Author's Note: Hope you all are still enjoying this one. Thanks to those of you who take the time to leave me a little feedback or let me know you're reading. :-* More feels this chapter and then some excitement in the next one.

WARNING: This chapter contains references to mature subject matter. ;-) Also, some coarse language.


SAVIOR COMPLEX

Chapter 4

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

What was that?

Sarah Reese nibbled on her thumbnail, holding an arm across her chest as she contemplated her closed apartment door. She had no idea what had just happened. It was hard to say whether she hadn't read enough psychiatry texts or too many. Because she just had no idea what to make of the exchange with Jeff Clarke.

He'd seemed like he'd wanted to be a friend to her, had been almost insistent she tell him what was going on. But as soon as she'd steered the conversation vaguely in his direction, he'd pulled back. Which was fine. He was a reserved type, she could tell. She'd gotten him to open up at the bar a few days ago, but he obviously wasn't in the mood tonight. And she'd apparently struck a nerve (without intending to) because he'd bolted.

Well, he hadn't run off straight away.

First he'd kissed her on the cheek. On the cheek!

And looked as if he wanted to do more than that. His steely blue eyes didn't hide as much as he thought. And she might not have all that much experience dating, but she knew when a man wanted to kiss her.

Savior Complex.

It was just that he had White Knight Syndrome. He thought she needed rescuing, from the patient who'd crossed a line, or from what he perceived as an emotional vulnerability or just naive blindness.

But she wasn't blind to the situation. And she wasn't a damsel in distress.

Sarah marched over to her door and threw the deadbolt, resisting the urge to open it instead and scan the hall to see if her over-protective new friend was lingering about. But he wasn't that bad. He wasn't. She knew it.

He was just... nice. Good-hearted. Maybe a little territorial.

She went back to the kitchen to clean up, tried not to remember the feel of sitting so cozy with him at the small table as she picked up the glass of water and her mug of tea. The man was too tall for her furniture, his long legs tangling with hers beneath the wooden table top.

She'd never kissed someone that much taller than her, that well built, lean and strong... Would going up on her tip-toes be enough? He'd have to bend down to meet her, had bent down to kiss her cheek and look wistfully at her... They'd both get kinks in their necks if the embrace was lengthy. Or maybe he'd just pick her up altogether. Judging by those biceps of his, he could hold her up for a good, long while... Although, he'd said he'd stopped being a firefighter because of a back injury. So maybe he'd just pick her up and set her on the counter and…

Sarah shook her head, rinsing the used cup and mug and setting them in the sink before she vacated the kitchen that Jeff Clarke was still haunting despite having left.

She just needed to sit down with a book and unwind. Not think about the older man who made her stomach fluttery, whose mysterious layered personality just begged to be picked apart, analyzed, explored, defined, appreciated.

Honestly, she'd never met anyone quite like him. Maybe just because she hadn't spent a lot of time around classic hero archetypes. She was a science and book nerd. That had always been her realm. She'd never hung out with a man who'd served in the Marines or been a firefighter, let alone both. He'd done a lot, seen a lot, saved a lot of people in the decade more of life he had on her. More than she felt like she'd ever accomplish in that time.

Maybe she shouldn't just brush off his concern. She was more a fan of facts, but if anyone had reliable instincts, it was probably Jeff Clarke... Who she was done thinking about. Really.

She went for the sci-fi novel she'd been reading, rather than the pile of psychiatry texts, knowing that the dry list of facts wouldn't be enough to distract her. Maybe her analytical side would be happy, but it was her emotions that were wandering too much.

Damn it.

The last name of the author mocked her. She threw Rendezvous with Rama across the living room and put on some mindless television instead.

...

Blue-grey eyes like steel yet warm. So warm, they heated her up inside, deep and low in her belly. Or maybe it was the large, strong hands on her waist, buttocks, thighs, breasts, roaming and rubbing and squeezing. Or the mouth devouring her lips, her neck, her throat, her nipples...

The sensation of being filled. Naked joining. A soft, husky voice whispering sweet nothings to her, stubble rasping at her cheek and neck, love bites and a bruising grip on her hips. Friction building excitement higher and higher, towards ecstasy, edging it, teetering, about to-

Sarah woke with a start and a cry of lamentation. She threw out a hand and silenced the beeping alarm. The world settled in around her and she rolled over burying her face in her pillow and moaning her displeasure.

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

What was that?

Oh, she knew what it was. Her nipples were taut and there was a tightly coiled sense of frustration low in her belly. Her underwear was damp.

She'd had a damned sex dream about Jeff Clarke.

He'd only kissed her on the cheek and her subconscious was constructing sexual fantasies around him.

She moaned into her pillow again, ashamed and unsatisfied and a little bit angry. She knew there was nothing abnormal about it, psychologically speaking. But she couldn't help feeling guilty. She had a boyfriend. Why didn't she ever have sex dreams about him?

Jeff Clarke wasn't even her type. Tall, strong guys who carried themselves like soldiers, noble warriors who waltzed around rescuing women uninvited, a charming smile to go with flirtatious (sometimes sad) eyes, a constrained but passionate nature, laugh lines in the corners of their eyes, prematurely greying hair that was silver-edged and sexy as hell... That wasn't her type at all.

It wasn't.

Even if his presence made her nerve endings tingle. And he smelled appealing (to some primal part of her). And she wondered what it would feel like to have those nicely formed arms of his wrapped around her.

Ugh. She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. She had to just accept whatever feelings her body was having without her permission and move on. Because today promised to be a mix of trepidation and anticipation every time she was called for a consult in the Emergency Department.

Not that they hadn't gone the few months he'd been interning there without really interacting until that night. So maybe she could just avoid... Hell, who was she kidding? She'd noticed him before. And now, now that she knew he was warm and compassionate and more than a little enigmatic beneath that handsome, well-built exterior...

She wouldn't steal little glances. And she definitely wouldn't stare.

She wouldn't find excuses to talk to him or be near him.

She wouldn't.

She pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside, following it with her underwear. It wasn't a hair-washing day. She had to keep a strict schedule with specific products with her curly-frizzy locks. So she swept her hair up and clipped it securely out of the way before she stepped into the shower.

Nope. Wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't think about Jeff in the shower.

Although... the fragrance in her soap smelled similar to a component in the man's scent. She had no idea what it was, what its source was. And it wasn't the entire olfactory signature of him. She'd remembered thinking how he still smelled like what a firefighter should smell like; his cologne or aftershave or whatever he used accented with a sooty, sweaty scent that was so overwhelmingly male in nature she was surprised a girl didn't get pregnant just breathing it in.

But she wasn't thinking about Jeff Clarke while she showered. That was just asking for another sex dream. Or worse, an actual conscious sexual fantasy.

Just rinse off and get out, Sarah.

...

Joey had blown her off for lunch. It wasn't all that uncommon. He liked spending time with her, Sarah knew. But he also liked his own little world, narrow and well-defined. Some days, asking him to leave the lab just wasn't possible.

At least, she hoped it was just one of those days and not because certain rumors had reached his generally oblivious ears. His text that he wouldn't make it to lunch had been clear, concise and devoid of subtext no matter how her worried mind wanted to read into it.

She pushed the limp french fries around their little paper box. It had been a treat to cheer herself up. But they'd been less than satisfying. All grease, no crispiness. Not worth the heart-clogging cholesterol. Why did a hospital cafeteria even serve anything deep fried? Or was that the problem? They weren't deep-fried. Just frozen and reheated in an oven, then tossed under a heat lamp. Still pathetic. They only depressed her further.

"Want to get out of here?"

Sarah started. Oh, no. No. No. No.

She didn't even have to look up. That voice had pervaded her dreams last night, her all-too-vivid, all-too-explicit dreams. But she couldn't very well ignore the man. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything offensive. And he hadn't. She couldn't very well blame him for his invasion into her subconscious' fantasies. That was all her own brain's doing, wasn't it?

But whatever invitation he was offering, just no.

She looked up, met his steel-blue gaze, warm and friendly and sporting an edge of concern.

"Yes," she said, and then silently cursed herself as she took his hand and stood up. Why did he keep "rescuing her"? Why couldn't she resist the opportunity of being in his company? Why was he offering her his hand like a gentleman handing a lady into a carriage in the 19th century? For god's sake! Why wasn't she pulling her hand away?

No matter the reason, she didn't, and he used it to pull her closer to him, lean down and whisper to her.

"You look like you're in need of a greasy spoon. I know a great one nearby. Best curly fries in the city."

He didn't let go of her hand as they left the cafeteria, tossing the listless fries into the garbage on their way out. And she didn't pull her hand away either.

"I need to get my coat," she said when they reached the hall, but he still didn't release her hand. It was odd, so odd. But she didn't want him to let go, either. There was something so very reassuring, so comforting in the strength and warmth of his fingers curled around hers. Like he was pouring his quiet confidence into her. And given the past week, she needed that more than she wanted to admit.

"Mine's in my locker, too," he said, giving her hand a squeeze and coaxing her along. They walked so close together, that their arms brushed, and she caught him watching her with a content sort of smile as she gave him sidelong glances. She felt like they were teenagers strolling down a high school hallway after just deciding that they were 'going steady'... in the 1950s, apparently. Holding hands. And shy smiles. And feeling like she'd definitely do more than just make out with him if they went to Lookout Point.

It must just be the after-effects of her dreams. They could do weird things to a person's brain and perception of reality. So she should just pull her hand away, out of the firm yet cozy grip, the hand that was somehow still calloused as if the man did manual labor on a daily basis and wasn't a fourth year medical student.

"Sarah?"

Well, that solved her hand-holding dilemma. She jerked her fingers out of Jeff's and took a large side-step to put some space between them.

Joey Thomas looked from her to the tall man beside her standing at what could almost be called 'attention.' Well, maybe 'at ease'. His hands were carefully nowhere near her vicinity.

"What's going on?" Her supposed boyfriend asked. Could she still call him her boyfriend? When she'd been cheating on him? Not physically, not in so many definitions... But it was emotional cheating, wasn't it? But that wasn't a thing when you didn't act on it, right? Only, she'd sort of acted on it. There'd been touching. Just platonic. Just hands. Except Jeff had kissed her on the cheek and then she fantasized about doing so much more to him, with him. She was a terri-

"We were just going to get a bite to eat," Jeff said. How did he sound so calm? Probably because he wasn't caught by his significant other having an emotional affair with a work colleague (bent on being his personal White Knight). "Care to join us, Joey?"

Her eyes snapped from the lab technician to the older med student so fast her retinas probably had suffered whiplash. Was it more surprising that he remembered her (probably now ex-) boyfriend's name, or that he was attempting to smooth over the rough situation with relative ease?

"No," the younger, more awkward man said. "I have some gas chromatography samples running that I need to get back to. I rather finish my work. I only thought Sarah might be upset because she doesn't like to have lunch alone." He turned his attention to her and then back to Jeff. "But since she's found a different companion, I won't have to put my work on hold anymore."

He turned and walked back the way he'd come. Guilt stabbed Sarah in the gut and she clutched her stomach, feeling a little nauseated. And then Jeff was steadying her with one of his ridiculously strong hands on her arm, looking down into her face with concerned eyes and an apologetic smile.

"Are you okay?" he asked, but it was obvious what the real question was; Did he just break up with you?

"I'm fine." I don't know. "I'm not really hungry anymore."

She shrugged off Jeff Clarke's hand and made a bee-line in the opposite direction, ignoring his worried tone as he called her name. He didn't come after her. Because he must be just as baffled by what happened as she was.

Sarah ducked into the first supply closet she came across, closing the door behind her and putting her back to it, closing her eyes and trying to calm down.

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

What was that?

That was the strangest five minutes of her entire life. That's what it was. Of course she'd been attracted to guys before, on a physical, emotional and intellectual level. Honestly, her relationship with Joey might have been more based on the fact that he had an odd personality than anything else. And Jeff Clarke... That man was like a giant enigma, catnip to her. But at the same time... She wished he'd never touched her. As soon as he'd made physical contact with her, it stopped being about figuring the man out and... Her response to him was... strong.

It was just an attraction. She should be able to deal with that. It was just... Help her, he was just such a man. She'd always hated that belittling way women always said they wanted a man and not a boy. But now she got it. There was a difference. It was in the way he wanted to protect her but without condescension. It was in the way that he told her his differing opinion but then respected her right to make her own decisions. It was in the way he looked at her, not seeing just the surface, not looking through her, not just wondering what she could do for him, what she could be for him. It was in the way he touched her, not just because he felt she needed placating, not just because he wanted to put his hand on her, but to establish an actual connection.

She was having a hard time remembering why she got together with Joey in the first place. But every word, touch and look she'd exchanged with Jeff Clarke in the past week was vivid in her mind.

Ugh.

What was she doing?


A/N: Jeez, Sarah, what are you doing?! (Two confused smitten idiots! I do like that trope, don't I?)

A/N2: Some exciting stuff coming up soon. Promise! (We just had to get some developing feelings in there first.)