This started as two silly ideas, 'what if Henrik hasn't changed specialty' and 'what if John hasn't introduced David to Rox?', but has grown into this...monster (rip me).
Canon is dead, there's only trashy ot3 now.
She tilts her head to one side as a couple walk past her. Well, she thinks they're a couple, based on her observations. She loves to people watch, guess their story and thoughts. Human behavior has always interested her. If things have gone differently, she might have found a career in anthropology.
It's rare that she can find a free moment in her busy schedule, but today she's given a rare opportunity, as she's waiting for Henrik. She's grabbed it with both hands.
The lift doors open. The occupants slowly trickle out and split in different directions. She recognizes two people as they walk towards the entrance.
"Goodbye Ms MacMillan," Lofty says warmly. Dominic nods once, but shows a small, but genuine smile.
She nods back at the couple and smiles. "See you both tomorrow."
Dominic nods again, and Lofty grins at her. As they leave, their steps match. She chuckles. It's always great to see love blooming.
She turns her head when the double doors open, leading to AAU. Ric holds one door open for Donna. Roxanna glances away. Too late. Donna's already caught her eyes and immediately makes a beeline towards her.
"Oh, Roxanna. We're on our way to Albie's. Care to join us for a drink?" she asks.
"Donna," he warns her.
She ignores him. "One drink?"
Roxanna hates to decline another invitation, especially when she's staring at her with barely contained glee, somehow reminding her of an overexcited puppy. It's not the first time either. She's lost count of the number of times people have asked her that one question. What still puzzles her aren't the familiar faces, but the unfamiliar staff in other wards, too. She always feels overwhelmed, plans her escape and uses a weak excuse that can easily be misinterpreted.
Today, she does the same thing.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"It's fine," Ric says, cutting her off, and turns to Donna. "We understand."
Roxanna wonders if they do, as they're locked in some sort of stare down.
She sighs, turns to Roxanna, invisible, fluffy dog ears drooped in sadness and disappointment. "Maybe another day, then."
"Another day," she echoes softly, even when she's sure the three of them know that another day means never.
As they walk away, friction still buzzing between them, Roxanna fears that she might be the cause of it.
Guilt wraps around her stomach. She stares at the floor, frowning.
"Roxanna!"
She blinks, glances up and sees Sacha hurrying towards her. He doesn't look surprised to see her here.
"Sacha," she greets back, not trusting herself to speak without her voice betraying the turmoil in her mind.
"Waiting for someone?" he asks, his eyes shining with amusement.
She raises an eyebrow, not sure if he knows the answer to his own question or not.
"I'll join you," he says with a grin and stands beside her. "I don't mind," he continues when she frowns.
"By the way. You were right."
"About?"
"Test came back and it's positive."
Her consult. She had her suspicions, but only a test can erase any small doubts she had. She smiles. He grins.
Behind his big grins, bear hugs and printed shirts that equal parts impressed and horrified her, a sense of loneliness lurks within him. He hides so much pain and suffering, puts others first and himself last. She recognizes it in Henrik, too. Perhaps that's the reason why she feels a pull the moment they first met. Perhaps that's why he calls her his friend, and in the safety of her mind, she calls him a friend too. Perhaps that the reason why the following silence isn't uncomfortable.
Sacha chuckles. "Maybe it's better if I did leave."
She blinks, glances up at him, feeling that certain tug again, as if she doesn't want Sacha to leave.
"Don't worry, Henrik won't be long. He was changing when I left." He grins and winks.
She freezes. Does he know?
Henrik and her aren't exactly hiding their relationship, but what they have is no one's business but their own. They keep a certain distance here, refer to each other in a professional way. But there are times he can't quite hide a lingering, warm look, she stands a bit closer when they're staring at a chart, they blurt out the same thing, speaking as one. When they perform surgery together, the quips and teasing flow out as easily as they breath and handle surgery equipment. They do arrive and leave together, and during days when their shifts don't match, Henrik insists on playing the gallant chauffeur.
What if they're not as subtle as they think they are?What if Sacha's noticed, somehow? If he has, that means others know too. If more than two people know, that means the next day the whole hospital knows too.
She swallows, almost misses his, see you tomorrow, Roxanna!
She takes a couple of breaths. In and out, in and out. She ignores John's loud shouting as a way of coping. She reminds herself that Sacha's a good friend, one of the few that kept trying to connect with her, despite her aloofness, apathy and insistence on keeping any interactions in the hospital professional.
He's not the only one, it seems, as her mind replays the moments she's here, waiting and soon adds more memories. She's loved among the staff: nurses chase up results for her, her registrar turns into a shy, blushing girl whenever Roxanna tells her she's done a good job, and junior doctors stare at her as if they've found god. People look up to her, value her opinion, as Henrik loves to remind her. And yes, some people do consider her as a friend too, for whatever reason.
"Shall we?"
At first she thinks she's imagining his voice, one of the few voices that can calm her, but when her vision sharpens and returns to the present, Henrik's here. He must have taken the stairs, and not the lift.
She glances up at him, blinks several times.
"My apologies," he says softly. He must be misunderstanding her, or whatever expression her face is making.
He takes a breath, opens his mouth again. Roxanna shakes her head. He doesn't need to explain why he's late. Not now, never to her.
He frowns in that way that tells he's worried. About her – always about her. Anticipating his questions, and not in the mood to answer them, she leans up and kisses him on the cheek.
Success.
He stares at her with that particular look, as if Roxanna is his whole world. This is only marginally better than the constant hovering, his protective nature taking over his rational mind.
She looks away. Even after all these years, that look can still shake her. Henrik can still overwhelm her, make her feel like a naive, awed university student.
He takes her coat, draped over her arm, ignores her look. She bites back a really, Henrik?
Henrik holds her coat out for her. His face is stern, intent on winning this staring contest. She rolls her eyes, knows decades ago that this is a battle she can't win.
She sighs and turns around. His hands linger on her shoulders when he's done. She turns back, sneaks in a quick peck on his other cheek. These little moments where she catches him by surprise are far better than the times when Henrik leans in, meets her kiss half way.
Her smile turns into a soft gasp when Henrik kisses her cheek and smiles in an almost carefree way. A rare thing, since Henrik has always been an old soul in a young body. His body has aged, but the soul remains the same, anchored in a sea of suffering, pain and tragedy.
One time, when she was still getting used to new colleagues, a different administration system and confusing corridors, Henrik was sad, so sad that even others begun to notice. She worried, was distracted that day – her mind tugging at memories and what ifs and countless scenarios – until she realized that she'd forgotten to give Henrik his goodbye kiss before they left that morning. She rectified it, may or may not have jogged, beckoned him closer when she at last found him. He bloomed after she kissed him on the cheek, as if her kiss had melted away the sadness and toxic thoughts.
Since that day, something's changed. Maybe it's because they finally work together in the same hospital, or because she's kissed him in plain sight, or maybe it's time – time heals all wounds, but the usual peck on the cheek is not exclusively used as a greeting or goodbye anymore.
"Shall we?" he asks.
She nods, missing the weight of his hands on her shoulders. But him walks beside her, slows his steps so it matches her. The sight warms her heart.
She smiles when he greets a nurse, then a porter. He knows their names, knows the name of everyone in this hospital. He treats everybody the same, whether they're a cleaner or a consultant.
Two paramedics rush in, wheeling a stretcher and beeping equipment. Henrik catches her arm, steers her gently, but firmly away from the rush.
It shouldn't surprise her when he didn't return the quick apologetic look. The grip on her arm tightens.
Roxanna shakes her head, rests a hand atop his. "Henrik," she adds when he continues to ignore her, staring at their backs as they wait for the lift. Only when the doors close does his eyes find hers.
"They're just doing their job," she reminds him, hoping that work – a patient in danger – might calm him, make him see sense.
He frowns. She squeezes his hand. He worries too much. She wasn't in any danger: the paramedics are skilled and there were at least three feet between her and the stretcher. She wants to tell him that, but knows she's already balancing on the edge, wobbling. The last thing she needs is a preventive measure next time they hear sirens, something silly like carrying her bridal style.
She waits until Henrik sighs. She pets his hand. He lets go. She takes a few tentative steps away from him. He follows her, but walks close beside her, so close that their arms almost touch. When they're outside, he walks on the outside of the path. She shakes her head, seeing how Henrik entwines chivalry with concern.
He's still brooding. She glances past him, decides to give him a moment. She frowns when she notices something. Her mind must be playing tricks on her.
No, that's not the case here.
John's leaning on Henrik's car, staring at the hospital with an unreadable expression, arms crossed at the chest.
She freezes. John means no harm, she knows that. It's who he is: focused, stubborn, barreling through opinion and mental barriers. Some days, he still overwhelms her with his presence, kisses her senseless and whispers all the right words that send warm throbs to her chest, her limbs, her core. Only Henrik rivals that, a lingering stare that speaks only of love – so much love. She can never resist that, always comes closer and kisses him.
In a situation less open to all sorts of rumors and whispers, she will rush forward. But John has to understand, he doesn't work here, He doesn't see the staff every day, work together.
Sometimes she wishes she's more like John: ambitious, not afraid to step on someone's toes and overwhelm them with his blue sky thinking. She isn't a lone wolf. Her mind dissects every look, whisper and interaction in the past few months. Suddenly, shouting at the sky doesn't sound so silly anymore.
Henrik rests a hand on her back, reassures her without words. "Stop overthinking, Roxanna. Give them a chance. Give this hospital, this situation, a chance."
The first few weeks were difficult. She came close to resigning on the spot, blaming herself for Henrik's demotion. John's jokes – no spanking in the CEO office then, that's disappointing – and Henrik's arguments are no match for the chaos in her minds: private and work should never be combined, this is Henrik's domain, she shouldn't barge in.
But Henrik's right. The next day the new CEO arrived and Roxanna saw with her own eyes that Guy Self has left the neuro unit in a bad state. The other consultant left, took with him a registrar. When Roxanna introduced herself that morning, she only saw relief, happy faces, and an underlying desperation to keep her here.
Months have passed now, and every doom scenario was averted, and every worry she nourished slowly died.
Henrik rubs small circles on her back, calming her. John notices her. He smiles and pushes himself off the hood. In that moment, she knows she's lost, knows she's about to do something outrageous.
She hurries towards him, feels Henrik gaze prickling the back of her neck. She ignores the voice telling her, rumors, think about the rumors, the consequences.
She puts her arms around his neck, but starts when he kisses her. He wraps an arm around her middle, pulling her closer. For a moment, she's afraid he might go deeper, slip his tongue in. Her mind brings up memories of innocent hugs turning into long, breathtaking kisses, his body crowding hers when she's reaching for a cupboard. He loves to ambush her, watch her annoyance slowly turning into pleasure, control slowly slipping away with each passing second. Fortunately, this time he behaves. She suspects Henrik's presence has a lot to do with it.
She leans back, gives him a look, but he's staring on her lips. He chases her, manages to kiss her twice on the mouth before she stops him with a hand on his chest.
"Rox."
She huffs, hates how her body always shivers in anticipation when he says her name like that – soft and scratchy. He lets her go and stands beside her.
"John," he says and nods, as if he's greeting a colleague, and not someone he's known for decades.
"Henrik," he greets softly. He folds his hands behind his back and leans towards her.
"When did you arrive?" he asks, not missing a beat.
"A few hours earlier. Don't worry, my plane arrived and departed on time."
Henrik's very particular about the schedule. He checks it several times. Whenever there's a delay, his mind conjures up the worst case scenarios. He dislikes seats with an uneven number, the same way he counts his steps, makes sure they're even, and chews his food exactly fourteen times before he swallows – she's counted.
"You should have told us. We could have picked you up," she says.
"Nonsense. I took a cab."
She glances around the car park, sees no sign of John's car or his luggage – leather satchels and suitcases. "You mean two cabs."
John shrugs. Henrik frowns at the frivolous use of money.
She glances between them, decides to nip this tension in the bud. "We're glad you're here."
It works as John follows behind her, opens and closes the door for her.
In her peripheral view Henrik circles his car, checking for any irregularities. When he's done, she sees John touching Henrik's arm briefly.
She takes off her shoes, sighs in relief. She's about to sit back, stretch her legs, but then remembered John's here too. Once she shows a sign of weakness, he'll pounce on her –stop wearing heels, Rox. And usually, he'll do it while resting her feet on his lap, and giving an amazing foot massage. The pain and nagging slowly turns into pleasure, then bliss. She should count herself lucky, because most people won't get past the pain stage, won't see the parts of John that he's carefully hidden away.
They certainly won't see him sitting in the back. She doesn't know how he can sit so comfortable directly behind the driver's seat. She tried once, lasted only three seconds before she clambered out.
As Henrik starts his checklist, she asks, "How was Greece?"
"Wet."
She chuckles as she puts on her seat belt.
"Unproductive," he continues.
She only realizes her mistake when she meets his eyes. He takes that as permission to ramble about poor food, horrible infrastructure and incompetence.
Henrik shoots her a look, as if telling her, now look what you've unleashed. She smiles sheepishly. He shakes his head and checks the mirrors.
When John reaches a natural break, her fingers ache to turn on the radio. Perhaps one kind of background noise can cancel out the other. Henrik's iPod isn't plugged in, so the stereo won't boom out angry hip-hop that only fuels John.
"Rox?" he asks in a soft, almost tentative way.
She frowns. That's rare. He usually demands attention, one way or another. She twists in her seat and looks at John. He's already leaning forward, resting one hand on Henrik's seat.
"Would you like to join me on my next trip?" he asks slowly. "I can use a fresh pair of eyes."
He chuckles, when seeing the surprise on her face. "You will likely hold me back from doing something I'll regret." He pauses, blinks once, then shrugs. "Or not. I'm this close to firing my team in Portugal."
"Roxanna is already under contract to this hospital," Henrik cuts in.
"She's one of the most brilliant surgeons, Henrik. She can easily combine it," he says, eyes not straying from her.
She never knows if John means these compliments. This might be another tactic, luring another person in his web and research.
"She has patients here that she can't abandon."
"That's what colleagues are for. You can take over some of the patients," he says smoothly.
"Irrelevant."
As soon as John fires his next argument, Henrik turns the key in the engine. He stares at the dashboard, checking for any flashing icons.
She tunes them both out. She can fight her own battles, unless her opponent is a charming man, with a body that is in better shape than most people half his age, and ambidextrous hands that can do so many things.
So she only has herself to blame when she glances behind her, sees that handsome face staring back at her with big eyes.
John's always been an exception, the people that she loves always are.
This is hardly the first time John's tempted her. Some days when Henrik is asleep and John can't sleep, they sneak into his office and snuggle in Henrik's favorite armchair – the one with the worn leather and collapsed seat, always smelling faintly of Henrik. He spins tales about his travels, his eyes lighting up and his usually flat voice springing to life.
It's so easy to become lost in his research, in papers and data and what ifs. John's like a force of nature: cruel, ruthless, leaving behind a trail of tears and destroyed dreams, but also beautiful, passionate and life changing.
She wants him to succeed, perhaps a bit too much, ignoring details, only focusing on the results, until Henrik points out the flaws, that they should exercise caution.
While a chronic, lingering sadness hangs over Henrik, John always takes her by surprise. On rare days, John doesn't believe in himself. His research means everything to him. For him to abandon everything, that's something that cannot happen. While Henrik desperately tries to isolate his feelings, contain his thoughts, wrestle back control with a long rope, a lasso circles her, tightens before she realizes she's caught. While Henrik holds on so tight that he has permanent scares on his palms, the lasso tightens around her and drags her closer to a pressure cooker about to explode, injuring everyone and damaging everything in the vicinity.
Her ears perk up when John uses the word vacation, reminding her that she hasn't taken a free day since she's joined the ranks.
John seems to read her mind. "We can go sight seeing. It will be great." He leans his cheek against Henrik's seat, watching her dreamily.
Henrik taps his hand. John immediately snatches his fingers away and lowers his eyes.
"Fasten your seat belt, please," he says and starts the engine.
A look passes between them. John slowly obeys. and just like that, the spell is over.
She sighs as the car slowly pulls out from the parking spot.
Henrik's always here to lead her back to stillness and security. Whenever she's immersed in research data or papers, doesn't know much time has passed, Henrik draws her back to the present with a hand on her shoulder, coaxing her with a dinner is ready, or are you coming to bed?
Sometimes she notices details that seem correct at first glance. But when she stares, flaws begin to appear. When she tells John, he always ignores her. It's only when Henrik repeats the same thing, but using different words, that John slows down and listens. She shudders at the possibilities, if no one is there to point out the mistakes, stop him before it's too late. Certain lines cannot be crossed, no matter what.
Sometimes, she wonders what she and John have done to deserve someone as Henrik.
John's staring out of the window. Now that he's finally quiet and subdued, she misses his voice and the light in his eyes.
"John."
He whips his head to her, sits straighter in his seat, as if standing in attention.
"How about this?" She can't help it, not when he hangs on her lips, ignoring Henrik completely. "I'll look into your paper later."
"Roxanna," Henrik warns her.
"Just one paper," she says as she meets his eyes, refusing to back down. "The deadline is today," she adds.
He sighs, nods to her, shoots a warning glance John through the rear mirror. He takes her hand, kisses her knuckles, then rests his hand atop the gear knob.
"Where's my kiss?" John asks.
Henrik ignores him, slowly stops to let someone cross the road. Roxanna turns around, grins.
John huffs quietly, but blows her a kiss.
A comfortable silence settles in the car.
She glances outside, recognizes one or two faces. She wonders how long John has been waiting for them, if others have seen him, seen her greeting him, seen the three of them together.
"I wonder what the others will think, seeing the great Professor Gaskell leaning against a colleague's car?"
"I'm not famous."
She rolls her eyes. "Maybe not to outsiders, but in the medical world you're a living legend." Just as Henrik is.
He frowns. "Stop selling yourself short."
Henrik hums in agreement as they leave hospital territory.
She shrugs, not agreeing with them. Not really. Of course, she has her moments. During brainstorm sessions with John she blurts out everything that comes into mind. She muses aloud when Henrik vents about a difficult case or patient. But she rarely takes action. Theories remain theories, or discussed in papers, while John dares to take the next step. Henrik listens, truly listens.
"So, will this happen again?"
"What?" John asks.
"You waiting for us," she explains.
He gives her a funny look, as if he can't quite figure out where she's going with this.
Perhaps next time he will wait in the hospital. She considers telling John that maybe he should join them. Properly, this time. But they're not young and naive anymore, nor students or junior doctors placed in a protected environment. There's not enough place for three neurosurgeons. Yes, it can be perfect, but it can also lead to disaster – or worse.
But she can think about it. In the safety of her mind she imagines the three of them working in the same hospital. She introduces them as her partners and then watch everyone's reaction. Some understand what she's implying while others completely miss the point or refuse to see what's right in front of them.
"The rumor mill will have a field day." That she can joke about this, not only speaking out loud but playing hilarious scenarios in her mind, only means she's calmed down.
"Who's spreading rumors?"
She frowns, hearing the flat tone in John's voice.
"Are people talking about you?" he asks in a strangely calm voice. But the calm is a ruse,, hiding a pacing force in a cage.
"Just the usual rumors," Henrik cuts in.
Roxanna's not sure if this is meant to calm or provoke John. As Henrik turns the car left, their eyes meet briefly.
"Rumors can be harmful," he muses. "Are they affecting your work?"
"John, it's not what you think." Whatever it is he's thinking about. It's so hard to get a grasp on him.
"Do you have any names?"
She sighs. She should have expected this to happen.
"Who do I need to teach a lesson?" he jokes, but his eyes show a focus.
It's hardly the first time either, but one moment stands out.
They were young and naive, went to a nightclub. The exact details were hazy. One moment she was enjoying her drink, the next moment John looked ready to fight a group of strangers. What shocked her the most wasn't everyone's reaction or how John barely reacted when they threw slurs at him – nutcase, crazy, freak. No, Henrik later confided in her. And what shocked her was the reason: they insulted her.
Decades have passed now. That part of John is still here, but it's become more subtle. He's found more harmful ways. Sometimes, she longs for the past, the simpler times. She'll never approve of bodily harm, but that leaves clear evidence, unlike words, silence and information.
Henrik stops before a traffic light. He always drives carefully but the seat belt still digs in her chest and stomach.
"Why haven't I heard of this before?"
At first, she thinks this is aimed at her, but he's staring at Henrik. For once she knows what John's thinking: Henrik, why haven't you nipped this in the bud? Why aren't you taking better care of Rox?
She frowns, is offended. And why is Henrik keeping quiet, allowing John to imply that he's heartless? Henrik, who can't handle injustice, who always helps the weak and voiceless, always saves others so he doesn't have to save himself.
"John," she only says, using that tone that tells him to calm down.
He does, but his eyes show a storm brewing inside.
"Listen." She waits a few seconds, makes sure she has his attention. "I'm fine. I'm happy here, okay?"
John's staring at her in wonder, as if seeing her in a new light, then nods and bows his head.
She frowns, not sure what to make of this. He never admits defeat so easily. When John remains silent, she turns to Henrik. He's staring at her too, as if he's fallen in love with her all over again.
Her mind stops for a moment.
She's fine. She's happy.
This is the first time she's said it out loud since she's become a part of this hospital. Of course there are moments when she gets frustrated, questions motives and trust. Her mind rarely stops spinning tales. Her thoughts always spin out of control. But sometimes, sometimes she's content, happy.
"It's green," John says softly.
Someone toots a car horn behind them. Henrik flinches. The car shakes as he shifts gear and accelerates.
She wonders how the three of them end up here, in the same car, how things have gotten this way in the first place.
John came to her one day, distraught, or as distraught as he could be. As he paced back and forth, he rambled about Henrik, about him changing specialism. She didn't know why she said she would talk to him. Surely Henrik was allowed to do what he wanted. She – they – shouldn't influence him. But there was something in his face, a desperation, that changed her mind. He was confiding in her, something he never did before.
She wasn't sure if she was meant to hear him muttering, if anyone can change Henrik's mind, it's Rox.
She doubted it, but she gave John her word. And he was right. She didn't know what she'd done, but Henrik caved.
They've become inseparable since.
But that not means everything's well. During days when Henrik struggles, John always insists on a hands off approach. But she can't do it. She's too sensitive to the pain of others and she can never stand on the sidelines and watch Henrik suffer alone. It's hard. On bad days, when nothing works, a part of her wants to listen to John. But for every ten times Henrik can't form words and walks away, there's also one time where he doesn't close the door – figuratively and literally – in her face, like he always does to John. She can come closer, snuggle against him quietly. It's hardly the ideal situation, but it's better than nothing.
It's better than what John usually does, during the worst days: leaving him. Research, he says. Before, he would say double shifts or work. He always returns. By then, things usually have calmed down.
She smiles as Henrik turns right on the next corner.
"Since someone has decided to return a few days earlier, we're stopping for groceries. I hope you don't mind."
As expected, John perks up at the mention of food.
Who carries the basket? Who pays the groceries? This used to be a competition between Henrik and John, pride and ego clashing. She's not sure what this has become now, and frankly, she doesn't want to know. She hid in the nearest aisle so many times, pretended they were strangers. Anything to escape their ridiculous behavior.
Some moments she wonders how they've survived. It's been decades now. How is it possible that the world is still spinning? How has their little world not imploded yet?
She glances at Henrik, shoulders relaxed, eyes on the road. John stares out the window, lost in thought, tugging gently at his seat belt.
She shakes her head, soaking in their presence. The smile on her face matches the warmth in her chest.