Author's Note: This chapter gets a touch on the racy side, nothing explicit though. So beware the end.

Chapter Four

Neil's head is foggy. He hears sounds, sees dim light beyond his closed eyes. He's unused to this kind of confusion upon waking up, and it's frustrating him. He frowns and struggles to move.

Now that awareness is returning, he also registers a pain and discomfort all over, his head, his mid-section especially. Did he fall? Eat something bad? Why couldn't he remember?

Piece by piece it begins to come together: heart monitor, the weight of a light blanket, shuffling feet in the distance. He can now feel what must be stitches along his stomach and his movement is pulling at them uncomfortably.

Brewery.

Earthquake.

Internal Bleeding.

Emergency surgery.

Damn.

Neil's eyes open and he confirms that he's lying in a bed in his own hospital. Turning his head toward the empty hallway, he can see movement beyond the curtain shielding part of his room and hear someone's soft voice on the phone not far away. He waits until he's a little more alert to try any dramatic movement. Soon enough his head clears and he can track the events of the last several hours from the charity event at the brewery to his trip to the OR. Carefully, he sits up and takes mental note that everything is still in working order. Or at least everything he can assess himself.

Reaching down, he pushes the blanket off him and pulls up his gown to find the bandage covering the incision on his abdomen. All of this seems like such a crazy dream. He exercises regularly, eats well, is a careful driver and keeps his stress levels to a minimum. And then some freak accident brings him so close to death. He peels back the bandage to find the dramatic stitching extending several inches. It's neat but harsh and angry, skin red and puffy from the irritation.

So distracted, he doesn't hear the footsteps entering his room. "You're awake!" Neil puts the bandage back in place and looks up to greet Audrey.

"I think the scar will work with the tattoo."

She laughs. "That's what you're concerned about after everything that's happened?" Her eyes wander over him looking for signs of distress and straying for a moment to check his vitals on the monitor. "Andrews said it was a close call, but the surgery went well. Caught the ischemic bowel before peritonitis set in. No ostomy. Lactates are good. We'll have to wait and see about any residual effects, but the worst was avoided." She pauses to sit at the side of his bed. "You got really lucky, Neil."

The bags under her tired eyes show the stress of a long night. Her scrubs are rumpled and she's tied her hair into a messy bun that looks seconds from coming undone. She's definitely been through the ringer. And he's so damn grateful for it.

"From what I heard, it was less about luck and more about my pushy boss ordering me back to the hospital." They both smile gently.

"I am good for that. I'm just glad I could do something to help," she adds soberly, her expression then transforming to smugness. "Of course, I still had to pick up your slack. As usual."

It feels good to be sitting here with someone he loves, who knows him better than most people and who, he can tell, is openly relieved and happy that he's still in the land of the living. "Thank you. I'm grateful."

She nods. "Try not to be so dramatic for a while. This was a lot to handle. How are you feeling? Any discomfort or pain that seems off? And be honest." She levels a stern look at him that indicates she'll be taking no macho bullshit from him. He doesn't have the energy for posturing anyway.

"I feel like crap. But nothing that isn't to be expected." She looks him over once more before appearing to accept the assessment.

"So. Any visions of the other side while you were out? Did you find your life flashing before your eyes?" she jokes.

"Unrealized futures? Like spending a lifetime drinking whiskey with you? It's a nice thought, but nothing like that." He sighs. "It's been surreal." Looking away, he searches for more ways to verbalize the strangeness of his emotions right now. "I don't even know how to describe it."

"Understandable," she replies. "It makes me think about our choices. I can't lie about that. Knowing you were lying on that operating table, I thought, 'what did we do?'"

Neil turns back to her and smiles a little sadly but with affection. "There's never been any blame about that. We both did what we needed to do. I'm just happy to still be here to move forward from my choices," he adds.

"Me too." The usually casual and stoic Audrey Lim has tears in her eyes as she takes his hand and squeezes. Neil is feeling a little misty himself as it all sinks in.

Looking for a distraction, he blinks away the moisture in his eyes and releases her hand. "How's Marta? Everything go okay?"

Audrey perks up and wipes at her eyes as well. "She's doing great. In and out. She's talking and resting comfortably down the hall with her wife." Laughing, she shakes her head. "You're going to love this. I hit a bleed that Claire found and clamped off, but I had concerns about continuing without a transfusion kit and extra blood on hand. Then Claire runs off and comes back with a beer engine. Made the damn thing into a cell saver to pump Marta's own blood back into her."

Neil's surprise quickly transforms to delight. As with most mentions of Claire these days, a tenderness that has nothing to do with his recent surgery spreads from his chest when he's reminded of how special she is. He wasn't even there for it, and it makes him think about what a joy it is to know her and work with her.

"That's … wow." He grins, imagining the exact expression she'd have in such a moment. The eagerness to find new ways to solve a problem for her patient, the excitement and triumph when she does just that; those bright eyes aimed at him, seeking his approval. If he's being honest, it's incredibly alluring.

Audrey chuckles. "And you say you don't have favorites." Neil's dreamy smile falls from his face, which makes her laugh even harder. When her mirth subsides, her tone turns serious. "You owe her your life too. Given the lack of any clear symptoms, you could have powered through, and we wouldn't have known about the internal bleeding until too late. We got lucky. She did all the right things, and we're here talking because of it."

He knows all of that to be true and then some. With all the confusing dangerous thoughts about her going on in his head and his heart, all the reservations about their friendship being a liability, it had saved him today. Maybe she'd have been just as insistent with anyone in the same situation. But he knows without a doubt that she'd done it for him because she cared, probably more than she should.

And if that care can pull him from the brink of death, it makes him think what else their affection for each other could accomplish.

"I'll be sure to thank her, too," Neil acknowledges, trying not to give too much of his inner turmoil away. Audrey knows him so well, and he doesn't want to open up that can of worms right now, especially when he has no idea what he's going to do about his feelings for Claire. "Where is she – and everybody – anyway? Is it still a madhouse downstairs?"

Audrey reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone and check messages, though she shrugs in response. "It's still busy, though not as insane as it could have been. Most of the worst happened offsite. Park lost a patient in the field, an 18-year-old kid whose dad couldn't get back in time to say goodbye. It really rattled him, so I told him to take a few days to go visit his son after things slow down here. Shaun got stuck in the debris looking for Lea and found another casualty. Had to cut off her leg old-school to get her out before the spot they were in flooded from a burst pipe. He's okay, and I'm glad. But we're going to have to have a tough talk about him breaking field protocols." She sighs. "Not today, though. And Morgan almost permanently damaged her hands triaging while we were all out in the field. I didn't get the full story, and I doubt I ever will, but I got the sense she'd been close to doing a solo surgery for an ectopic pregnancy. Thankfully Claire got back in time to take over."

"Jesus. So, quiet night?"

Audrey nudges him gently in the arm. "Not all of us could take a long nap on an operating table in the middle of a disaster."

He appreciates that she could joke with him like this. It makes the fact that he'd missed most of the action because he'd almost died not feel so heavy and so overwhelming. Although, what he doesn't appreciate is her perhaps intentionally leaving out the person he most wants to hear about, making him ask and maybe reveal too much about his growing affections for his resident.

Despite the risk, he questions her about what he needs to know so he can fully relax. "Claire's holding up okay?"

Audrey considers the question and the way he's asked it, yet doesn't give away anything in her expression.

"She's good," Audrey finally volunteers. "Exhausted like the rest of us. I'm going to have her go off shift for a while as soon as we can spare her. It's been a hell of a night for her as well." Noting his change in mood, she grins. "I'll tell her you're awake. I'm sure she'll want to stop by. And I'll be returning the favor. She did keep me updated on you when I was stuck at the brewery."

Neil nods, resting his head heavily on the pillow, more in relief than fatigue.

"And on that note," Audrey adds, "You should get some more rest. You still have a long road to recovery, but we don't need to talk about that right now either."

Although Neil isn't sleepy, he is tired and rest sounds good. "Thank you for coming by. It's nice to wake up to such a friendly face. Even if it's yours," he says with an impish grin.

"Smartass." Audrey gets up and pulls his blanket more securely around him, almost as if she's tucking him in. "I'll pop in later." Without any more pretense, she wanders out to get back to handling things as the chief.

After Audrey leaves, Neil does go to sleep for a while, but he wakes up suddenly, heart racing and in a sweat. Sucking in deep breaths, he tries to calm himself, shed the irrational fears that had gripped him a few hours ago when he thought he was going to die. He leans back into the pillows behind him, even breaths in and out.

Images linger of his dreams along with the tightness in his chest, the ache in his abdomen and in his throbbing head. What haunts him isn't the aftermath of the earthquake, the debris and ruin all around him. It isn't the sounds and images of the OR as the anesthesia consumed him and the sterile ceiling faded as potentially the last thing he'd see in this world.

In in mind, in his dreams is her. Claire.

It's Claire lying next to him, smiling as her long hair spills across his shoulders. Her naked skin warm and smooth to his touch as he caresses her back and tangles his fingers in her hair. He's kissing her, laughing with her, and holding her in his arms. The quiet of this memory fading contrasts the thrumming of his heart in the waking world.

A storm of anger washes over him. How many times does he have to fight his own urges over this?

The thing about working so closely with Claire is that he knows so many dangerous details that seem to automatically populate his imagination when he thinks of her. So often standing next to her in the OR, the scent of her shampoo and the slope of her lashes against her brow, has imprinted in his mind. Embedded are the little murmurs of exertion when she's applying pressure to bone, the satisfied hum when she clamps a tricky bleed or finishes a delicate suture. There's always an awareness of her as he whispers in her ear instructions or praise. Thousands of times he's grazed her shoulder as they've maneuvered around a patient or brushed fingers as they've reached over each other to finesse a surgical technique.

He doesn't want to think about the number of times he's scolded himself for basking in her sweet smile, for recalling the times she's focused that special brightness entirely on him. He pushes away the contentment of their evenings together on a run or dinner or some outing. All the times they leave work together, he tries to ignore the possibility that instead of parting ways with rote farewells, he could take her hand and invite her back to his place.

After a while, he wishes he could erase the memory of her unguarded affection when he tells her she deserves to be happy, of her shocked delight when he tricks her into falling behind on their run. Of dancing with her, chastely, his careful hand in hers and the curve of her waist in his. It's these images that invade the silence as he lies awake at night in his empty house, knowing the tension it will stir in him.

Those moments of weakness either send him to a cold shower or fuel moments of powerful submission to desire, succumbing to his fantasies of impossible, illicit encounters.

He's imagined taking her against the lockers in the changing room, tangling his fingers in her hair as he ravishes her for anyone walking in to see. Or maybe they'd surrender to each other in a radiology room where he's come to enjoy sitting with her and chatting idly as they wait on scans. Except instead of sliding his chair over to evaluate some anomaly, he'd lock the door and coax her on the desk for an afternoon tryst, pressing her against the viewing window as he pleasures her. In his darker, more alcohol-fueled moments, he admits to himself that he wouldn't mind a night of being used by Claire to make them both feel better.

These thoughts would lead him to a passionate release where her name would linger on his lips, an incantation to conjure her to him somehow. And then he wonders if Claire has succumbed to her own erotic submissions when thinking of him, and that sparks his craving for her once more.

Any sense of guilt or impropriety is appeased by the certainty that they'd be so good together. If the circumstances were different.

God, he could have died and all he can think about is how much he wants her. A useless desire for someone he has no business thinking about like this. Someone he cannot have.

The frustration of it, of this entire situation stirs up a burning fury that has nowhere to go, especially lying here in a hospital bed.

TBC