Heart Stopper
Opting into a medical profession certainly weeded out the faint-hearted from those who would actually go on to succeed. Arthur wasn't faint-hearted; he'd observed enough surgeries and dissected enough limbs to be assured he wasn't going to swoon at the sight of blood – unlike some of his fellow interns.
Arthur had no tolerance for the nonsensical students who were so often found collapsed on the theatre floor. How they were permitted to continue with the internship was beyond Arthur. No patient would feel safe in the hands of a surgeon who went woozy once an incision was made. They were never discouraged, however, in fact the surgeons and nurses often reassured them that it was perfectly normal and simply a matter of toughening up, growing accustomed, and they'd eventually grow out of it.
Arthur thought it was poppycock. Surgery would occasionally cause him some discomfort, though fascinating it wasn't exactly pleasant to watch, but not once had he felt faint and that surely meant he was better suited to a surgical career than the other interns. That, and he was top of his class.
It was the final scrapes of a gruellingly long shift and Arthur's head was clouded with lethargy, as well as the rest of the yawning interns. He was functioning on the fumes of biscuits crumbs and dishwater cups of tea.
The attending physician, a judicious, softly-spoken man of Japanese descent, had gathered the interns into a semi-circle to make an announcement.
"As some of you may have heard, Dr. Jones, an outstanding cardiovascular surgeon from the United States, has joined our team recently," Dr. Honda explained. Arthur's ears pricked up at the name. Alfred F. Jones was considered one of the best cardiac surgeons in the US; apparently it was particularly remarkable because Dr. Jones was considered young by the medical world's standards. "We were going to give Dr. Jones time to settle in before allowing interns to assist or shadow him; however, he has said he is more than happy to be assisted by a capable intern."
Dr. Honda's dark eyes aligned with Arthur's and the Englishman's heart wobbled in his chest. "Arthur, as you are currently top of the class and have expressed an interest in cardiac surgery as your speciality, I've put your name down to assist Dr. Jones with an open heart surgery. If you feel up to it, that is?"
Arthur blinked, utterly floored. "Yes – yes, of course."
"Good," Dr. Honda said with a small, private smile. "Everyone else, make sure you're well rested for tomorrow. Arthur, if you would follow me." After the class scattered sluggishly, Dr. Honda approached Arthur, guiding him from the wards and towards the operating rooms.
"I'm very grateful for this opportunity, Dr. Honda," Arthur commented, steadying his voice so he retained his usual impersonal politeness. He was teetering on the edge of gushing with gratitude and the urge to hug Dr. Honda became worryingly compelling for a brief moment.
He was finally going to assist in an open heart operation and under the wing of the esteemed Dr. Jones. The man may be young and American but Arthur was positive he would be a composed, dignified individual with a wealth of wisdom to bestow upon Arthur.
"You're very welcome, Arthur, you have continually impressed me and I'm sure you won't fail to impress Dr. Jones." Arthur preened internally under the praise until Dr. Honda slowed to a halt and Arthur faltered beside him. "For the sake of discretion, I neglected to mention that Dr. Jones is looking to take on an intern who wishes to pursue a career as a cardiovascular surgeon. I have already put a good word in for you so do your best today."
"I'm – I – thank you, this means a great deal –"
"Kiku!"
A golden-haired man careered towards them, skidding to a stop in front of Arthur. He was taller than Arthur with broad shoulders and visibly toned biceps. His eyes were a shock of blue and his smile was sunnier than a beam of bloody sunshine.
His accent was as American as they came.
Please, dear god, don't let this be –
"Dr. Jones," Honda greeted, unexpectedly friendly. "This is Arthur."
"Great to finally meet ya, Arthur!" He took Arthur's hand in his larger, warmer hand and shook it vigorously enough to pop one of Arthur's finger joints. "You can just call me Alfred; I'll feel weird if you call me Dr. Jones."
What a complete imbecile.
Arthur glanced sidelong at Dr. Honda who in no way indicated that this was all a hoax and he actually had a twisted sense of humour.
This couldn't be Alfred F. Jones, not this bumbling idiot who looked like he should be emblazoned across a billboard, advertising some sort of fragrance, in a state of undress. Surely he wasn't capable of basic addition, never mind complex heart surgery. Surgeons weren't attractive, surgeons were never attractive – it was the unsaid law of medicine.
"Have you seen open heart surgery before?" Alfred asked, eyes twinkling with enthusiasm that Arthur had only ever witnessed in a small child.
"Oh, no, I haven't but –"
"You must be pretty excited then, right?" The American's smile was akin to looking directly at the sun and it was burning the skin across Arthur's cheeks.
Not as excited as you, apparently, Arthur thought. He had never been attracted to an idiot before, even gorgeous, supposedly intellectually-gifted idiots. He didn't understand why his pulse had quickened under Alfred's attention and why his body was actively opposing his rationality.
"It's a procedure I hope to perform myself one day, so, yes, I am… eager to be of assistance," Arthur countered, hoping Alfred didn't detect the dryness of his answer. He'd never met an American before but he had heard they were on the slow side when it came to the subtle nuances of good old sarcasm.
Dr. Honda was watching the exchange between Alfred and Arthur with the statue-like serenity Arthur had come to associate the doctor with.
"Awesome! I know you're a new intern but I'm gonna get you involved as much as possible – it's the best way to learn, after all. We'll ready for take-off in, like, five minutes so you've got time to get something to eat or drink." Alfred chuckled, a soft, summery sound that sent tingles under Arthur's skin. "Don't want you fainting on me."
Arthur pursed his lips; glad that the irritating tingles had scuttled away at the sound of the Alfred's attempt to be humorous.
In all honesty, Arthur was famished but there was no way in hell he was going to reveal that scrap of information.
"I won't faint, thank you very much. I'm not a damsel in distress."
"You sure you don't want to get something though? Seeing open heart surgery for the first time can be pretty distressing, especially on an empty stomach," the American cautioned, a touch of concern flickered over his face.
"I'm sure. I'll be perfectly fine."
Alfred regarded him for a moment and Arthur shifted tersely at the scrutiny until Alfred's grin returned with its high-setting intensity.
"Let's rock and roll then!"
-/-
Arthur mentally patted himself on the back for his performance thus far. He'd been one step ahead of Dr. Jones from the get-go and he could tell Alfred was impressed. The American was true to his word and kept Arthur involved and occupied, quizzing Arthur as he operated and Arthur was swift and confident with his answers.
They were fifteen minutes into the procedure when Arthur caught himself admiring Alfred's effortless movements and daydreaming about how much weight he could support with those muscular arms, for example, Arthur's body weight. He was only wondering for purely unbiased, scientific reasons, of course.
It was after a rather vivid mental image of Dr. Jones lifting up Arthur and pinning him to a wall that Arthur scolded himself and realised he hadn't observed the surgery at all, merely Alfred's hands and arms and lips and… well.
Arthur scowled, cursing himself inside his head for being insipid enough to indulge in schoolgirl fantasies during one of the most important experiences in his surgical training thus far, and he resolutely stared at the site of the surgery.
It was extraordinary, really, that he was looking into someone's chest at a human heart artificially pumping through the means of a heart-lung pass machine. It was an ugly organ, for all the authors that waxed poetic about it, squelching with blood and oddly shaped. The entire operation was fairly gruesome, opening the chest and parting ribs – it wasn't as exciting as Arthur had imagined.
"…the light, Arthur?"
Nearly jolting at Alfred's instruction, Arthur took his eyes off the heart.
"Sorry?"
"Do you mind moving the light?" Alfred asked, gentle with his words. His chirpiness faded during surgery, when he became focussed, but he didn't snap like some surgeons were wont to do.
"Towards you?"
"Yeah. That's great, thanks." A beat of silence. "You feeling okay?"
"I'm fine thank you," Arthur said, feeling a hot sweat underneath his scrubs for some reason. Must have been the heat off the light.
"You sure? You're looking a little pale." Alfred's surgical mask crinkled, implying that he was smiling. "I mean, paler than the usual English pastiness."
Arthur's formidable eyebrows drew together. "I'd rather I was pale than tinted orange." Alfred had a lovely tan but he didn't need to know Arthur thought so.
The American chuckled. "Ouch, Artie, low blow. Guess I'll just have to accept I'll be as pasty as you guys soon, now that I live here."
Arthur watched Alfred's careful movements with the scalpel, thinking of a witty comeback for the man. The hot sweat intensified, flushing up to his face until he felt so overheated his breathing turned shallow and stomach seemed to go hollow, causing a spell of dizziness.
He realised he hadn't responded to Alfred and opened his mouth to speak but only managed a staggered inhalation.
Alfred was talking, Arthur was sure he was, his soft-looking lips were moving but Arthur could only hear fragments of what Alfred was saying.
"...Arthur… step back… so you don't… that's it… catch him…"
Somehow, he found himself face-first on the floor with a whisper of pain at the front of his head.
-/-
The whisper turned out to be an excruciating headache and a sore lump. He had concussed himself which was just peachy.
He was under strict jurisdiction to stay in the on-call room so Dr. Honda could keep an eye on him. He'd originally been offered a hospital bed and a nurse could tend to him but he had absolutely refused.
Arthur flopped his face against the pillow, half tempted to smother himself under it and half tempted to sob into it.
Not only had he made a right arse out of himself by bloody fainting while watching a procedure he actually wanted to do on someone, after explicitly stating he was above something as frivolous as fainting, he had fainted in front of Alfred F. Jones, the incredibly talented, incredibly handsome surgeon he had called orange.
He groaned into the pillow and a string of curse words followed.
"Stupid… fucking… I'm never going to be able to show my face in this hospital again. I'm such an idiot! That git, why did he have to be so sodding attractive –"
"You could always blame it on that? You fainted because you overwhelmed by my hotness. I'll back you up," Alfred teased.
Arthur flipped over in the bed so quickly he gave himself a nauseating head-rush.
"Hey, take it easy." The American made himself at home at the edge of the narrow bed and pushed a paper cup into Arthur's hand. He was wearing glasses now and their presence sent yet another spike of desire through Arthur. Were all the Gods against him? "I asked around and Kiku told me you liked milky tea. I wanna take credit for making it but you'll probably be glad to hear it was made by an expert and not an American, right?"
Arthur stared at the paper cup, and not Alfred, suddenly ineloquent.
"How are you feeling?"
"How'd you think I'm bloody feeling?" Arthur bit.
Amusement played on Alfred's lips. "Um – your head's probably sore, you probably feel a bit disorientated, bit nauseous maybe –"
Arthur glared at him with blistering venom and Alfred's smile went wide and playful.
"Embarrassed, angry, nervous, probably questioning whether you're cut out to be a surgeon." The American slurped his hot beverage and tapped his chin. "Oh! I'm guessing you were hungry and thirsty as well, I did say you had time to get something."
Arthur's hand actually twitched with the inclination to slap the idiot's smile right off his face.
"You know the first time I saw open heart surgery, I didn't faint or anything but I felt so sick that I had to run out of the theatre and I nearly puked all over a nurse." Alfred grinned charmingly. "Luckily for her, I puked all over the floor instead."
His glare softened until it was more of an expression of bemusement than anything else.
"My point is, it's only human to faint or feel sick or whatever when you see an operation. Like I said, it can be distressing even if you've seen a lot of surgery and you've always felt okay. Different things freak different people out. That and you really do need to make sure you've had something to eat or drink before a procedure; I was kind of testing you. I didn't think you'd actually faint, I figured you might get a little dizzy or something – if you'd eaten, you probably wouldn't have crashed out," he explained with a sheepish laugh. "When you crash, though, boy do you crash. You, like, swooned and everything. Sort of like a damsel in distress."
"The both of us will have concussion if you continue talking," Arthur warned, though there was no real menace to it.
"I'm shaking in my boots, Artie," Alfred teased.
"If I 'freak out' because of open heart surgery though, how could I possibly –"
"You'll be a cardiac surgeon, easy peasy. You've got what it takes and you'll get over being freaked out. Trust me. It'll get to the point where you'll be thinking more about what you're gonna have for lunch. That might just be me though. I'm always thinking about lunch or food in general."
He was too embarrassed to admit it but Alfred's bizarre words of comfort had made him feel a lot better and he found himself hiding an exasperated smile.
"Damn," Alfred said with a whistle.
The smile fled from his lips and Arthur was instantly on the defensive. "What?"
"I just wondered if your smile would be cute or super cute. And I was right, it's super cute."
A high-pitched croaking sound escaped from Arthur and he was rewarded with loud, sincere laughter.
"You know, since we both find each other 'sodding' attractive," Alfred said with a downright awful impression of Arthur's accent. "Did you want to go out for drinks later? Or something? It's up to you."
There was a slither of hesitancy in Alfred's voice that spoke volumes to Arthur. He was nervous about asking Arthur out, after everything that happened. Underneath his easy-going bravado, he was, in fact, doubting whether Arthur was interested in him or not and that was unfairly endearing.
It went without saying that the next time Arthur found himself groaning into the pillow of an on-call bed, it was for a very different reason.
Prompt: Boss/Intern