. I had been trying not to make eye contact with him. I could see that he looked awful, with red-rimmed eyes and mussed hair, and he'd missed a button on his wrinkled shirt.

But I didn't need to worry about any of that either. I squeezed Mrs. Evers' hand and smiled, about to ask if she wanted to talk about anything else. This way I could be occupied while Dr. Mitchell left the room, and he wouldn't have to acknowledge me. I could go on like this as long as I needed to. Not that the shame would ever really wear off. No, I had made a truly humiliating error--

"I need you," he said curtly.

He stood halfway between the door and the foot of the patient's bed. I gaped at him like a fish for a few seconds as his clear gaze bored into me. He did not repeat himself.

Without a word, I rose and followed him out, trying not to wobble with nerves. He said nothing as we waited for the elevator and then walked silently to his office together. I was hyperaware of his nearness, feeling hot and cold and then hot again. Was he going to fire me? Or maybe..? Could he want..?

My thoughts and my pulse were in a race to see which could tumble over the edge fastest.

He stopped short as soon as we were both inside the dark, silent room. I saw that muscle in his cheek stand out as he tensely evaluated me.

"Is your offer still good?"

My blood pounded in my ears, but I knew what I wanted.

"Yes."

With a sharp nod--which I could see he instantly regretted--he locked his door behind us, then practically collapsed onto his couch.

This was surreal. I could not believe I had offered this. This could not really be happening.

But here I was, eyeing the blinds over every window and door to make absolutely sure nobody could see in, and trying to figure out how to get started. I had a hazy idea that once his dick was actually in my mouth (even thinking about that sent shockwaves through my brain) it would just progress naturally from there, but how the hell did one casually start a sexual event in an office?

My inner clock pinged and I glanced at him, certain he was about to make an impatient remark. But he just sat there and watched me through slitted eyes.

I suppose if you're about to receive a gift, you don't rush the giver.

Of course, I would never admit to him or anyone that this was a gift for me, too. I had long fantasized about--well, not about blowing a superior in the office, exactly--but about sexually serving someone, for my own reasons, and that part of me was thrilled that my fantasy was actually within reach.

I didn't want to push his patience, so I moved toward him. I couldn't quite meet his stare, though. If I did, it would be too real and I wouldn't be able to go through with it. Instead, I pretended he wasn't looking at me.

I hesitated a couple of feet from him, and he graciously widened his legs so I would have room to kneel. I felt the lewdness of the situation, and of course, this triggered a heat in my belly that I was determined not to show. Then I grimaced at the thin carpet. I was young enough that five or ten minutes down here wouldn't really hurt me. Still, it would be nice to have a pillow for next time...

Next time?

First, get through this time.

As I knelt I realized that he wasn't hard yet. Of course he wouldn't be. He was in excruciating pain, and I wasn't exactly giving him a full-on sexy experience here. I wasn't even sure that I could.

"You can... look at something," I ventured.

"Like what?"

"Like, you know, your phone."

He made an impatient sound. "What do I need a screen for?"

Ugh, he was making this so difficult. "You know, to get... ready." I nodded at his crotch.

"That's what your mouth is for."

"Of c-course," I stammered. "I just meant--if you need something visual."

His impatient sigh was louder this time. "Like most straight men, I prefer to use a woman for that. And, hey, I've got one."

I almost looked around before realizing what he meant. Me.

"If you're doing this, take your top off."

I could tell he was confused at my hesitation, but eventually I shrugged out of my cardigan and pulled my tank top over my head, conscious that my bra was a real workhorse and nothing fancy or cute.

There were some seconds of just us breathing, looking at each other in the dim quiet space. Then he undid the fly of his pants and worked his dick out. It appeared to be just starting to wake up, and I didn't want to give him time to realize he wasn't going to get any more aroused from looking at me, so I scooted forward and took him in hand.

His cock was warm and heated even further under my touch as he stiffened. I stroked him softly a dozen or so times, trying not to think about the fact that he was watching me, or that it was him I was doing this with at all. Dr. Mitchell, a man who scared me half to death, a man I put on a pedestal, allowing me to fondle him and then... and then...

Time for and then to become and now. I leaned forward--glanced up once, unable to resist, and felt my stomach flutter at the unexpectedly peaceful way he looked at me--and trailed my wet tongue in a long, luxurious lick from the base of him all the way to his tip.

Once I arrived there, I pursed my lips around the plump head of him. His breath caught, and then I pushed down ever so slowly, making him slick as I took his hard length inside me.

"Christ," he groaned softly when my lips met his pelvis. He was starting to intrude into my throat. I sucked lightly as I pulled back off of him, then repeated this process.

After a couple minutes of this, I began to use my hands in tandem, making sure to add a lot of moisture as I slid up and down him, over and over. He was breathing hard. In the corner of my eye I thought I saw him start to reach for me, but he never did touch my head so I just kept going.

I increased the pressure on him and got into a rhythm. It was incredible to feel him so stiff and engorged against my tongue, pressing into my throat, but although I wanted to savor him, worship him, ultimately I hoped to bring him relief from his pain as quickly as I could. So I sped up my ministrations and allowed my saliva to flow freely, creating a tight but sloppy effect, and I was soon rewarded by short breaths that told me he was getting close.

When he said he was coming, I bore down on him and swallowed his cock as far back into my throat as I could, feeling the ring of muscle clamp down and massage his sensitive head as he spurted. Then I resumed pumping and sucking him as he whispered a curse, his legs twitching. I was afraid to make him overly sensitive but reluctant to let go, so I just let him soften in my mouth and very gently tried to clean him.

***

I was jelly. I was mush.

The volunteer removed her hot, wonderful mouth from my very satisfied prick and drew away for a moment. Then I felt her lifting my calves, and before I knew it, she had repositioned me so I was lying down. A remote part of my mind told me I couldn't just fall asleep in my office with my dick out, but I couldn't get my body to respond, and my awareness was quickly fading. She was moving about the room, maybe putting clothes on again, who knew. I sure didn't.

Then something warm and damp patted my bare skin. My eyes flashed open, for once not accompanied by a stab of pain, but I relaxed once I saw that it was just her. She had pulled a wet cloth from thin air and was cleaning me up. My hand reflexively reached for it, and she jumped back, which I didn't understand.

I closed my eyes and tended to my own cleanliness. She made some more noise at the sink and before I knew it was back with a water bottle, which she set down on the table next to me, and another cloth, this one damp and cool, which she tentatively suggested I might put across my face.

"Or not. I can just take it back if you don't want it," she gabbled nervously.

I took it from her.

So now I had a cloth in one hand, for my face, and another cloth at my crotch, and my brain was having a hard time figuring out how to manage these things and zip my pants up again and take a drink of water with only my two hands--and this confusion of thoughts was why I shorted out and said nothing as she turned tail and fled.

Not even "thank you."

Bewildered, exhausted, but not in pain, I forced myself to deal with the wash cloths, tucked my dick away, and drained the water bottle. Then I flopped back onto the couch and fell into the best sleep I'd had in months.

I would thank her next time.