3.

I wait anxiously—in our usual spot—for him to emerge from the hospital. My mind is racing, playing the same words whispered by Joe over and over again. I can't even feel the cold biting at my gloveless fingers anymore. I clutch my long plum colored wool coat closer to my body out of anxiety more than being nearly frostbitten.

Behind me I hear the automatic doors slide open. I'm racing toward him before I even have a chance to recognize his tall figure. He walks agonizingly slow, keeping his eyes trained to the snow covered ground and his shoulders hunched. "Will!" I halt his march as I stop into his path. He doesn't look up, "I heard about what happened. Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Don't shrink talk me, Harley," he grumbles. Will shoves past, knocking roughly against my shoulder. I'm speechless…almost.

"What do you mean don't 'shrink talk me'?" I growl.

"Don't give me any of your psychobabble bullshit!" he continues his trudge.

"Will I'm not bullshitting you, Will, I'm concerned," I'm practically leaping through the snow mounds to match his pace, "I want to help you!"

"Oh Hell!" he snaps and pivots gracefully to face me, "isn't that what you're supposed to say?!" he takes a step closer, "Hmm? Aren't you supposed to make all your patients think you're their friend first before you analyze them?" his hand shoots forward to grab hold of my arm. I'm too stunned to react with anything more than a grimace, "I don't want you to analyze me Harley!"

"I'm not," I whisper, my face contorted in a compound of shock, anger and confusion. I pull my appendage from his grasp. He doesn't challenge me for it. His licks his lips out of habit, his way of filling the silent void between us.

"I…just…" I speak first, my voice barely above a whisper, "I care about you, Will," he runs a hand through his messy hair, "you did what you could—" I try to reassure him but he cuts me off with a fit of cackling laughter.

"You don't go off script much, do you?" he laughs. I blink, "Please, Harley, explain to me what I did do? No wait, I already know what you'll say," he clears his throat, "your best," his voice emerges as a squeaky—and poor—imitation of my own, "You did all that you could to save him. Don't worry. It happens to everyone, even the best of us. I know you chose this job to save lives," he cracks with laughter, "but he had a bad heart and sadly we can't win them all, Sweetheart."

"Well you can't," I say defensively.

"But I have!' he yells, speech normal again, "I already have!"

I blink again. One, two, three times, "What are you talking about?" I ask slowly.



He sighs a relieving sigh, running another shaky hand through his blonde locks, "I've never lost a game before. Not in the long run," he says quietly.

"This isn't a game, Will…"

"Do you know who he was?"

"Who?"

"I'll take that as a no," he gently grasps my chin between his fingers, "Mr. Gambini, the patient who died on my table today? He was money launderer for the mob and didn't bother much trying to hide it. And you know they're the only ones who are going to miss him, the mob is," his free hand quivers as he waves it about for emphasis, "all they care about is money! Gambini didn't have any of his friends call 911 when he was having that heart attack, despite the fact that all his so called friends were present at the time. As long as their dollars were safe and reachable who gives a damn about the banker, right? No need to get the cops involved just let the guy die! Of course they undoubtedly did not fully appreciate Mr. Gambini for all his hard work and loyalties or intelligence. Mr. Gambini didn't like books so much he kept it all up here," his fingers fly free from my chin, "but let's see how they fair now without their orderly accountant. I thought," he taps the side of his skull, "why not introduce a little chaos onto their bank accounts."

I stand motionless. I'm afraid to speak. I'm afraid I'll ask the questions whose answer I don't particularly wish to hear. How on earth does Will know all this? Did he study this one man? Did he…

"So I did," he says.

My head is shaking, "did what?"

"I let him…" he doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't need to.

"Will," I swallow the lump forming in my throat, "I'm sure it must feel like that but—"

"On purpose…" he confesses in an innocent tone. This time I don't dare try to contradict him. The puzzle pieces have begun to fit together.

"Oh…" well that sounds silly.

"Now here's the part where you say you hate me," he backs away with several tiny steps, "because now you know. You know I didn't become a surgeon to save people every time. Don't shake your head at me I can see it in your eyes!" I open my mouth to speak but am not given the chance, "Don't, Harley, I told you not to analyze me! I just…I want you to listen," he waits for my nod of approval before continuing, "You're going to leave me now anyways. I don't know why I like it, holding the power of life or death with that tiny knife in my hands. I didn't plan to do anything. Today it just… happened. I thought what I thought and then I thought I could…challenge myself; that I couldn't let myself do it but I was wrong and I always knew I would be wrong. I've never lost a challenge before because nothing has ever been all that challenging," he chuckles at that bit.



"Except for now, this instance, of course," I eye him curiously, "well because now you're going to leave. What sensible person would stay? It has to happen," he reaches out and takes one of my frigid hands, " The one thing I want most will inevitably the one I can't have," he slips my fingers into a purple glove to match my coat. He lets my hand drop then reaches for other, repeating the process, "and then I'll have to wonder aimlessly about searching for the next big thing I can do to occupy what will become meaningless hours of my time." His hand lingers against mine for just a moment before he decides to let it fall. I lock my fingers between his before it can go too far.

"I'm not going to leave, Will,"

"What?" he asks dumbfounded.

"When you love someone," the words pour from my lips before I have the chance to even gather my thoughts, "and I mean really love them, you stand by them. You stay no matter what happens or what decisions they make. No matter how crazy or insane some of those decisions may be because…" I shrug, "because you love them and that makes all the other choices magically disappear."

I lean in close to him, just enough to share his warmth. He's the one who's forced to close the minor gap between us for a kiss. Our lips melt together, filling me with liquid fire. He doesn't need me to say it, he already knows: his secret is safe with me. I'll never tell. Years from now I may feel guilt or regret and yet I couldn't find myself caring any less at this moment in time.

"You," he says once we finally part, "are one seriously messed up girl."