AN: This chapter pretty much refused to be written. This whole week has been a writing nightmare, actually. Please be kind. The gracious review from IceCreamHeartedAru is what pushed me over in to finishing it. Thank you! And to everyone else who has reviewed so far – your kind words delight me! I write for you.
Berwald could not sleep.
His lips burned where Tino had pressed his own against him. A shiver snaked down his spine at the memory as he lay in bed, staring at his ceiling.
He had dreamed of kissing Tino. He had rolled the idea over in his head again and again, imaging how it would happen, how it would feel. This, though, this he did not expect. He felt heavy, broken. He felt as if he was moments away from impact after tripping and falling, only suddenly realizing that the ground was a lot further away and it was going to hurt a lot more than anticipated. He wanted to kiss Tino, yes, but not like that. Not when the only way it seemed Tino would do it was because he was drunk. He had wanted to experience Tino and everything he was, everything he had imagined him to be, and none of that included the taste of alcohol on his breath. None of his daydreams ever included Eduard, of all people, dragging Tino away. None of his imaginings included the hollow feeling in his chest or the painful knot in his stomach.
Berwald could not sleep.
How was he supposed to act now? Like nothing had happened? Would Tino even remember? Should he and Tino talk about it? He wasn't sure how that conversation would go. Even though his 'wife' was the only person he felt the most comfortable conversing with, he was not sure he'd be able to find enough words. How would Tino be able to simply read his face when his thoughts were a mess in his own head? Normally, he could think clearly. He loved that he could convey an entire side of a conversation to Tino with a single glance, that his eyes could form the words his mouth stumbled on. He was the only one who understood Berwald. Would he still?
Berwald could not sleep.
Tino was the most precious person to Berwald, doubly so since Tino was the only person who didn't seem openly frightened of him. Since the day they met, Tino approached him with ease, talked him him readily, and would give Berwald a smile that seemed to be made only for him. His heart constricted in his chest as he thought about that smile. Tino was friendly with everyone, but a certain look would come over his face when he looked at Berwald. He didn't dare dream about what such an expression could mean, and instead enjoyed the way it would make him feel warm inside. Tino would absently brush the hair out of those violet eyes, they would crinkle at the corners, his cheeks would turn the lightest shade of pink, and that mouth would stretch in to a smile that made Berwald feel like the two of them were the only ones in the room.
Berwald cherished that smile and the lips that formed it. He wanted to protect it, guard it from ever leaving Tino's face. The image of Eduard dragging Tino away earlier that night caused his heart to crumble, aching, because the expression on Tino's face was not smiling. He looked glazed-over, his lips frowning, his eyebrows drawn as if in deep concentration. Perhaps it was simply the alcohol taking over, but perhaps he was the realization of what he had done – the horror?
Berwald could not sleep.
The seconds seemed to drag in to minutes, minutes barely turning in to hours. He was not aware that he had fallen asleep, but he must have, because when he opened his eyes next his room was painted in the dull gray of sunrise. He continued to lay in bed and stare at his ceiling, thankful that his alarm would not be going off today. He did not feel the desire to go to his office and pretend to work, aware of his perfect receptionist sitting at his own desk not far away. He did not feel like talking to patients and helping them cope with their emotional and physical issues when his head was drowning him in his own problems.
Was this a problem? Maybe it didn't need to be. Maybe Tino would not remember what he had done and they could pretend nothing ever transpired. Although, Berwald would remember. And Eduard was likely to fill Tino in once he had recovered... Would Tino still come to work? The blood in his veins froze like a creek in winter at the sudden thought of Tino quitting. His clinic only did so well because of his Tino. Tino was the cheerful glue that held everything together. He couldn't stand to lose it now. Not because of a drunken mistake.
Berwald rolled to his side and hugged one of his pillows.
Maybe he would just spend the day in bed.
He eventually fell into a dreamless sleep and was only awoken by the sound of his phone ringing. Without thinking, he reached an arm back towards his bedside table and groped for it, bringing it to his ear.
"'Lo," he mumbled, the haze from only a handful of hours sleep fogging his mind.
"Berwald! Buddy! Dude, are you still sleeping?" Berwald struggled to place the sound of the familiar voice.
"...Mathias?" He dragged his heavy body in to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand. "Aren't you... n'Africa?" He had to hold the phone away from his ear as Mathias loudly laughed, the sound cutting in to his sleepy daze like a knife.
"No! I got in the other night!"
Berwald smiled, "welcome home." It had been a long time since he'd seen his once-boss. After he quit working in the ER at the hospital, the two had grown in a sort of odd friendship, their relationship no longer strained by work. Mathias was everything Berwald was not, but secretly wished he could be: confident, charming, charismatic. He was strikingly handsome, his face easily expressive, and anyone nearby was instinctively drawn to him. Their relationship did not have much time to grow deeper than casual friends, though, as Mathias accepted a position overseas shortly after Berwald quit. He had felt recently compelled to write Mathias a letter and keep the man up to date on his life, Mathias was a large contributing factor in his decision to open his own clinic (even if it was not all the way positive), he had only mailed it about a couple months ago. Last he had heard, Mathias was still working in some country in Africa, teaching would-be surgical students as he had for the last four years at least. "Home for good or just visitin'?"
"I'm home for good! I've had enough sunshine to last me a lifetime," he laughed again. "Listen though, bud, I'm calling for a reason," of course he was, "I saw the arm you made for that kid, Kirkland or whatever his name is, that's some seriously impressive work." Berwald grunted in reply, "thanks to you, he's getting discharged soon."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Despite his words, he felt his heart sink.
"Yeeah," he could hear the smile faltering in Mathias' voice, "it is, but Lukas is worried. He'd never say it out loud, though." Berwald raised an eyebrow and made a noise in the back of his throat he hoped would convey a, 'oh? Why is that and what does it have to do with me?' Thankfully, Mathias seemed to understand, "you run rehabilitation out of your clinic, yeah? Do you guys work with kids? Lukas might feel better referring him to someone familiar – where he will be properly looked after, you know?" Berwald did know. He had read Peter's chart before agreeing to construct the prosthetic arm. It had surprised him Lukas had called him in the first place. It seemed out of character for the brooding pediatrician to reach out and break the rules for a patient. Berwald had grown quite fond of the boy and would also feel a lot better if he were able to keep an eye on him.
"I'd have to talk to Eduard, but I don't see a problem." Eduard. Eduard who handled all of the rehabilitation clients. Eduard who knew what happened last night. He felt his heart speed up and a deep blush set fire in his cheeks.
"Fantastic! I'll let Lukikins know." Lukikins? "I mean, Dr. Bondevik..."
"Right."
Berwald disconnected the call and flopped back down in to his bed.
Last night... He touched his lips in thought.
He could still remember the feeling of Tino being so close. His Tino. Tino whose lips brushed against his own, warm, soft, and tasting like he had just licked a bar. He frowned. That was not his Tino, he told himself. That was two beers and two shots of – vodka, tequila, and cream. His Tino would never call him sexy (his blush deepened). His Tino would not look him up and down with hungry eyes. His Tino would not kiss him.
Groaning, he rolled on to his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.
Thank God it was Saturday.
.
Berwald was more than a little ashamed to admit that much of the weekend was spent in bed, staring at his ceiling, and avoiding doing any sort of deep thinking at all. When he wasn't feeling sorry for himself, and after leaving a brief message for Eduard on his office phone, he began planning for Peter's rehabilitation at his clinic: what tools he was going to utilize to strengthen the arm muscles, how to approach teaching Peter how to use his prosthesis, and simply getting used to his new limb. He was glad Peter was seeing an excellent therapist (Dr. Arthur Kirkland – same surname, unrelated) for his emotional trauma, but he started digging in to some research on how to help on that end, too. He buried his nose in articles on his small laptop, simultaneously wishing the weekend would stretch on forever and to hurry up and end.
When Monday did roll around, he made sure to arrive early and hide himself in his office, preferring to busy himself in whatever odd projects he could find – there had to be something to keep his mind engaged buried in the paperwork on his desk. When he did not discover anything remotely interesting, his mind started to wander, wondering what Tino was going to be like when he finally arrived... Would they talk? How would they move past Friday? Could he ever kiss Tino again? – not while drunk, preferably.
He glanced at his door. It was ten past and Tino normally had already delivered his morning coffee. He was late. Was he even in the office? It sounded almost too quiet. His mind was like a runaway train without brakes, a wreck in the making. He stared at his shut office door for what seemed like an age, but in reality was less than a minute, before rising to his feet and slowly walking over to it. Hesitantly, he reached out his hand for the door handle and flung it open.
Tino jumped, spilling coffee down his front.
"I-I-I...!" he stammered, not looking in one direction for longer than a second, and never up at Berwald. He quickly offered the cup of coffee, staring at the floor, and sloshing more of the liquid on to his sweater sleeve. "I wasn't sure... but, I thought that... here." Berwald wished he'd look up at him, so Tino could see the question in his eyes and not have to rely on his voice.
When Tino started to back away, he realized he had to try: "Nngg." His voice failed.
Tino finally looked at him, his eyes filled with confusion at the noise Berwald had just produced. Berwald wasn't sure what his face was saying – he tried to arrange it in a way that was thanking him for the coffee , even though it was now only half a cup. He hoped it also said something like, 'please, don't be scared', 'please, tell me I don't have to be scared,' and, 'I want to kiss you again so badly, but this probably has to remain a secret'.
"I... don't... I'm sorry?" Tino's eyebrows drew together, eyes searching Berwald's. His bottom lip was red and swollen like he'd been chewing on it for quite some time before Berwald startled him, his cheeks a deep rose colour. His hair was mussed, his pants were wrinkled, and he was wearing a fluffy white sweater, which was sadly stained brown by the coffee splatter down his front and on his forearms. He looked perfect.
Berwald floundered and just stared hard at him, his limbs refusing to move, his heart hammering in his chest. This was going so much worse than what he had imagined all weekend.
"Dr. O, are you...?"
"Dr. O! There you are!" Eduard was coming down the hall from his rehabilitation clinic – Berwald had not realized he was even scheduled to work today. He approached the two, a polite smile on his face and a knowing look in his eyes behind his glasses, "am I interrupting something?" He looked between them, Tino shook his head, chewing on his lip and fixing his eyes on his shoes. Berwald noticed that his socks were mismatched. "Ah, well, Dr. O, I got the message you sent me over the weekend about the young Mr. Kirkland. I'd be happy to assist you. I thought we could go see him this morning, actually. Get a head-start on his rehab. It's always a good idea to start as soon as you can!" Berwald nodded dumbly in response, watching as Tino slowly inched his way down the hall and towards his desk, the colour in his cheeks reddening. "Shall we?" Oh, Eduard meant now. Berwald nodded again and allowed himself to be dragged by the elbow out of the office.
.
Peter wasn't sure how he felt about being discharged today. He felt safe in the hospital and he liked all the doctors and nurses, they were kind to him. He did not have to be afraid if his arm – or where his arm used to be – would hurt and he would wake up in the middle of the night, filled to the brim with terror like a cup with too much apple juice. Someone was always ready to help and comfort him. Nurse Laura gave really good hugs and Dr. Bondevik, despite his frowny face, was very nice and told really cool stories if he was working overnight.
He sat on the edge of his hospital bed and stared at the wall. This was supposed to be his room. Why did they have to kick him out of it? He was happy here, comfortable, taken care of. Where was he going next? He knew he wasn't going back home, the lady with the bright red lip stick had come to tell him that the Government was placing him in something called a foster home. Would they give him hugs in the middle of the night and tell him stories when he was frightened? Would they yell at him if he accidentally wet the bed? Would they be nice if he wasn't feeling well? Would they let him laugh when he forgot he only hand one real hand, or would they look down their noses with sad faces, and "tsk" at him. He knew he only had one arm now. He didn't need the constant reminders. He did have a super cool new arm, though, and it made him feel like he could do anything he could before! In fact, it made him feel like he was way more powerful. He didn't know how to use it all the way yet, but his new arm was like magic. He didn't have to worry about pinching his fingers, or washing under those fingernails, or touching something too hot with that hand. It was strong, too! And Dr. O had given him his new arm, which made it even more special.
Dr. O had a scary face, but he was the nicest man Peter had ever met. He spoke very quietly and never talked to him like he didn't understand. He treated Peter like and adult, and Peter liked that, because then he could pretend he was an adult, and lots of things aren't scary to adults. Dr. O would ruffle his hair and smile at him like he was proud. He liked feeling like he made someone proud. Dr. O was a safe man and reminded Peter of what a father should to be like; if he could pick anyone in the world to be his father, Dr. O would be it, hands (hand) down.
Peter heard voices outside of his door and looked up sadly. He did not have the energy to be happy today, he wanted to be sad – he was leaving today. He hoped he wasn't leaving now. Maybe it was Mathias outside the door? Dr. Bondevik had said that Mathias used to work in the hospital and just came back from a very long trip. Mathias was nice – he was very tan and had blonde hair that stood up funny and he always wanted to play games with him. He would sit Peter in his lap and they would race down the hospital halls in a wheelchair as fast as they could! Nurse Laura would scream and chase them and it made it even more fun! She was funny when she was all red in the face and struggling to keep up; Mathias always made sure she never caught them. Only Dr. Bondevik could catch them: he'd suddenly appear, standing in the middle of the hall with his arms crossed over his chest and a very angry look on his face, but his eyes were smiling, so Peter knew it was okay.
Dr. Bondevik came in to the room, followed by a short, smiling man with blonde hair and glasses, and behind him was-
"Dr. O!" Peter cried. He jumped off his bed and ran up to him, throwing his good arm around the doctor's waist in a quick hug. "You came back!" Dr. O knelt down to Peter's level – Peter liked that. Most adults just looked down at him, but Dr. O always made sure they were looking at each other in the eye. Which was nice, because Dr. O was so tall.
"'Lo, Pet'r."
"Peter," Dr. Bondevik had a small smile on his face; he smiled a lot more these days, especially when Mathias was around (even though Mathias did things to annoy him). "This is Dr. Eduard VonBock, he works with Dr. O in his clinic." Dr. VonBock put a hand on Dr. O's shoulder and leaned over to also be eye level with Peter. His hair was straight, and looked a lot like the hay Peter had fed some farm animals a few summers ago while on vacation. He had a kind face and a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and nose. Peter liked it when adults had freckles because he had them, too.
"Hello, Dr. Vonbock," Peter said politely, curling his arm around Dr. O's neck and clinging to him tightly. If Dr. O trusted him, then he was probably an okay guy.
"Pet'r, Dr. VonBock is going to be in charge of your rehabilitation at m'clinic."
"Can't you do it, Dr. O?" Peter looked to the older man, searching his eyes. There were so many adults and doctors in his life now, he didn't want to have another one. Dr. O smiled at him and pushed his glasses up his nose, his other arm loosely returning Peter's hug.
"No, Pet'r, I'm not that kind of doctor." Peter didn't understand, but he nodded anyway, "but I'll be there every time you come visit."
"Can you come with me when I go to my rehabilathingies?"
"I s'pose I could, if it's alright with Dr. VonBock."
The three men talked between themselves, and Peter much preferred to ignore them. Adults always talked about Peter and what they were going to do with Peter, and rarely asked Peter what he wanted. He would have told any grown up what he wanted, but they never asked. He would have told an adult a long time ago that it wasn't nice at home – he wanted to tell his teacher at school, but she never asked him. He had wanted to tell someone that his arm had been hurt, that something was wrong, but he couldn't. He had always been told that children should be seen, not heard, and to never answer a question that was not asked. So he said nothing. Just like how he would not say that he did not want to leave the hospital, that it did not make him feel good inside. He would much prefer to go home with someone like Dr. O, and not some strange family that he did not know.
There was a sudden knock at the door, and Dr. Bondevik's frowny brother was standing there with a nervous-looking couple behind him. Peter hugged Dr. O tighter – he knew who these people must be. He did not want to go with them.
"They're here for Peter," was all Emil said and confirmed Peter's suspicions. His stomach sank to his feet.
"This is excellent timing," Dr. Bondevik was saying now, "this is Peter's prosthetist, Dr. Oxenstierna, and rehabilitation specialist, Dr. VonBock. I'm his pediatrician, Dr. Bondevik."
"Oh gosh, so many doctors!" the woman was saying. Peter rolled his eyes, but held in the groan that almost escaped his lips. She had a friendly face, but so did the adults at Peter's home. And they weren't very nice. This woman had brown hair that reminded Peter of of those little bits of wood adults put into gardens to make them look pretty. She had icy blue eyes and big glasses that seemed to balance on her cheeks. The man next to her, her husband Peter assumed, had short black hair that was cut close to his head, a short beard on his face and dark eyes. Peter did not trust him, but he didn't look outwardly threatening, either.
"It takes a whole special team to take care of a special boy," Dr. O said, still kneeling on the floor with Peter wrapped around his neck. One of his arms hugged Peter back, tighter than before. Peter felt better when he did that. The woman smiled at them, then came in to the room and bent over to look at Peter.
"Hello Peter, I'm Mrs. Samwort, we're going to take you home tonight, okay?" Peter buried his face in Dr. O's neck and hid from her. He did not want to go with Mrs. and Mr. Samwort, that was a stupid name for a person. But, no one asked what he thought.
"Mrs. Samwort," Dr. VonBock was talking now, "Here is my card. Please, call Dr. O's wife and set up an appointment as soon as Peter is more settled. It is important to start his rehabilitation as soon as possible." Peter blinked. Dr. O had a wife? Dr. O's cheeks were turning pink and he was giving Dr. VonBock a very scary look as Mrs. Samwart stood and accepted the card offered to her. She put the card in to her purse, Peter took note. The adults were talking again. Dr. O started to untangle himself from Peter's grasp to stand.
"Dr. O," Peter whispered, Dr. O froze, and looked down at him, his expression softening, "do you promise not to forget about me?"
"I pr'mise, Pet'r. I could never forget you," he ruffled Peter's hair, "I will see you soon." He stood and joined the conversation with the adults before he and Dr. VonBock said their goodbyes and Dr. Bondevik was leading Peter and the couple to reception to go over his discharge paperwork.
Peter wanted to cry, but he decided to hold it inside.
To be continued...
AN2: NEXT chapter is when things start to get interesting! Feel free to check out my profile for a detailed chapter-release schedule.
Don't forget, you can follow Denmark and Norway's story in "Paging Doctors Bondevik and Kohler"!
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