Growing up poor was what started it, coupled with never being healthy; Workaholism was easy to put up with once medical school became a reality, even if affording the student loan price tag was a challenge. Yet, at 36, Alex Hamilton was known by colleagues and patients alike as "Doc 76" due to his coincidental Revolutionary namesake. Honestly? He was the youngest doctor deemed cool enough to earn a nickname, and that alone made up for a lifetime of struggling to make it here.
"Like 1776? Like the Revolutionary War?" His patient chuckled, disbelieving but Alex could hear the curiosity still in the question.
"Exactly." Alex laughed, too, shrugging. "And I swear on my medical license it's just by chance." He bent over to look more closely at the man's injured hand: bruised, swollen, sprained. "Not broken, thankfully. You're right-handed? A break would have been a disaster for you. But why come in? You could have put ice on this with some Advil and it'd be just as bruised." Alex smiled when he looked up, an obvious small joke.
"Well, I.. I wanted to make sure it wasn't broken. I drive for a living making deliveries." A flash of a smile. The patient was nervous. Hypochondriac? Whatever the case, Alex was sure he'd never been luckier in his life than to be bandaging up this beautiful man's hand. He tried not to openly stare at the curls cascading into his patient's eyes to frame the soulful gaze. Thankfully, Alex's hands were occupied with treating the injury, or else he'd be brushing away the afro of ringlets himself. "So, um, you know, I kinda need both hands to legally follow, well, the laws."
Alex gently and gingerly stroked the back of the injured hand. He normally hated working Urgent Care, but today it wasn't as bad as usual. Wonder why, hmm. His patient jumped. "That hurts you?" Alex was immediately on alert. It was barely a brush of his own fingertips.
"Yeah, just suddenly, though." His patient was wide-eyed and just held in a gasp.
"Bad? Number 1 to 10." Alex prompted.
"No, no pain scale, it just, uh, caught me off-guard."
"Meaning it didn't hurt before? Not until I touched it?"
"No, Dr. Hamilton, it's not that. I just wasn't expecting-" His patient shook his head, which at least meant those curls were shaken out of his eyes. Alex already missed them being there. "There was electricity. Like... Like a shock! A spark."
"This could be neurological. It's weird for your hand unless there was nerve damage. It wouldn't be the weather, it's almost Spring!" Alex puzzled, thankfully not noticing his patient looking visibly distressed. He grabbed for the chart. "Maybe I could get you a referral to a doctor back at the hospital, Mr.-"
They were interrupted by another man, in a leg cast and walking on crutches, wearing a skull cap beanie despite it being the distinct end of winter with sunny skies. "Jefferson! Son of a bitch, man, do you know how long it takes me to hobble to get to you!?"
Alex stood, suddenly feeling caught and... embarrassed? He was treating the patient even if it did look like holding hands. "Sir, unless you know my patient I have to ask you to wait outside so-"
"Dr. Hamilton, we do know each other. This is a friend of a friend. I drove him here to be treated last weekend after he fell off the second story balcony."
"Ah, I remember now!" Alex smiled. "Hercules Mulligan, yeah! I set your cast after the x-rays. I'm sorry I just tried to throw you out of here, I, well, uh-" Alex's hand flew to smooth his ponytail, his own nervous tell. "I wanted to keep confidentiality, I'm sure you understand, Mr. Mulligan."
"Doc, you can keep doing what you're doing but I'm here for him." Hercules pointed accusingly at his patient, still cradling his injured hand. Like a magician would, Hercules took out a bandana from some unseen pocket and wiped off the bruise on the patient's hand.
Wait. Wiped off the bruise? Jefferson hadn't flinched, either.
"What is this?" Alex demanded.
His patient sighed, now exposed, but Hercules answered instead. "You've been here over 20 times this year already and it's not even March, Thomas. Give it up and just ask him out instead of faking emergencies to get to see him."
Alex's eyes went wide and he wished he could untie his hair to hide his immediate blushing. The patient he thought was hot actually had a crush on him this whole time. And this patient was purposefully coming to see only him.
"...because now you closed your hand in a car door, Thomas! So how are you gonna write your number down for him!?"
"Go wait for me outside, Hercules." Alex's patient commanded, stiffly.
Once they were alone again, and admittedly after an awkward silence, Alex checked the patient file like how he had tried to before Hercules interrupted them. "Thomas... Jefferson. Are you kidding me?"
"With a name like Alex Hamilton who's Doc 1776? You're surprised?" Thomas smiled again and Alex's heart backflipped. "I told you it was an incredible coincidence!"
"So... you really did smash your hand in a car door on purpose to get me to be your emergency doctor?" Alex raised his eyebrows, but couldn't help but smile back. A sideways smirk of a smile. He felt just as good as the day he got nicknamed Doc 76.
"And my number is already in my file. No writing." Thomas waved with his fake injury. "You think you could wrap it just for show? I really did crush it in the door for you, so it actually hurts."
Alex closed the file and opened a drawer, tossing out a Velcro sling. He wasn't willing to wipe the smile off his own face. "When you take me out to dinner Friday night, it's a follow-up visit."