"You've got one in Examination Room A," Marge said, handing him the clipboard.

"All righty, who's on the menu—? Goddamn it, again?" Whale sighed, reading Roland's name on the patient form. "What is it with this kid?"

Marge smiled blandly. "Merry Christmas, Dr. Whale."

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, tucking the clipboard under his arm as he made his way to Examination Room A.

Regina and Robin were standing on either side of Roland, Regina checking her phone; Robin leaning against the examination table, saying soothingly, "…going to have to be a good boy for Daddy, or we can't get ice cream."

"Ice cream!" Roland excitedly clapped his hands. Regina grimaced at the sudden loud sound, putting a hand to her head. "Daddy, ice cream!"

"We'll get ice cream," Robin said, nodding reassuringly. "But you have to be good for Daddy first."

"Be good for Dr. Whale, too," Whale said, sitting down on his stool and wheeling over to him. "And stop putting stuff in your nose."

Robin turned around, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Dr. Whale, I didn't hear you come in."

"Mmm," he said absently, closing one eye as he shined his flashlight up Roland's nose. "We have to stop meeting like this."

"He seems to have a compulsion for it," Regina said, leaning forward to study his movements. Whale slowly moved his eyes to the side, raising an eyebrow; Regina glanced at him, and frowned defensively. "What?"

"You're blocking my light."

Regina drew back, folding her arms. She and Robin watched him take out the pliers—

"Aagh," Robin gagged, turning his face away. "God, that's—"

"Can't concentrate," Whale sang through clenched teeth.

"Tell me when it's over. I can't look, it's too—"

"Robin," Regina said exasperatedly. "Stop talking."

Robin scrunched up his shoulders, shuddering as Whale extracted yet another tiny soldier from Roland's nose. He glanced over, and immediately turned away again, cringing. "Oh, the humanity."

"Yeah." Whale kicked off, the wheels pushing him toward the sink so he could wash his hands. Scrub-scrub-scrub—if he washed hard enough, he might be able to scrub out the memory: working with Roland always put him in a worse mood, and he had already been muttering gypsy curses to people when he woke up.

"All right," he said, standing up to dry his hands. "You guys are good to go."

"Actually," Regina said as Robin lifted Roland onto his shoulders, "if you don't mind, I'd like to hang back a moment. I have a few questions."

Whale blinked at her a few times, slowly crumpling the paper towel. "About…?"

Regina flicked her eyes up, vaguely waving at her stomach.

"Oh." Whale cocked his head, frowning at her. "Mmm—you know I'm not a OB, right?"

"Just a few general questions," Regina said, nodding at Robin over Whale's shoulder as he left with Roland. "I'll be quick; I don't want to leave the two of them in the car in this cold."

Because it was Regina, and because it was increasingly hormonal Regina, Whale sighed and said, "All right. Quick, though—I've got other patients."

"I'll walk with you," Regina said, following him out of the examination room and down the hall. "I've never gone through this before, so I'm not entirely sure what I should be expecting—"

"A baby," Whale said briskly, nodding at a nurse as she handed him another patient file.

"Yes. A baby," Regina said through clenched teeth. "But I meant during the process of expecting this baby. For example, my magic's been really sparky and temperamental—"

"I don't know anything about magic, Regina. You'll have to ask Gold," Whale said, frowning as he flipped through the file. He sucked in a breath, reading the patient history. "Eeesh…that's rough."

"What is?" Regina asked curiously, trying to look over his shoulder; Whale snapped the file shut.

"That's confidential!"

"Well, don't say 'that's rough' when you're reading someone's medical history, or people are going to want to know what you're talking about!" she huffed.

Whale tucked the file under his arm, scoffing. "My bad," he said, weaving around a train of nurses. "Any other questions, or—?"

"Yes. My back is killing me—"

"Normal."

"And my feet—"

"Normal."

"My head feels like it was split by a sledgehammer—"

"Normal."

"My anxiety's through the roof—"

"Normal."

"I'm hungry, but I feel like I'm going to throw up—"

"Normal."

"Okay, yes, it's all normal!" Regina flared. "But is there anything I can do for it?"

"Give birth? That should make the pregnancy symptoms go away." Whale smiled at her blandly as she let out a frustrated breath. "I'm sorry, is that not what you meant?"

"Dr. Whale," she said, clearly trying to remain patient. "I understand you're stressed. I understand you have a lot to do. But the thing is—I am acutely uncomfortable, and I do not handle anger well when I am acutely uncomfortable. Now before I or this baby lose our tempers and start setting off explosions—" Regina grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop in the middle of the hallway.

"Regina, please, I've got other patients—"

"And I wish them the best of luck. Now, what do I do about the aches? The anxiety? The nausea?"

"Aspirin, chamomile tea, and stay away from Hook and Ruby. Can I go?"

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and and continued walking briskly down the hall, weaving through the busy traffic of nurses, patients, and random visitors. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aurora coming toward him, and quickly swerved away from her. He was stressed enough, he wasn't going to explain to Aurora for fifth time that he wasn't licensed to give her anxiety medication.

"Dr. Whale—!"

"Nice to see you, too! I'm sure the baby's healthy!" he called over his shoulder.

He strode down the hall, staring straight ahead, barely noticing any of the others: not the crying patients, not the overwhelmed nurses, not the frustrated visitors wondering why the vending machines refused to give up the SunChips. That was his life: complete indifference, going through the same motions day after day. Save a life here, save a life there, go home and watch T.V.

Graham had initially provided a nice reprieve from it all. He always had a kind word, a smile, a hot meal waiting on the table; he asked about his day, kept him company; they watched T.V., played cards, sometimes just sat and talked…

But ever since he'd reemerged into Storybrooke society, Graham had…changed. He was now working overtime at the station, trying to clean up the mess Emma, Neal, and Hook had left; he no longer had time to watch T.V or cook rice pilaf, or even smile. Sometimes, they went days without talking, if their shifts overlapped: Whale would come home after an overnight shift and fall asleep before Graham was even finished making coffee; or Graham wouldn't come home before Whale left for an overnight shift.

And when they did talk, it was always Graham talking about the same thing over and over and over: getting over Emma. He'd thought that when he came back, they might be able to pick up where they left off…but even Whale could tell that if there was one person Emma loved as much as her son, it was Neal— and it probably always would be. Graham didn't have a snowball's chance in hell, or a Leroy's chance with a supermodel, with Emma. Whale was content with knowing all this—the trouble came when Graham wanted to discuss it. Talk about his feelings, talk about his heartbreak, talk about trying to get over it. Dissect every little detail under a fucking microscope, pulling apart the fibers of every cell, trying to split a fucking atom, for Christ's sake, because GRAHAM had to TALK!

Actually, it was so bad, that—rather than going home when his shift ended—Whale decided to stop by the White Rabbit for a drink…or several. God knew, he'd need it to get through an evening with Graham.

"Hey, Vince," Whale said, miserably sliding into a seat at the bar. "Give me the usual."

"Rough day?"

"Meh," he shrugged, watching Vince mix his drink. "No more than usual. But I think Graham's coming home early today, so I'm foreseeing a rough evening."

Vince chuckled sympathetically, sliding his drink over. "Yeah, you should hear how my wife nags me after a long day of work."

Whale frowned, slowly lifting his head. "Um…you know that Graham and me are just roommates, right?"

"Oh. Right." Vince smiled unconvincingly. "Roommates."

"That's not code for 'boyfriends'," Whale said firmly. "We're literally roommates."

"I'm…sure you are." Vince turned away from Whale's sputters, his eyes lighting up as a new customer sat down. "Hey, boss!"

"Vince," Jefferson nodded with a smile, settling down in the stool next to Whale. "Give me an Old Fashioned."

"Coming up."

Jefferson leaned his elbows against the counter. "So," he said, clearly talking to Whale even though his eyes were watching Vince. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Paradise is fine; I'm just giving myself some anesthesia before listening to Graham bitch about his job for six hours," Whale said grimly.

"Hmm," Jefferson breathed amusedly. "Can't live with him, can't live without him, eh?"

Whale closed his eyes exasperatedly. "Okay, I don't know how this rumor started, but we're not gay."

"That's not what Grace says."

"What does Grace know about it?" Whale scoffed.

"She's friends with Violet."

"Who the hell is Violet?"

"Henry's girlfriend."

"His girlfriend?" Whale snorted. "Henry doesn't have a girlfriend."

"That's not what Grace says. Thanks, Vince." Jefferson took his drink, raising it briefly to Whale before taking a sip; he exhaled in satisfaction, giving a little shudder. "Ooh, that's strong. Anyways, Grace heard it from Violet, who heard it from Henry, and I thought since Henry spent so much time with you guys—"

Whale groaned, dropping his head in his hands. Damn that kid. "Give me another, Vince." He glanced at Jefferson, who seemed somewhat amused. "It's not couple problems with Graham," he said irritably. "It's just work stuff."

"Work stuff. Okay."

"Yeah, work stuff." Whale twisted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at Jefferson. "I'm a doctor, okay? Do you know how much stress that is, just on a regular day? I've got hundreds of patients depending on me every day, and now I've got Regina calling me at all hours, just showing up at the hospital to pester me with questions I'm not qualified to—"

"Victor, Victor, Victor," Jefferson said soothingly, holding up his hands. "It's okay, no one's going to judge you here. I mean—" he shrugged, smiling slightly—"I'm gay."

Whale stared at him incredulously. "What?"

"I'm gay."

"No, no, I heard you, I'm just—" Whale shook his head, frowning at him—"what does that have to do with my work problems?"

Jefferson sighed, smiling pityingly. "Look…I used to do that, too. Blame my frustration on other things: work, being a single parent, dealing with difficult people…I didn't want to admit it to myself for a long time, but I realized that the reason I was so frustrated was because I was tired of hiding from myself."

"Right. Uh—" Whale cleared his throat. "That's really inspiring and everything, Jeff, but I'm still not gay."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows. "Oh, no?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Quite."

"So, then…you wouldn't mind if I called Graham?"

Whale blinked at Jefferson's hopeful face. "…Is he gay?" he asked, crinkling his brow. "I thought he went for girls."

"Mmm—" Jefferson smiled disbelievingly—"I don't think so."

"Seriously?"

"I could be wrong, of course, but I'm pretty good at picking up on this kind of thing." Jefferson drummed his fingers on the table. "So. Can I call him?"

"Uh—" Whale shrugged bemusedly. "Yeah, go for it."

"Thanks," Jefferson grinned, taking out his phone. "Here, put his number in for me."

"Okay." Whale carefully punched in Graham's number, still marveling at the revelation. Graham was gay? Then why was he so pissed about Emma? Maybe he was bi. Or maybe he didn't know. Huh. Interesting.

"Thank you," Jefferson said as Whale handed him his phone back. "Actually, can I ask you something else?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued speaking. "See, ever since that Halloween party, business has really picked up around here. Which is, of course, really great and al, except now I'm short-staffed. I don't have enough people working to meet the demands, so I was wondering…do you know anyone looking for a job?"

Whale raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking if any of my nurses want to flip burgers on their nights off?"

"No," Jefferson said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "But my waitstaff is pretty light, and I need another chef so Tom doesn't have to work overtime."

"Well, if you need a chef, you could always ask David Nolan," Whale said thoughtfully. "He's pretty good."

Jefferson nodded, considering. "David, huh?"

"Yeah, he's good," Whale assured him. "Makes a good pancake, from what I hear."

"Uh—" Jefferson frowned—"w-well, that is a staple in the burger industry…"

"And for waitstaff—" Whale shrugged. "I'll ask around. Can't promise anything, but next kid who comes in with a broken arm, I'll ask."

"Thanks," Jefferson said with an appreciative smile, clapping him on the back. "All right—" he slid off his stool. "I've got a restaurant to manage, so I'll see you later. Hopefully, not at the bar."

"Mmm-hmmm," Whale muttered dryly, going back to his drink. That's extremely unlikely, he thought to himself. If Graham was going to be discovering he was gay (as Jefferson seemed fairly confident he was), that was going to be a million more hours of talking. This was going to require a lot more "anesthesia" over the next few weeks… or months…or years…?

"Get used to my face, Vince," Whale said, sliding his glass over again. "You're going to see it a lot."

"I'm married."

"Jesus Christ, man, I already told you—I'm not gay!"