Ding dong who ordered a pizza with rarepair toppings (spoiler alert: me)
He learned something new about him every day, yet always yearned for more. Mysteries kept piling up. Or in this case, mysteries wrapped in enigmas, hidden in several layers of a tailored suit.
He used an old fashioned razor, despite his penchant for gadgets. He wondered what he did with all the old phones and laptops and tablets. He could donate them to him, he would cherish and use it for years.
His place – big, but not very big, not a mansion or a forsaken castle or an island in the middle of nowhere – showed a minimalist style. Less was more, the clutter in his flat could learn from this. Surprisingly modern too, barely any antiques as many would expect.
Sometimes he wore a complete blank face. Such as when he accidentally found out he had a son, just a bit older than himself. A childhood friend and the mother of said son – or something. No parents. Many contacts, likely domestic and international, far less he addressed as colleagues and almost no one he called friends. But he suspected others included Hanssen on their friend list, how strange that may sound.
But that was about it.
It was unfair. He knew so much about him already. Had seen him at his worst, clinging on to him, struggling on words and staining snot all over his suit while trying not to think about the sunken ship and what it represented. Had seen him in boxers and old top, or worse, hungover and miserable and almost throwing up all over his polished shoes.
He suspected some things though. He would see and greet Jason, halt and glance back. He sometimes spied them together and would start comparing them – it just happened. He needed to stop himself then because that made him think of Arthur and Hanssen. That was just too much, too soon, even after so many months had passed.
Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere – or certainly within reason, he was slowly beginning to see with his own eyes that being a CEO was more than looking ridiculously handsome in a suit and standing above everyone else, literally and figuratively – he would stare away, or frown in a particular way, or worse, the blank look. It reminded him of the signs Zosia showed prior or during an episode. She once hinted at a conversation she had with him, but refused to tell more when he tried to fish for more intel – something about privacy
Sometimes he felt selfish, already having this much, and should learn from the past, not rushing and always eager for more, more, more.
Still though, in his opinion, not much had changed.
He could smell the sting of antiseptic before he pushed the doors open, but not strong enough to muffle broken bones, internal bleeding spilling out, and long hours with barely any pause.
If he didn't know better, would thought there was a crisis nearby and this hospital had the unfortunate task to be the nearest one for relief.
Something that suspiciously looked like a puddle of blood stained the ground. Rushing footsteps, constant vigilance, equipments peeping and wheezing and patients wrestling with nurses or moaning at their attending doctor.
This all reminded him again why this ward was so unpopular, spoken by others with hushed tones or ominous whispers.
He was glad at least Morven had a day off but suspected that someone may had already paged her in.
Well, by the time she would arrive, he would long be gone. Just here to pick up a patient and then he would go back to his safe haven.
Ms Campbell yelled for someone to clean up the mess on the ground and noticed him – he did stand out, red scrubs amidst blue shades and blood and bruises. But before she could come closer, a nurse stopped her. He could feel the barely repressed displeasure even from here.
"No, bed three, three. Yes, thank you." That must be his patient. That problem sorted out for him, he waited near the nurse station, standing out of the way as much as he could.
"I see Mr Griffin is delegating as always." Actually, he volunteered, though he needed to pull out the junior-doctor-in-a-teaching-hospital card.
It was boring on Keller – never thought he would ever say that. So much that even Mr Griffin had left his office and was pacing around the ward, looking for something to do. They could hold a slumber party for the whole department and still would have empty beds left.
But she didn't need to know, and he didn't want to be responsible for poking awake two Titans. He suspected Mr Griffin would stand no chance with Ms Campbell in her current state.
"Please send my warmest regards when you see him later." Too sugary, her grin too tight.
"Dr Copeland, perhaps you can take over the patients here and roll them up to Keller." He only raised his eyebrow at her. She must be joking. But seeing the way she was looking at him, she might actually mean this. But luckily she glanced away, annoyance clear in her face.
"Bed three, not six. No wait, don't move." She propelled herself away, muttering how she must do everything herself around here.
He watched, fascinated how she took control, just like that. He wondered if Hanssen could do any better. It would be a close call.
Nurse Fletcher stopped near him, leaning against the nurse station, busy scribbling in a file. "Don't mind her. It has been hell here for days."
He nodded, even if his attention wasn't on him.
"You've chosen a more relaxing day actually. You should have come here yesterday." He tried not to stare around again – this wasn't a zoo.
"Welcome to AAU." He closed the file, pocketed his pen and woke the computer from screensaver mode, just as Ms Campbell appeared again, carrying a stack of it.
"Someone, please clean up the bloody blood." Finally someone noticed and hurried to get some cleaning supplies. She looked momentarily pleased as she dropped the pile in front of the manager.
"Uh oh." She froze, an eye twitched, fingertips grazing the cover of a file.
"Fletch."
"The computer froze." They stared at each other.
"Then unfreeze it."
"I'm trying!" He moved the mouse and mashed buttons.
His face slowly changed. He didn't know him that well, but the universal expression for crap was the same on everyone – could easily fit with the primary emotions.
Ms Campbell looked ready to strangle someone. And he was standing closest to her, the other could duck down and hide, whereas he could only run.
He saw a bed coming closer, the right one this time. This gave him the perfect excuse to leave, glad he wasn't part of this team today. Or ever.
Bernie came out, opening the flaps, and almost walked into a nurse balancing dirty linens and used bedpans. Flecks of blood clung to her trauma scrubs, hair even wilder and more untamed than usual.
Ms Campbell rolled her eyes.
She hurried, and well, didn't look at the ground and almost tripped. On the pile of blood.
"Woah." Arms flailed and legs wobbled as she tried to regain balance. He couldn't stop an amused snort – miles better than in any other situation, would had laughed until his sides hurt and tears ran down his face. The chaos surrounding him quickly drowned it.
"Oh my god." A quiet mutter as she marched away. It completely clashed with her shouting at Bernie for being a blind fool, the poor nurse for almost causing a valuable surgeon to be knocked out.
He didn't watch any further, even if a part of him was strangely fascinated by these scenes nearing schadenfreude. He waved away the help of the nurse standing there and ready to go.
She wasn't pleased by this. He stopped, perhaps she was hoping to sneak in a bit of a breather this way. He was about to call her back, but she was already hurrying away.
He shrugged. He was out of here, and this patient was lucky too.
The Valentine of the hospital had tagged along. They both watched as she greedily drank, only relaxing when the glass was empty and waited for a refill. He sighed, having just sat down and already send on the next errant.
"Rough day?" His shift had been idle, even found some time to browse the internet and test how far he could go before someone from IT, and then HC, rushed in. Sitting beside Sacha, a file open, cheek resting on a hand, napping.
"Don't get me started. It has been hell these weeks. I'm almost tempted to change teams."
"Too late for that." He winked and sipped his beer.
"What's worse, Hanssen has been prowling through Darwin, more than usual. Hijacking the computers and frightening everyone away who actually need to use it, reading patient notes and shadowing doctors and nurses. Don't smirk, Dom. It's beginning to take a toll on all of us, even Mo, especially Mo. She almost walked into a door today, can you believe it? I'm telling you, something is wrong and it needs to stop."
He couldn't stop a chuckle.
"Dom, don't laugh." She grabbed his drink as punishment. He let her. She grimaced as she tasted it. Took the glass from pretty Valentine when he returned, sloshing a bit of wine on his hand.
"Seriously, it's a miracle no one has died yet."
"Compliments to superb skills and team effort, surely." She glared at him and turned to her ally that was surreptitiously dabbing his hand with a napkin.
"Ollie, back me up here." These blue eyes widened, the paleness sucking away all remaining colour. He reached for his own glass, still full.
"I'm going to..." He gestured to the bar.
"You want some too?" He nodded, a pointed glance at her still hogging his. Besides, he never turned down a free drink. He left their table again – could almost hear him groan, he almost took pity on him – hugging his glass close to himself.
She stared after him.
"Coward. He's been sucking up to Hanssen, following him around like a lovestruck Labrador, eager to show his tricks to the boss." She sighed and glanced up at him. She watched him for a few seconds.
"You're awfully quiet. You usually join in." He would, once upon a time. But things were so different now. Surely she must see it too, or at least suspect it. He sometimes still wondered what others thought when they saw him and Hanssen, together or not.
"Wait, don't tell me he's been terrorising Keller too."
He shook his head, wished he could nod. These days, he barely even saw him. He sometimes wondered if he was even alive, and not secretly a ghost all along, if not for some evenings spend together.
"That man has always been a strange puzzle, who knows what's going on in that head of his." He didn't even realise he'd voiced his worries until it was out. She hummed in agreement.
The Valentine came back with fresh supplies and they shared a toast.
He held the doors open when he saw her.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Ms Naylor." She pushed her six, he his three.
Alone, here, on a ride not taking long. Perfect combination, he would rarely get a chance like this ever again.
"I heard Hanssen is on Darwin a lot." He stared at the lighted six. She took a sip from her cup.
"Yes, every day since a week or so...or more. He is particularly interested in the heart." Knowing her, she wasn't even joking, not about this, not about Hanssen and certainly not about her ward.
Before he could even process what she had told him, the doors opened. She noticed him first, already rolling her eyes likely. His gaze had been focused elsewhere, like himself, but then he noticed her – and then inevitably him. He seemed to freeze, blinked, blinked again and walked away.
He gaped after him. She glanced between them, one eyebrow slowly rising, then shrugged and pressed the close button.
"What did you do?" He didn't know and hoped the elevator would go faster.
He squeezed himself through the widening gap. She raised her cup as the doors closed, a mock solute.
It took him one hour – feeling so much longer with absolutely nothing to do – before he decided to go search for him.
He was in his office – stupid of him for not starting there in the first place, getting used to finding him at other places.
Nothing seemed amiss at first. But whatever was on that tiny screen must either be very important or interesting.
He broke the record, how long Hanssen could pretend he wasn't alone before acknowledging it.
"Yes, Dr Copeland?" He only shook his head and quietly left again. None the wise, all the more confused.
Perhaps he needed to use the bathroom or something, and was only reminded of that little detail when the elevator doors opened right in front of him. He had his quirks. He snorted in amusement, imagining Hanssen running, arms flailing and yelling for everyone to step aside, emergency coming through.
But still, couldn't help but a bit of worry seeping through the absurd, but very funny picture.
He carefully kept an eye for any customers, standing aside whenever one came – so far only one. He had left a nice tip for the lady, nursing his cocoa and lounging near the counter, keeping her company as much as trying to alleviate both their boredom.
It was as if he knew where and when he was needed, appearing when they were busy exchanging plans on how to attract more customers.
His frown wasn't too sever this time, so he took calculated risk.
Saying quick goodbyes to her, he walked towards him.
"Mr Hanssen." He stopped, turned, and waited for him to catch up.
"Hi." Lame greeting, even for his standards. Almost called out Henrik, too, that would be awkward, for an entirely different reason.
"Dr Copeland. How may I help." Definitely sarcasm this time. That wouldn't work on him, not this time. He'd seen him far worse, and knew he could do better.
"I was just about to buy something. You want some?" He was about to decline, but something changed him mind. He nodded.
"Oh, great. My treat, by the way." He knew he meant well, always insisting on paying for literally everything. For him, it came as naturally as holding the doors open for others, but this only showed him how large the gap between them was. In just about everything.
But when he nodded again, he should be happy, yet couldn't help but feel he was missing something, seven steps behind that brilliant mind, but well, would enjoy the victory as long as he could.
"What would you like?" He opened his mouth, he interrupted. "And don't say tea or any other drink."
When he remained silent, giving him one of these customary glances, he shrugged.
Fine, he would do it, see who would care the most in the end. Certainly not himself.
He chose a ridiculously expensive treat, and not healthy at all, but he didn't stop him. Except when he saw from the corner of his eyes how he reached for his wallet. He turned, stared until he froze.
He tried to mask it – not smooth at all, who was he trying to fool here – before his arm hung limp by his side.
He quickly paid for it – leaving another tip just because he could – and snatched the treat away before he could do something funny with these superhuman reflexes.
Plenty of empty tables, but he chose one slightly secluded from the rest. He'd almost made the mistake of standing near the counter again but then he reminded himself, this was Hanssen, not himself. He didn't eat while standing.
He nudged it closer towards him when he made no move to accept. After another staring contest, he almost clapped when he actually began to pick at it. He wondered when the last time was he had indulged himself like this.
He could cook heavenly, but healthy usually too.
They end up splitting it. And he found himself eating the larger portion. He couldn't help it. It was delicious, close to comfort food, and if he was honest, he enjoyed it all the more because they were sharing.
The bubble popped when he excused himself, dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief and left without any explanation.
He chucked the remaining bits in the bin.
He'd been looking for him all day, but he was as elusive as always, today even more so. His PA – ambushed while he was busy typing on his notebook, showing a frown frighteningly similar to his boss – remained vague and avoided answering any of his questions. He thought to hear a tinge of apology in his voice as he excused himself and almost effortlessly escaped.
He almost suspected he might be away, but he almost ran into Ms Campbell, and she commented how she had just passed him, if he was quick, he might just catch him.
He didn't.
Hours later, having changed back into his shirt and pants, he hoisted his backpack over one shoulder.
Scrunching his scrubs and throwing it in his locker as hard as he could didn't help, at all. One eye twitched as he closed it loudly and locked it.
He jumped when he opened the door and almost collided into the person on his mind all day – and much, much longer. There weren't many that could wear a suit in such a distinctive, alluring manner, he'd recognise it everywhere.
"Henrik."
"Mr Copeland." No disapproval for the slip of tongue, though the silence and this abrupt arrival usually meant bad news.
"I've been told you are searching for me." Understatement of the century. But now that he was here, he didn't know how to start.
They both froze when two nurses slowly inched closer, eyeing the pair with curiosity, and a bit of suspicion too.
This wasn't the time or place. He beckoned him to follow him out, both ignoring the following gazes.
Well, he already knew what he would hear tomorrow morning.
He stopped near the stairs, but he couldn't risk it. He squeezed passed him – sniffed a bit of his cologne – and led the way down, to the peace gardens. He was already rolling his eyes at the irony.
He stopped near a bench and put his hands in his pockets, eyes glancing around for anyone near.
Hanssen coughed quietly and he turned his gaze to him.
"I wish to apologize, and I hope I haven't...worried you." Okay, but that only worried him more. He frowned as his gaze travelled up and down. If he didn't know better, would suspect he was as nervous as he was feeling the panic rising.
He couldn't take it any more when he glanced away and coughed silently again.
A wall broke.
He leaned towards him and bombarded him with, well everything. It was a miracle he didn't tear up, though he was breathing loudly when he was finished, and shaking. A weight had lifted somewhere, somehow, but in its place was a giant ball of uncertainty now.
"I see." He didn't elaborate.
Perhaps this was it. Sometimes, the many small steps forward was just the same as standing still. Or worse.
But he surprised him, going through a list of...something. As if they were about to go grocery shopping and he wanted to be sure they hadn't forgotten anything and save another trip back.
As if he was the patient for once and he the doctor.
A piercing stare, his body tense. He glanced back, still surprised. He slowly summed everything up in his head. It sounded a lot like... he recognised it, all too well.
"Wait, your symptoms?" A pause, then a slow nod.
He chuckled, and couldn't stop smiling and laughed as Hanssen looked more and more concerned.
He didn't care for once. He wanted to step closer and poke him, hug him, do anything – well, perhaps not kiss, that was something for another time – but then remembered they were out in the open and the way he was frowning he was surprised it didn't turn into a permanent one.
But he couldn't help a part seeping through. "Well, I love you too."
A long silence as he grinned. He hummed and looked away, but he already saw a tentative smile appearing, almost shy if he didn't know better.
He passed Bernie, sweater draped over one arm and actually not rushing for once. He waved and she waved back.
It was good seeing her take a proper break. They all deserved it.
Zosia told her that Darwin finally stopped having their intimidating CEO breathing down their neck. He chuckled, seeing the glee in her eyes before she hurried away to catch the elevator.
He was happy for them.
But the joy quickly plummeted as he reached his destination. He checked if he had stopped at the right floor.
Beds occupied and the staff actually working.
Before he could change he passed Essie, wriggling her eyebrows at him, and Mr Griffin sorting through files, one pile ready to delegate to him.
Well, it seemed that things were back to normal.
Hanssen appeared, and when he did his customary round, his day couldn't go wrong.
He diverted his attention between a patient and him and noticed how calm he was. But when he came closer – fingers freezing their examination of the stomach – he saw minute signs. He wondered how many others noticed it too, cloaking loss of control with more control and calm and diversion.
He didn't know he might had said anything out loud, but he froze and slowly turned to him.
"Congratulations on your astute observations, Mr Copeland. Would you prefer a check here or should I send it to your address?" And without waiting for an answer, he moved on.
He poked particularly hard on the belly, ignored the protest and excused himself.
"There is no need to play detective, Dr Copeland. We both know how much you've already unravelled." When Hanssen stopped, he almost ran into him, murmuring a quick sorry. He mused on his words as he watched him interact with bed three. And he was right – as he usually was.
"Carry on, Mr Copeland." He left him, the ward, in the middle of his round, and he couldn't follow him this time. Hanssen almost appeared disappointed when he remained silent.
He passed the hallway several times, pacing from one end to the other. One time he even stopped before the door, but couldn't take the final step.
He paced around and ignored how the lights inside were on. When the third person passed him and gave him a funny look, he gave up and decided to try again later.
He camped outside, near the entrance, sitting on a bench with a clear view of the park. He turned his head every time he heard footsteps.
So far no luck. He was beginning to think that perhaps he had already left, despite the clear evidence in front of him – his car still parked after yet another glance.
He waited, shivering more and more with each passing minute. He saw Mr Griffin, sometimes cooped up in his office late. He was surprised seeing a junior here, but they exchanged polite greetings and he continued on and he watched another car leave.
Perhaps he should go too. Tomorrow another day, a new day, but no, he was already here now, half freezing. He refused to let this all be for nothing.
He stuck his fists in his pockets and passed time watching his breath condense and twirling up and away.
He barely noticed him when he had finally decided to appear.
He paused, looking as surprised as he was. He almost carefully came closer when he refused to budge. He at least refrained from commenting, but the lingering glance at his shivering form spoke even louder.
He remained seated and peered up as he wordlessly stopped beside him, leather glove crunching when fingers tightened their hold on his briefcase.
"Hi." His frown deepened and he looked around, as if not believing that someone could actually be waiting for him. Well, that made two.
He had nothing to lose now, all he wanted now was to get some place warmer. He stood gingerly.
"I was wondering if you are busy this evening?" But no answer.
"Well, if not, I think we can go to my place?" His small, crappy flat that he hadn't even cleaned. Smart.
First time to give this sort of invitation, too, he realised. He immediately chided himself. He might have plans already. He may have a hidden social life muffled away somewhere, for all he knew. Or some deeply hidden hobby that required the day to be dark.
"Yours?" His heart pounded far too loudly.
"Yes, I took the bus so we can wait for the next one, or walk. Or..." Left it unspoken. This was as far has he could go, it was all his choice now.
"We'll take the car." Quite adamant too. He sighed in relief. He didn't want to walk, and the bus had just left a few minutes ago.
"You will have to decide what kind of dinner we'll eat." Typical of him, always making compromises, though this time he didn't really mind. Take out or his delicious cooking – an apron over his suit, chopping and stirring with practised hands, sharing a spoon when tasting.
But he shouldn't be too greedy. Not yet.
"A happy meal."
"Sorry?"
"You know, bunny ears shaped as M, red package, adorable toy inside." A blank look, and he wondered if he perhaps truly didn't know.
"Well, I'm happy." He shrugged.
"Take out it is then." Happy meal perhaps another time, they had time enough now. And certainly time enough for him to think what of an alternative.
He felt warm and comfy, even when the interior of the car was just as chilly as outside. With a jingle of his keys, the engine started and he turned the heating on. He grinned in thanks, and watched as he tried to ignore it, busy ticking off the checklist before he could drive.
"Should we stop at mine first to arm ourselves? The vacuum cleaner for example?"
He rolled his eyes. "Just drive."
He released the break and the car slowly rolled away.
Symbolism much? This is worse than that infamous bird making the most dramatic entry ever. I crack up whenever I see these giant hands handling a smol bird with such care and patience.