A couple days early, I know, but I'm sick and had nothing to do but post this. So happy day for the astounding 122 people who followed this? Thank you all so much.
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Chapter 2: Ding
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Hiccup has been into the Ship Tavern a handful of times since he moved to the city, but definitely not enough to be considered a regular. That feels like it might be about to change after a long afternoon where his hands wouldn't stop buzzing from Astrid Hofferson's pivoted third lumbar vertebrae.
There were ethics classes all through school, highlighting all sorts of improbable problems. The talk of almost killing patients to help them, all of those terrifyingly ambiguous medical issues that he was supposed to be avoiding with a chiropractic clinic. But no one ever really mentioned the biggest, most obvious taboo: the chances of being attracted to a patient. The wrongdoing so obvious and silly and confusing that it spawned a million gynecologist jokes because it would never happen to him.
He was going to work with kids and osteoporosis, and given that six and sixty aren't his type, he was safe. But he just had to let his dad talk him into a sports clinic, the same way his dad talked him into a football uniform as a benchwarmer, and now he's here and his palms are still sweating.
He was calmer summiting Kilimanjaro. He's had fewer palpitations from a base jump.
"I take it that the normal beer won't do it today, my friend." The bartender, Eret, who hasn't really interacted except to nudge Hiccup towards lonely singles, leans against the bar and finishes polishing a tumbler with a dingy white towel.
"What clued you in?" Hiccup laughs, because this whole day is sort of funny in a black humor sort of way. The way that means his career is going to end on an out of place, adolescent high-note.
"You look like someone died."
"My career is a little under the weather." He laughs and Eret raises his eyebrows, reaching under the counter and pouring a generous two fingers of scotch into the newly clean glass, dropping a large ice cube in after. Hiccup thinks for a moment before taking a sip, because as much as he wants to pound it back, he should really be reacquainting himself with his old friend self-control.
"Practice not going well?" Eret glances towards the door as if gaging how much time he has before the currently empty bar starts filling up for the night.
"It's going very well." This is too ridiculous to say out loud, too infantile. But somehow it's coming out anyway. "I just expanded actually, into sports chiropractic. And it's sort of a favor to my dad, he played football at state and has a couple dozen coach friends in the area, and I was thinking 'oh, easy money, realign a few tackled twenty year olds,' but…" he sighs and runs a hand back through his hair. "But my first patient, she's not what I expected."
"She?" Eret cues on the point before Hiccup is sure he wants to get there.
"She."
"Did something exciting happen?" The bartender reaches for the bottle like Hiccup might need more, but he shakes his head and takes another slow sip from the drink.
"Nothing besides feeling like a slimy old man putting my hands all over her. And she was in pain, so it was…I had to help, and it's a really interesting case, maybe. I think. It's going to take a dozen little tweaks and…I should refer her. That's what I've got to do. It might be across town, or downtown, or in the next town, but I just have to refer her." Those particular consequences make him wince and he lets a tired hand thud to the polished bar top. "And lose any business from state."
"What do you mean by old man? I carded you when you first came in here."
"I thought you were just flattering me for a tip. I'm twenty- seven," Hiccup grumbles, because yesterday that still felt young. "And she's twenty- two, and in college, and I'm her doctor, talk about conflicting interests. I don't know what I'm even worried about though, it's not like I'd have a chance anyway, even if it didn't violate every moral rule in the book."
And all he can remember is Toothless on her stiff lap in his waiting room, purring and comforting her even though he'd been an absolute brat all morning.
"You know, Hugo, most of the men who come in here are forty and balding, barely successful business men from the office complex up the road. The only thing holding you back is lack of trying." Eret brightens slightly as a group of women walk in and start perusing the blackboard happy hour menu on the wall. "Maybe that's the key. Try here and save all of your self- control for the office."
"You're just trying to drum up business," Hiccup snorts and looks towards the women. "And I think you overestimate my prowess, but maybe you're right."
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Astrid feels even better that evening when the strange loose feeling finally subsides. She's still icing it, because it feels more wobbly than strong, but it finally doesn't hurt. She's excited to go back tomorrow and feel better, so that she can get back to practicing. And she won't exactly mind seeing Dr. Haddock again, with his reddish stubble and unreasonably warm, gentle hands.
And his young pregnant wife, who she can't seem to stop thinking about. She must be proud of him, starting a practice so young. He looks too young to be a doctor, she'd be shocked if he were thirty.
But at the same time he's old enough to be handsome, not hot or cute or—He's married. She kicks herself, because it couldn't be more obvious, ring or no ring.
Wait.
He wasn't wearing a ring, was he? She didn't feel anything hard or cool against her back in those few wonderful seconds after everything unpinched and she could breathe again. But it doesn't matter if he was wearing a ring or not, relationships are sacrosanct and lines are lines.
But she can still think about it, right? That's not bad, there's nothing inherently wrong with being perplexed, it's probably just a weird feeling attached to the fact that she was in pain and now she's not because Dr. Haddock fixed her. Maybe it's something more general about a guy who fixes things instead of breaking them. That's probably it.
Ruffnut walks into the apartment with her lacrosse gear bouncing against her back and Astrid sits up with a slow stretch and wide grin.
"Your back is all better!" Ruffnut celebrates by dropping her gym bag on the floor and kicking her flip flops off of grubby, frozen feet. Astrid glances out the window at the sleet, more jealous than she should be. Splashing, freezing practices are the best, she can't feel her hands and feet complain and always ends up playing better.
"Sort of. I've got to go back in a couple more times, but it'll be better soon." Astrid stands gingerly and picks up her half-melted ice bag. Walking still feels oddly precarious and she keeps her back carefully straight as she dumps the ice water into the sink. "But it's no big deal, I'm just out of alignment, apparently."
Ruffnut shivers and Astrid quirks an eyebrow at her.
"What? I don't like the idea of some crotchety old doctor messing with my spinal cord. That shit is important."
"And all those physical therapy classes are sinking in," Astrid rolls her eyes, wondering if Ruff's statement is even worth correcting. "And to be honest, not a crotchety old man doctor."
"Oh?" Ruffnut flops down across the entire couch, pulling at her tight thermal layer and scratching her stomach. "Are you telling me that you found the mythical hot doctor?"
"He's married." Astrid scowls, not entirely sure if she's disappointed or deterring her friend.
"He still has his hot doctor hands all up in your alignment."
"He does."
"Don't say it like it's a bad thing."
"You don't get it. I have to go back." Astrid scowls at nothing in particular. "I'm hoping it was just hot when he fixed me, you know?"
"There's a joke about drills in there somewhere, I just can't find it."
"Anyway, when I go back, he'll be stodgy and uninteresting. It's probably just the fixing that was hot."
"I hope he stays hot. This story wasn't very interesting."
"If you want an interesting story, maybe you should hurt your back."
"Maybe I will."
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Astrid tenses on the table, hands coiled into tight fists by her hips as Dr. Haddock cups her ears.
"Relax," he laughs, trying to wiggle her head back and forth and failing.
"Last time it sounded like a firecracker," she complains, exhaling and trying to loosen the tight, trembling muscles in her sore neck. She feels better after yesterday's adjustment, just oddly vulnerable.
"It's supposed to sound like that," he shifts his hands, gripping her jaw with long warm fingers. He wouldn't be doing that if he knew how disturbingly good it feels, and she thinks about her pleasant conversation with his wife on the way in. Kathy. God, it's all so picturesque. She stiffens further, shoulder blades aching as she presses them into the table. "Does this hurt?" He looks down at her so concerned.
This isn't fair. She should have found a new doctor without a deliciously ginger stubbled throat and the inclination to stand six inches behind her head. To make eye contact, she practically has to stare straight up his chest and remember that if she breathes funny, she'll smack her head on his belt.
And it's infuriating, because she checked today, and he's definitely not wearing a ring. It's cruel, warping all of the rules and touching her like this with his pregnant…whoever out behind the front desk. Wife, girlfriend, it doesn't matter.
Because he absolutely has to be feeling this too, if it's accidental, it just doesn't make sense. Her whole spine is on fire beyond its manipulation a few minutes ago, and he has to be doing it on purpose.
So he's an ass.
It won't stop Ruffnut's hot doctor comments, but it's a step in the right direction. Dr. Haddock is an asshole, a very attractive asshole, but an asshole all the same.
The easiest explanation is almost always right, and it makes a lot of sense. No one that charmingly, adorably handsome settles down anyway, not really. Especially when they have lightning fingers and jeans that look like they've been washed a few thousand times.
"When is your wife due?" She throws the border out there, anchoring herself on the right side of his electric hands.
"My wife?"
Oh, he's good. That confusion is damn near textbook, eyebrows furrowed, corners of his lips barely turned down.
"Girlfriend then."
"I don't know what you're talking about." His hands are stiff and frozen against her temples, tugging slightly at the sides of her bangs.
"Your receptionist?" She raises an eyebrow that doesn't quite manage to be accusing and Dr. Haddock laughs, waving his notably empty left hand over her face.
"I'm not married. And if I have anything to do with the baby, I owe Kathy's husband an apology." His hands fall back to the sides of her head and starts lolling it side to side. Astrid sags slightly, because maybe he's not an ass, and she really doesn't want him to be. "Does anything hurt?"
"No, it's—" Her neck pops vibrantly as he jerks it to the side. "Ah."
"Feel better? You're carrying more tension here than I noticed last time. It might take a few more appointments to adjust it completely." He wrenches her neck back the other direction and it pops twice more. Astrid exhales and shudders, almost losing her train of thought.
Almost.
"So you don't have a girlfriend?" The question teeters on the way out, weighted and primed to fall like a hammer and shatter their almost comfortable rapport.
"No time," he laughs and steps away, scribbling something into her file. "Sit up? I want to make sure everything still works before I send you home."
"You aren't as funny as you think you are," Astrid winces as she sits up, touching the side of her loose neck and frowning. This is supposed to be making her stronger, but right now she feels weak and susceptible, like something is about to broadside her and knock her out entirely.
Something like Dr. Haddock being single.
"I'm hilarious," he's still using that reassuring doctor voice and it adds to the comment somehow, building him up confident and assured. He walks up behind her and starts touching her spine, the nape of her neck, the fan of her ribs, clinical and sparkling bright.
"Are you doing that on purpose?" She looks back over her shoulder, half expecting him to be holding some sort of electrode against her. He isn't. Just three long fingers on each hand, tracing either side of her back.
"What?" It's not the doctor voice, something slightly higher pitched, almost cracking. She swallows and frowns, staring at the door and trying to ground herself.
"Really no girlfriend, huh?"
"As flattered as I am that you're so shocked, I'm not sure what this has to do with your back." He laughs again, slightly squeaky and a little off-kilter.
She likes it way too much.
"I'm just…" she bites her lip when he almost absently straightens her shirt against her lower back. "You're right. It doesn't have anything to do with my back."
"Alright then, you're looking good." He talks louder like he's trying to retroactively fill the silent gap and she slides off of the table, pleasantly surprised when her back settles into place without the hitch that held it back that morning. "Make an appointment for Thursday or Friday on the way out."
"How many more appointments do you think it'll take?" She asks, feeling strange in either direction. She liked the hard line of an invisible wedding band and the way that it made this clear cut and impossible.
Now, it's a little too easy to let her eyes wander.
"Honestly, it might be something that needs continual upkeep," he writes one last note in her file before flicking it closed and picking it up. "But I should be able to clear you for play in six or seven visits."
"Can I start training again in a limited way? I'm going crazy on the couch." She has all sorts of junk food and confusing hormones to burn off. Not to mention that she will be on that field for regionals, and that's not going to happen if she gets any lazier.
"Jogging? Stretching? Anything that's not too brutal." He grins again and she chews on the inside of her cheek. Whether it's bedside manner or a naturally goofy disposition, it's adorable. "No getting tackled. And while I'm at it, no tackling either."
"That's the fun part though," she jokes, flirting with the idea of flirting. His smile freezes on his face, almost painful looking, and he flicks his head towards the door.
"I'll see you later this week, Ms. Hofferson."
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Astrid sits down on the couch, twisting back and forth a bit and trying to pop the stubborn knot between her shoulder blades herself.
"Stop shaking the couch," Ruffnut jabs her in the thigh with her foot, lap filled with a huge bowl of popcorn. "You're the one who wanted to stay in tonight, and now you're making me sit through your fidgeting?"
"I'm trying to pop my back."
"Isn't Dr. Hottie supposed to do that?"
"It wouldn't go earlier and now it feels strange," she's suddenly hyperaware of the vague constriction to her breathing.
"Loosen up around Dr. Hottie," Ruffnut shoots her a devious grin. "Especially if you're going to turn into a homebody and keep me here with offers of popcorn. Oh! But maybe you're doing that for Dr. Hottie, so you can be super ready for—"
"Shut up."
"Wait, am I right?" Ruffnut sits up, nearly spilling her popcorn on the floor before setting the bowl on the couch between them. Astrid eats a piece, chewing it unnecessarily slowly. "Did you cancel our plans because of Dr. Hottie?"
"Stop calling him that."
"You did cancel our plans because of him!"
"No, I didn't want to go out to some bar while my back hurts. Go ahead, if I'm cramping your style so much."
"Cramping my style? How old is Dr. Hottie, because you're talking like my mother. Unless he's over fifty, I think you'll have a better chance just being yourself—"
"Wow, Ruff, original—"
"—and dragging him off like a cavewoman." The other girl finishes with a flourish and Astrid snorts.
"At least I know you're not sick."
"What is holding you up?"
"Nothing is holding me up from anything," Astrid holds her hands out in mock surrender, pointedly facing the TV. "Sure, Dr. Haddock is good looking. But he's my chiropractor, and I've got school to worry about and the tournament coming up, and I don't want to deal with it right now."
"You're so practical," Ruff sneers and shovels a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "It's boring."
"He's opening up the office early for me tomorrow. I've got to go in before practice, and he said he'd meet me there."
"That just sounds like a set up. He's seeing you early in the morning on a Saturday. He likes you."
"I'm pretty sure he's just a sound businessman," Astrid defends him, but it makes her sadder than it should. Because the more she goes in, the more that the spark seems accidental. "I've been a good patient. Hell, I even referred Avery, she's going in next Wednesday for her weird shoulder."
"I'm going to go and scope out Dr. Hottie. Maybe he's not even hot and you're just lying to me."
"You know, I never even said he was hot. You just assumed that 'not crotchety and old' meant hot."
"Look at us, Hofferson, bickering like an old married couple."
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Not so secret, secret: I love Ruffnut. I love her so much. She's my favorite part of everything.