(All the things I learned in) my misguided attempts to better myself

Chapter 2: Illicit substances

Ami stood once again at the door to the dreaded office, one hand clenched over the handle of her overflowing bag, and the other tugging at her trouser leg. Her first day. What had she gotten herself into?

Think of the clerkship, she repeated to herself for the hundredth time.

How bad could it be? She was taking on some extra work in exchange for the opportunity to assist on major procedures in a major tertiary centre. What she wouldn't have given would be the relevant question here. She'd actually rushed out of Professor Winter's office, straight back to her apartment, flopped onto her bed and screamed into her pillow, scaring the shit out her flatmate. Fortune fucking favours the brave, Ami, holy fuck.

Also, she'd get that D scrubbed from her record.

Fortune favours the brave. So with a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold.

The professor was leaned against the corner of his desk, speaking lowly into his phone, and she ducked quietly into the enclave reserved for his assistant. Beside the computer, there were stacks of papers piled up by someone who had started out trying to be tidy and systematic, and ended up being overwhelmed. It was a sunny afternoon, and shafts of light split the room with Venetian blind stripes. Quite a nice place to study, actually – certainly better than the library at this time of day.

"Miss Mizuno."

She turned quickly, ready to greet him, but he stopped her almost immediately. Eyebrow cocked, he drew his gaze down and gave her a very deliberate once-over. "Is that what you are wearing here?"

She looked down despite herself and reddened. Fresh off ward rounds, she was still in her faded scrubs with her hair coiled into a precarious bun. Compared to his pressed shirt, tie fixed with tie pin, sharply-creased suit pants, and his white coat folded over one arm, lanyards and badges complete, she felt every bit the bottom of the hospital totem pole.

"In an administrative position, appearance is everything," he said pointedly as he tugged at a snag in his hair. "I should not have to spell it out for you. Do you have a change of clothes?"

"I-I do." She hadn't even considered dressing for her front-and-centre position in the Department Chair's office. At least she still had her street clothes, crammed in the depths of her bag. "I can change. I'm sorry, sir."

"By all means," he gestured sarcastically at the adjourning bathroom before settling heavily into the assistant's chair and pulling out his phone.

The bathroom was utilitarian, cold. A pump bottle of sage-scented hand wash – someone's past attempt at creature comforts – sat half-empty on the edge of the sink beside the ubiquitous hospital ethanol disinfectant. She stripped as fast as she could, hoping her navy dress would be good enough. It was a scrap of polyester jersey, thinned and stretched out from repeated washes. It was one of those items she kept simply because it was inexpensive, unsentimental, and easy to change out of. An office assistant's attire, it most decidedly was not.

She combed shaking fingers through her messy hair, and glared rather vehemently at herself in the mirror. She made excellent first impressions. Always. She met a lot of people on a daily basis: all personalities from all walks of life, and she prided herself on being adaptable and agreeable. She just couldn't seem to get on the good side of this man. Not a single thing she had done had been right, and it was starting to give her whiplash.

She took a deep breath. It wasn't over yet until it was over. She slipped out of her hospital slippers into her flats, and tugged her cardigan over the thin dress. It would have to do.

She emerged hesitantly. "Sorry about that, Professor— next time I'll—"

"I'm already running late," he cut her off brusquely as he looked up from his phone. "I'm going to—" He stopped mid-sentence, and his eyes dropped pointedly to the bared expanse of her legs. Ami pressed her knees together and fidgeted with the dress. It was admittedly quite short.

He raised an eyebrow balefully. "This is not a Catholic boarding school, Miss Mizuno," he sighed. "I'm not going to measure your hem. This will be the last time I expect you to be unprepared."

Her face burned.

"I'm going to show you the folders with the meeting notes," he swung around in the seat as he slapped the first folder from the tower of folders onto the desk.

She sidled closer to peer over his shoulder as he pulled up physical and virtual documents and showed her how to input the data into the relevant databases. It would be the bulk of her workload for the next few weeks.

"You may work at your own pace," he said at the computer screen, "as long as it is all completed by Friday."

She eyed the pile of folders dubiously. She supposed she would be lucky to have it all done by the end of the month, let alone Friday.

When he was satisfied she wasn't going to fuck something up, he snatched up his white coat, tugging at his hair, and made for the door— "I'll let you know about the TAVR. Which will be whenever Furui replies to his messages…" he added under his breath.

He glanced back at her, and his gaze flickered downwards again. "And make an effort not to stand up today, Miss Mizuno," he quipped over his shoulder.

Whiplash. Her neck was starting to hurt.

"Holy shit you got a gig in cardiosurgery! That's a big deal department, right?"

Ami concentrated on one-shotting the gin while simultaneously nodding the affirmative. "One of the most competitive. The Christine Daae of surgeries," she commented glibly, referencing the coveted lead role of The Phantom of the Opera, the crown jewel of a Broadway career. "Don't quote me on that."

Mina sighed happily, "This is amazing news! You deserve it completely, Ami." She proffered a second round of shots.

Ami let the chaser ease the burn before slapping her glass down on the table. "Didn't, actually! I got a D in some medical history class."

"Hah very funny," the blonde poked her tongue out as she adjusted her seat. "I must have heard you wrong. You said a B, right?"

"Nope." She took another swig. "A big fat D. 69-percent. So a D-plus, actually. I went to Professor Winters to argue it, and ended up getting this weird agreement."

"Is that normal?"

Green eyes tracing her hemline. Copper-blond hair tied low on his neck— She threw back the gin and let the burn distract her again. "Don't think so. I've never heard of anyone assisting or scribing for him."

"Sounds like a pretty kooky guy."

Leave it to Mina Aino to call Professor Winters – department maverick and youngest department head ever – 'kooky'. "So what's he like?"

Enigmatic. Judgemental. "He's a bit of a dick," she mumbled. "But I dunno; I only met him the two times."

Of course, that was hardly considered an acceptable answer. "Come on Ami – what does he look like? Like Professor Chiba, maybe? Or maybe like that arts professor – what-was-his-name… You know what—" her glass clinked on the bar top as Mina went digging for her phone. "I'm going to Google him. What's his first name?"

"Urgh, Mina, don't."

"I'm just going to look up how old he is."

Thirty-three. If her hands hadn't been occupied, she would have buried her face in them. She shouldn't know his age off the top of her head.

"There's a Zachary Winters here; is that him? Department of Cardiothoracic Surgery." Mina was a pro at this, obviously. "Wow, he's young."

Ami looked over to the phone screen despite herself. Mina had found some photos from a symposium a few years ago, and Professor Winters' unguarded smile flashed up at her. His hair had been longer then, falling in unruly curls down his back. She swallowed. "Yeah, that's him."

Mina was already swiping through other images. "Look at all that hair."

She'd looked. He'd fought with it all morning while picking apart her professionalism (or lack thereof).

"Too early to tell."

"Tell what?" The blonde looked up with narrowed eyes. "You're acting weird."

She had been the picture of nonchalance all night. "I've been perfectly normal."

"What happened to all your drunk opinions about your teachers? He gave you a D too!"

"No, that was Doctor Bry—"

"Whatever."

"Mina, I really have no opinion."

And it was going to stay like that for as long as she can help it.

It wasn't like she was expecting positive reinforcement for having followed his instructions. She'd painstakingly pressed some suit pants and a nice blouse for her next days on the job, but having had to cram them into her bag with all her other bits, those creases on the thigh were completely unavoidable. When he eyed her rather disdainfully, she could just tell that those creases were all he could see. Thankfully he was usually full of appointments, and was out of office for most of her time there.

She squinted down at the page once more, turning it this way and that as she tried to imagine all the possible iterations of all the letters of the alphabet. His handwriting was intensely illegible. 'Nadia', who turned out to be Doctor Hessler, was apparently the only one who had the ability to decipher his chicken scratch, but the poor woman was clearly spread so thin between students, departmental privileges, and the piles of paperwork Winter generated, she was barely here anyway.

The whole system didn't seem particularly efficient, and when Ami mentioned this in passing to the professor, she could swear he rolled his eyes in assent.

If she hadn't been busy before, she was certainly swamped now. Between Winters and his awful notes, Furui and his TAVR theatre, not to mention all her other classes and exams, she wasn't sure whether she should be appalled at her schedule, or appalled at the fact that she was enjoying it so much. She didn't even have time to think about those intense green eyes and how he silently judged her whenever he had the opportunity.

Luckily, despite being his assistant, they rarely ran into each other.

If it had been up to her, it would have stayed that way until the end of her sentence. But it was not to be.

A few weeks later, she brought coffee. It stopped him dead in his tracks when he barrelled into his office with multiple department memos tucked under his arm. "What's this."

She swallowed thickly. "Coffee."

"Yes, I can see that," he dropped his pile of paper into the inbox. "It even smells halfway drinkable."

He stripped off his white coat, folding it meticulously over the back of his chair and folding his arms as he leaned back against his table.

Clearly in a talking mood today, he was. She hazarded, "This place is between my apartment and here. And you're right—" she continued boldly, her heart pounding hard, "—your coffee is atrocious."

He gave a sudden bark of laughter, which made her jump. "May I try some of yours, then?"

He poured some out from her proffered flask, and eyed her over the top of the mug as he took a sip. She blinked.

"Not bad," he hmmed his approval, still holding her gaze. "Write down the spot for me, will you." The hot liquid had made his voice a little raspy.

Her fingers were a little numb as she handed him the address of her favourite café.

"That's fairly close to me too," he commented. "Isn't this place a cocktail bar?"

She had a sudden mental image of Winters perched atop a barstool, his top shirt button undone, eyes catching hers over the rim of a martini glass. "They have all kinds of illicit substances…" she hastily stammered. "Legal ones, of course." Her face was getting red again. "But I'm usually only there in the mornings. For coffee."

He studied her slip of paper for a few more beats. "That's a shame, Miss Mizuno," he mused as he finally tucked it away in a pocket and pulled out his phone.

What? "H-how so?"

"Hmm? Oh nothing. It's just your handwriting," he glanced at her over the screen, his head cocked. "You'll never be a decent doctor with such succinct penmanship."

Her mouth dropped open. Was he mocking her or teasing her? – she couldn't be quite sure. She felt a sudden rush of ire; he was so not in a position to criticise her handwriting. "I guess that means you're the best doctor of them all, then," she muttered under her breath as she snatched at the first document in the stack, and she could swear, out of the corner of her eye, that his lips curled in an amused smirk.

In actual fact, Zachary knew the morning coffee stop cum cocktail bar very well. It was his favourite place to reminisce (or sulk) into a tumbler of whiskey and water. In the company of his uni mates or alone, he wasn't particular, though they did find him uncharacteristically quiet this evening.

The five of them had all chosen professional careers, with himself and Mamoru taking up the physician's white coat. News travelled slow, but with Chiba a fellow professor in a neighbouring department, the teasing while delayed was only inevitable.

"I heard there is a pretty girl in your office…"

Subtle, James. Real subtle. Thanks a lot, Chiba. "Yes."

"Is she—?"

"No."

"I haven't even asked anything yet!"

"Doesn't matter; the answer is still no."

James pouted, but the lapse in conversation soon brought on new topics, namely the new pretty girl in Nathan's office, and so on and so forth.

He wasn't ready to talk about the waif who perched in his office every afternoon, her dark head bent over his pile of notes. He'd seen the way she grimaced at his handwriting, squinting at the page in an attempt to read his scrawl. He'd seen the way she stretched out the kinks in her back after poring over those stupid papers for hours, the way her very professional blouse rode up to reveal a hint of pale skin. He scowled. There wasn't anything to talk about.

He was still scowling when he became aware of Chiba elbowing him in the side. When he hissed at the man to quit it, he followed his pointed gaze to four girls seated near the bar, and zeroed in on the petite dark-haired one amongst their number. He wanted to groan out loud.

Ami Mizuno. Just splendid.

I'm not enough of a coffee snob to write either Z or A as coffee snobs, sorry xx