Fandom list : https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/649827474499338240/hi-i-take-requests-if-some-people-are What I do ? Fanfics and character interaction. Slow update. Sorry. Also, here are the links for the face claims if you've just arrived. https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/685517990619398144/face-claims-part-1 https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/685519283197034496/face-claims-part-2 https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/685519851074306048/face-claims-part-3-final-part-the-hannibal
Okay so I finally found the courage to ask: How did Clarice Starling die? Hannibal Sr. And Jr. mentioned that she’s dead and that they preserve her memory and visit her grave every year. Hannibal Sr. even said that there’s no one he loves more than his Clarice. And since that post the question of how Clarice died has bothered me.
Did someone murder her? (Did Hannibal Sr. murder her?) Did she die giving birth to Jr.? Did she ever get to meet her baby Hannibal Jr.? What happened? And if someone murdered her, what did Hannibal Sr. do to that person?
I love the Hannibal family btw (Your writing of their characters is sooooo good). Hope you’re doing good and that you’ll answer but no pressure at all! Just curiosity. 🦦
Author : "Oh…Well. Hannibal Jr. was supposed to have a sibling. But unfortunately, there were some problems with Clarice’s second pregnancy which led to her death. Hannibal Jr. was 8 at the time. And since then…only a painting remains of her."
Hi Charlie! I was wondering if it's possible to do a scenario about the Hannibal family, specifically about their encounter with a Y/N who looks like or is identical to Clarice. If it's not too much trouble,
I'm a fan🗣📢‼️‼️‼️‼️
It took a minute for Hannibal Sr. to come to the realisation that this wasn’t his late wife he was talking to.
The nights were particularly difficult. Clarice would be there as she always was. Standing beside a river, sunlight caught in her hair. "You’ve gotten old, Hannibal."
He would smile wistfully. "The inevitability of time, my little lamb."
Her laugh would echo across the water. The same laugh he had spent decades trying not to forget. They would then walk and talk together. Like they always had. He would tell her about the family. About Morgan’s arrogance. About Kevin’s inability to think before speaking. About Peter’s soft heart.
About Hannibal Jr. Especially Hannibal Jr.
Their only son.
Clarice would listen patiently. They would talk about how life was now that she was gone. He would tell her how she was the only woman he had ever loved. She would playfully smirk and reply. "~Oh darling…you will miss me until the day you die."
When he met you, things got complicated.
At first, it would be the voice. Not exactly the same, no voice ever could be, but similar enough that it would tug at a memory he had spent years carefully preserving. Then the smile, the way you tilted your head while listening and finally, one evening, he would glance up from his book and freeze.
For a moment, just a moment, he wouldn’t see you anymore. He would see Clarice.
Eventually you asked the question. “What was she like?”
And Hannibal Sr. went quiet. Finally, after you had earn his trust, he would answer. "Clarice wasn’t just a woman." His eyes would drift somewhere far away. "She was a force of nature. The only thing human being who ever told me she loved me—that I considered mine. She was…mine."
And she had been. To the very last day of her life…
Morgan picked it up before anyone said it. The way his father’s attention would shift the moment you entered a room.
Hannibal Sr. would be speaking, calm as ever, and then he would simply stop mid-thought when you appeared. Not because he forgot what he was saying. Because something else had taken priority.
Morgan noticed and he didn’t like it.
His father loved Clarice, still mourned Clarice and he wasn't interested in Y/N.
But then he began catching moments when his father's gaze lingered. That was what finally made Morgan understand.
You reminded Hannibal Sr. of Clarice. Morgan disliked emotional attachments. They made people irrational.
One evening he found his father alone. “She looks like her.”
There was no point pretending he didn't know and Hannibal Sr. looked up from his book. For a long moment neither man spoke.
Then Hannibal Sr. calmly turned a page. "She does." He didn’t try to deny it.
"I watch her because you are interested in her. A father must know if someone is worth belonging to the family before letting them enter the family." He replied evenly.
From that day forward Morgan became more protective of you. Because he knew exactly what grief could do to people. Especially men like Hannibal Sr. And while Morgan trusted his father with many things, he did not trust him with you.
Kevin was not subtle. That was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. Where Morgan observed, Hannibal Jr. analyzed or Hannibal Sr. hid entire wars behind a polite smile.
Kevin simply said what everyone else was thinking. Which was why he was the first one to blurt it out. "You know she looks exactly like her, right?"
The dining room went silent. No one questioned what he was talking about. They all knew. Morgan closed his eyes and Peter looked like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
And Hannibal Sr.? Hannibal Sr. continued cutting his food as if nothing had happened.
"Kevin." The warning in Morgan's voice was immediate.
"What?" Kevin asked innocently. "She does. There’s a big ass portrait of her in the living room. It’s not like it’s hard to see."
Morgan immediately kicked him under the table.
"OW!" Kevin winced.
"Stop talking."
"No but seriously. Look at her!" Kevin exclaimed.
The second kick was much harder.
Kevin rubbed his shin and scoffed. "You people are so sensitive." After that, he tried to behave. He really did. For almost three whole days.
Then he walked into the library and found you and Hannibal Sr. talking. And for a brief second, Kevin saw something cross his father's face. Longing. The kind that comes from missing someone for so long that you stop remembering what life felt like before them.
For the first time, Kevin understood. And suddenly all the jokes died in his throat. After that, Kevin became strangely quiet.
Not because he thought you were Clarice.
You weren't and he knew that. Kevin just felt sorry for you. Because being compared to a ghost was exhausting. One afternoon, after catching someone mention Clarice for the fifth time that week, Kevin threw an arm around your shoulders and groaned.
"Okay. New rule. Next person who says Clarice’s name gets punched."
You raised an eyebrow and Kevin pointed dramatically around the room. "Because you're you. And frankly, this family is already weird enough without everyone having an existential crisis every time you walk through a doorway."
For a moment, you laughed. Kevin grinned. There it was. That laugh. It was different. It was yours and Hannibal Sr. seemed to realise that, as he looked away—no longer interested.
Peter had never met Clarice. To him, she was a portrait. A beautiful woman frozen in oil paint above the fireplace. A ghost that lived in family stories. Sometimes Hannibal Sr. would mention her. But never for too long, like an afterthought.
But Peter learned very quickly that Clarice was important.
The portrait alone made that obvious.
Nobody put a painting that large in the living room unless they wanted everyone to remember. So when you arrived...the resemblance was simply impossible to miss. At one point he was walking through the living room when he looked up at the portrait and then at you.
You looked at him. "What?"
Peter nodded at the portrait and you followed his gaze. "Oh."
For a moment he looked genuinely concerned. As though he had stumbled across something he wasn't supposed to see. "You know that's weird, right?"
"Peter." Morgan's warning came instantly.
"What? It is weird!" Peter wasn't frightened of you. He was frightened of the situation.
Because Peter hated family drama. Family drama meant arguments. Arguments meant conflict. Conflict meant people getting upset. And people getting upset often led to Peter wanting to hide in a closet somewhere until everything calmed down.
The more time passed, the more uncomfortable he became. Not because of you. Because of everyone else.
One evening Peter finally gathered enough courage to ask. "What was she actually like?"
The question surprised everyone. Especially Hannibal Sr. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then Hannibal Sr. looked towards the portrait. "Kind."
That was all he said. Kind. The answer lingered in Peter's mind. Because it wasn't what he expected. The Hannibal family wasn’t kind. It wasn’t who they were.
But Hannibal Sr. had chosen kindness. And somehow that told Peter everything. After that, he stopped looking at the resemblance quite so much.
Because the more he got to know you, the harder it became to see Clarice. You weren't a portrait. You weren't a story. You weren't a ghost.
You were just Y/N.
And honestly? Peter preferred that.
Even if the rest of the family didn't seem to share his opinion.
Hannibal Jr. knew immediately. He knew because unlike the others, he remembered her. The first time he saw you, his breath caught and then he hated himself for it. Because for one terrible moment, his mind had tried to convince him that the impossible had happened.
That somehow—his dead mother was standing there. The illusion lasted less than a heartbeat. But it still happened.
After that, he avoided you. The others assumed he was being suspicious. But truthfully? Looking at you hurt. Because every resemblance dragged another memory to the surface.
One evening he found himself standing in front of Clarice's portrait. You were standing there too, looking at it.
Neither of you spoke for a while. Then you quietly asked: "Was she really that beautiful?"
Hannibal Jr. stared at the painting. "No."
You blinked. "No?"
A small smile appeared on his face. "No." He looked at you. "She was much more than that."
For a moment, you thought he was joking. Then you saw the expression in his eyes. He wasn't. The portrait showed Clarice's face. It showed her features. Her appearance.
But it couldn't show the things Hannibal Jr. remembered. A painting could never capture those things. So in his eyes, it would always be an imperfect copy.
Just as you were.
Not because there was anything wrong with you. But because nobody could ever truly be Clarice except Clarice.
"I don't understand," you admitted.
Hannibal Jr. was quiet for a long moment. Then he surprised himself. He laughed. "That's a good thing."
You frowned. "Why?"
His eyes drifted towards the portrait. "Because everyone else sees her face. But I am the only one who truly remembers her."
For the first time since meeting you, Hannibal Jr. looked directly at you without flinching. You looked like his mother. Perhaps more than anyone had a right to. But you weren't her. And after spending so many years trying to preserve her memory...He found that strangely comforting.
Because it meant he hadn't forgotten. He still knew the difference.
Grant didn't notice at first. Not because he wasn't observant. Because nobody had actually told him what Clarice looked like.
Sure, he'd seen the giant portrait in the living room. Hard to miss really. But after living with the Hannibals for long enough, he'd learned not to question the giant portrait of the woman everybody stared at like she'd personally invented sunshine.
Then one afternoon he walked into the living room. Looked at the portrait. Looked at you. His eyebrows slowly disappeared into his hairline. "...Well, damn."
Nobody paid attention. Which somehow made it worse. Grant continued staring. "Oh, y'all are serious."
Still nobody responded. The room was silent. Like every person present was pretending there wasn't an elephant standing in the middle of the room.
"Grant." Morgan sounded exhausted already.
"No, hold on. Maybe m’just losin’ my mind and s’just I’m missin’ my glasses or some shit." Grant took out his glasses and took another careful look. His expression became increasingly bewildered. "Nah. M’right." Everything clicked together. Grant threw both hands into the air. "Well no wonder everybody in this house is acting insane."
"Grant." Hannibal Jr. tried to gently warn him
He pointed at you. "You look like the boss’ ex-wife—like Clarice." Then at the portrait. "Or Clarice looks like you anyway."
Then, after a long pause, he squinted suspiciously at you. "Honey."
"Yes?"
"You ever considered changing your hairstyle?"
The room went silent. Kevin nearly fell off his chair laughing. And for the first time all day—Hannibal Jr. smiled. Because Grant had accidentally done what nobody else had managed to do.
He'd made the whole situation sound exactly as ridiculous as it actually was. And once you saw it that way...It became a little easier to breathe.
Two days later…
"Darlin'." Grant called you.
You looked up from your tea. "Yes?"
"Come with me." That should have been your first warning. Unfortunately, you trusted him. Five minutes later you found yourself sitting in a chair. A towel around your shoulders and Grant standing behind you with scissors.
"...Grant. Why do you have scissors?"
He smiled. "Because we're fixin' a problem."
"What problem?" You asked with a worried frown.
Grant met your gaze through the mirror. "The fact that every man in this house has apparently lost his damn mind."
You burst out laughing. An hour later, the haircut was finished. Different enough to break the immediate comparison.
Grant proudly spun the chair around. "There."
You blinked then smiled. "I actually like it."
Grant grinned—pleased with himself.
Kevin saw you first and his eyes widened. "Wow. Huh. Y'know, that's actually really nice."
Morgan arrived next and stared before addressing Grant. "...You cut her hair. I like it." The approval of Morgan Hannibal was rarer than solar eclipses.
Peter wandered in and stopped. "You don't look like the painting anymore."
The room fell silent. Then came Hannibal Jr. For a moment, when he saw you, he simply stared. "Thank you, Grant."
Grant blinked. That was unexpected. He had never received a thanks from that pompous bastard.
Hannibal Sr. entered next. The room became noticeably quieter. The old man stopped and his eyes settled on you. For several long seconds nobody spoke.
Then he smiled. "You look lovely."
Meanwhile Grant folded his arms and admired his handiwork. Because for the first time since you'd arrived, nobody was looking at Clarice's ghost. They were looking at you.
I love your sinners works!! If you have the time could you do a request for how the sinners characters would react to their human loved one being sick or injured?
Remmick
Remmick is a disaster. The second you say, “I don’t feel very well,” he’s already hovering. You wake up to find him sitting beside the bed staring at you.
“…Ye still breathin’?”
“…Yes?”
“Good.”
Five minutes later: “…Still breathin’?”
You sigh. “Remmick.”
He’s genuinely distressed because human illnesses make no sense to him. He can’t fight a cold. He can’t threaten it. He can’t bite it. He spends the entire illness glued to your side, constantly checking your temperature with the back of his hand.
If you cough? He looks personally offended.
“Who did that to ye?”
“It’s a virus.”
“Where is it?”
“Remmick—”
“WHERE?!”
At night he curls around you like a protective blanket and refuses to leave. Our favourite vamp raccoon refuses to leave you.
Stack
Stack becomes a surprisingly competent nurse. He pretends he’s annoyed at first though. “Baby, I leave ya alone for five minutes and yer immune system starts freelancin’.”
Meanwhile he’s already got: water, medicine, blankets, soup and three different thermometers all at the ready for you.
“Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Wasn’t a suggestion.” He’s actually worried sick. If you fall asleep against him he’ll immediately stop moving because he’s terrified of waking you. Then he’ll sit there for four hours with his leg asleep because his baby human is sick and needs his affection.
Mary
Mary becomes incredibly gentle and motherly. She’s the type who quietly appears with tea before you’ve even asked.
Need another blanket? She’s already bringing it. Need medicine? Already handled. Need someone to sit with you? She’s there.
The scary thing is how calm she remains. You’d think she wasn’t worried at all. Then she brushes your hair away from your forehead and asks: “Tell me honestly. How bad is it?”
And suddenly you realize she’s been worrying the whole time. She’s just hiding it better than the others.
Bo
Bo acts like you’re being dramatic. For approximately ten minutes. Then he sees you actually look miserable and decides he has to do something about it. “Alright. Move over.”
He takes over the entire situation. No arguments. You’re staying in bed. You’re drinking water. You’re eating something.
The funniest part? He absolutely babies you while pretending he isn’t. “I’m not fussin’ over ya.”
He’s literally adjusting your blankets. “I’m just fixin’ this.”
He’s literally checking your temperature. “Shut up and get better already.”
Bert
You sneeze once and Bert appears from another room like a demon summoned from hell. “WHAT WAS THAT?”
“A sneeze.”
“YOU SURE? SOUNDED LIKE Y’WERE DYIN’!” He spends the first day convinced you’re dying. The second day he’s convinced you’re recovering. The third day he’s worried again. He has no consistency. But he never leaves. He’s constantly making terrible jokes because he hates seeing you miserable.
“Good news.”
“What?”
“If ya turn into a zombie I’ll still love ya.”
You then spend the day cuddling on the couch and him smooching your forehead every 30 seconds because he believes it’s healing you somehow. He will however search for a doctor eventually.
Joan
Joan researches everything. By day two she’s read seventeen medical articles. You mention a symptom once and she remembers it forever. “Your cough sounds better than yesterday.”
“…How do you know that?”
“I made notes.”
“You made notes?!”
She made notes. A whole notebook of notes.
You discover she’s been tracking your temperature, appetite, sleep and symptoms like an actual doctor. She’s basically conducting a scientific study called: how to keep my human alive.
Cornbread
Cornbread is calm. The kind of calm that means he’s already decided he’s not leaving your side until you’re better. You wake up and he’s in the chair. You nap and he’s still in the chair. You wake up again.
Still there.
“Have you moved?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you’re sick.”
If you try getting out of bed he’ll just point.
“Back.”
“Cornbread—”
“Back.”
Will bear-crush you at night and tell you that he isn’t leaving your side until you get better.
Annie
Annie is the sweetest nurse imaginable. She has it all covered. Soup, tea, fresh blankets, warm compresses and soft kisses on your forehead. She turns your room into the coziest place on Earth. And she talks to you constantly because she knows being sick can feel lonely.
“Need anything, sweetheart?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll ask again in ten minutes.”
And she does. Every ten minutes. At some point you wake up to find she fell asleep sitting beside your bed with her hand still holding yours.
Hello! How would Eddie Gluskin react to finding out that he had a 20 something year old son (please use Barry Keoghan for the son)? What does he think of said son being very much like him in the aspect of wanting to be a husband and have a wife? How does he react to his son being in love with Kevin Hannibal's sister? How would the son of Eddie be personality wise?
Eddie never even considered that he could have a son. He lost his wife a long time ago and she never told him about the pregnancy. He found out years later through a letter that was sent through the mental hospital’s mail system.
He looked down at the letter and read it a dozen times before being convinced that this wasn’t a prank or a scam.
He had a son. A son whose name was Noah. A son who had recently gotten married and just had a baby.
Eddie was a grandfather.
He sat down and ran a hand over his face as he tried to process everything. He wanted to see this son of his, perhaps be a part of his life…even if he knew it was too late to make things right.
He asked for a special authorisation and the board agreed to let him meet his son. Noah came to the mental hospital and they met near the lake surrounding the property.
Noah seemed…calm—peaceful in a way.
Eddie stood there for a moment. He didn’t know what to say to him. They were strangers. He didn’t know anything about his own son. He took out a cigarette to calm down his nerves and offered him one.
Noah refused.
Eddie didn’t blame him.
Then, Noah started talking. “I have a beautiful wife. Her name is Y/N. Y/N Hannibal Lecter. And…I have a kid of my own. There were nights when I asked myself why I wasn’t like the other kids? Why my dad never cared enough to show up? But now that I am a dad…I realise that it doesn’t matter. Because I am not you. I will never be you. And that is my biggest success. I…am not your son. I am my own man. And I am glad of the man I turned out to be without you.”
Eddie listened to him from the beginning to the end before he blew out smoke and looked up at the sky. “…Who ever said I wanted you to end up like me?”
That was the first thing he ever said to his son. And he meant it. To be honest, Eddie had a very bad life. A life he would never wish upon anyone. His life at the many mental institutions he had frequented and his obsession with becoming a husband…that were never things he had decided for himself.
He looked at Noah and smiled. “I am glad you managed to succeed where I failed. And I can assure you…there is no regret to be had about me not being around. It took me a long time to see it but…I would have ruined your life.”
Noah seemed taken aback by his words and turned fully towards him. “You aren’t…upset? About not being there for me?“
Eddie stared into his eyes and sighed. “Listen, kid. I’m mad. Very mad. But the fact that I managed to not screw you up? Yeah. That’s the best thing that could have happened to you. I turned young men—just like you—into my wives by cutting their dicks off. Frankly? Congrats on being normal.”
Noah blinked before looking back at the lake and shoving his hands into his pockets. “…So it’s true? What they said about you? About…what happened in Mount Massive Asylum?”
Eddie didn’t reply for a moment. He contemplated on what to tell him. Then he decided to tell him the truth. “Probably worse than you think. Your mother was lucky she met me before…that time in my life. And you were lucky to never have met me during that time. I don’t even know why you wanted us to meet, since you have a perfect life.”
Noah looked away before confessing. “Not so perfect. Some things I reckon I inherited from you.”
Eddie frowned. “Such as?”
Noah took a deep breath before continuing. “At night…I go into the closet and watch my wife sleep. I stare at her while I think of getting her pregnant again. I…didn’t even want the first child all that much. But the moment it was born? My mind has been…only thinking about that for months. It’s like…a thought that never wants to leave.
Eddie stared at him for a long moment.“No.”
Noah frowned. “No?”
Eddie shook his head. “That’s not me.”
“You became obsessed with people.”
“I became obsessed with owning people.” He corrected him. The cigarette burned quietly between his fingers. “You stand in a closet because you’re scared of what’s happening in your head. I dragged men into operating rooms because I wasn’t.”
Noah didn’t answer.
Eddie exhaled. “You know the difference?”
“What?”
Eddie looked at him. “You came here to ask if something was wrong with you.”
Noah swallowed.
The wind coming off the lake felt colder all of a sudden. “And what if there is?” he asked quietly. “What if there is something wrong with me?”
Eddie looked out over the water. For a moment, Noah wondered if he was going to ignore the question.
Instead, Eddie laughed and shook his head. “Kid, everybody's got something wrong with them.” Eddie flicked ash from his cigarette. “You know what I hear when you talk? I hear a man who loves his wife.”
Noah immediately shook his head. “You didn't hear the part where I stand in a closet watching her sleep?”
“I heard it.”
“That's not normal.” Noah countered.
“No.” Eddie nodded in agreement. “Neither is spending six months terrified you're becoming your father.” Eddie took another drag before continuing. “You know what normal men do when they start having ugly thoughts? They hide them. They pretend they don't exist. They tell themselves they're fine. Then one day everybody around them gets surprised.” The cigarette crackled softly. “You came looking for the worst man you could think of and asked if you should be worried. That tells me you're paying attention.”
Noah looked away. The answer should have comforted him. Instead it made his chest ache. “You really think that's enough?”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Noah, if you're standing in closets because you can't stop thinking about your wife, then stop standing in closets. Talk to her.”
Noah barked out a surprised laugh. “You want me to tell my wife I hide in closets watching her sleep?”
“I'm serious.”
Despite himself, Noah laughed again. The sound seemed strange between them.
Eddie smiled faintly. “There it is.”
“What?”
“You sound normal.” The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “Normal people aren't born normal, Noah.” He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe. “They make choices.”
Noah suddenly understood that Eddie wasn't talking about him anymore. He was talking about himself. About every choice he wished he had made differently.
After a long silence, Noah spoke. “You really don't think I'm like you?”
Eddie smiled weakly. “No.”
“How can you be so sure?” Noah asked with hesitation in his eyes.
Eddie looked at him and replied frankly. “Because if you were like me, you wouldn't be worried about becoming me.”
Where do you get all these incredible ideas, Charlie?! I wish I had your creativity..
Also, in that 'Cupid Y/N' story, why is Penny so freaking terrifying when under the influence of magic arrows?! Like R.I.P Eddie...(Also Norman, but in a different way)
Author: “Thank you so much, dearie. I have that level of creativity because…well, I guess do not really have an answer. I watched a lot of movies? 😅 Also, yes. Penny is terrifying in love. He is a nightmare. He doesn’t realise it, but he gets very excited and obsessive fast. I don’t think…he can be gentle when it comes to love. He lost that ability a long time ago.”
You left Arthur’s cell and heard House huff behind you. You looked back to see him struggling with his cane. He was in obvious pain and you wordlessly stood next to him as you walked—just in case.
He didn’t look at you, but he could sense you were standing right next to him and clearly ready to catch him in case he fell.
After a few seconds, he spoke in an annoyed tone. “…I don’t need your assistance, alright? I can walk just fine.”
You nodded. “I know. Allow me to walk next to you nonetheless. It is much more pleasant.”
You smiled at him.
He didn’t respond for a moment, before he huffed out a sigh. “Fine. You can walk next to me…but please don’t try to help me or anything. I swear, I will bite your hand off if you so much as touch me.”
You wordlessly nodded. He didn’t protest again as you stood next to him, but he did keep a very tight grip on his cane.
He quietly looked from hallway to hallway and cell to cell, and he didn’t speak for a good while before he finally commented. “This entire place is a train wreck…”
You agreed. “I know. It’s in a serious need of repair. All of it.”
House nodded, his gaze locked straight forward as he continued limping down the hallway. “Sure does. This place looks like a crack house, not a hospital. All the equipment is old and busted, all the supplies are outdated, I bet you they’ve got rats and roaches living inside the building…”
You smiled at the irony. “There used to be in the kitchen. But I chased them away. As for the equipment ? It will soon be replaced. And I already contacted a contractor to see if they can work on the cells. Perhaps better accommodations.”
He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Better accommodations, huh? You know they’re mostly criminals, right? You’re not running a homeless shelter.”
You smiled at him. “I prefer clinically insane seeking to get better. They are patients. Our patients.”
He raised an eyebrow and cast a glance at you. “They’re still crazy. And they’re still dangerous. Don’t get too comfortable or familiar with them, or one of them will end up stabbing you one night or putting a pillow over your head.” He continued pushing himself forward down the hall, his limp becoming more pronounced the further he went. “You’re way too soft on them. You need to learn how to keep a professional distance and not treat them like normal people.”
You hummed and led him to his new office—choosing to ignore his advice. “I hope your new office will be to your convenience. I allowed myself to make it as welcoming as possible.”
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, let’s see how 'welcoming' it really is." He pushed himself all the way into the office and looked around for a moment, taking a quick mental inventory of the room. He then nodded, looking somewhat impressed. "Hm…It certainly isn't the nicest place I've seen in my life, but I've definitely seen worse. At least it looks clean."
You smiled happily.
He took a long look around before his gaze settled on the chair behind the desk. He limped over and sat down, then leaned back and put his cane against the wall next to him. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, sitting completely still for a few seconds before he spoke. “Alright. I'll admit. This office isn't complete garbage.”
Suddenly, a cat appeared and sat on Dr. House’s lap. You were about to apologise and take it away when House put a protective hand around it and asked. “Is the cat part of the furniture? If so…excellent marketing strategy. I approve.”
You chuckled and shook your head. “That’s Pat. Brahms’ cat.” You then sat down in front of him. “So…how was your first day?”
He gave a small snort of amusement as he started petting the cat. “Well, it certainly hasn't been boring, I'll give you that. I met a couple of…interesting patients, and this place turned out to be a lot weirder than I thought. I mean, a lunatic dressed as a bat regularly breaking into a psychiatric hospital? I didn't think that kind of thing happened outside the comics. And the insane clown, of course. He was…certainly something.”
You smiled. “And…will you be here tomorrow ?”
He let out a huff of amusement. “Yes, I believe I will be." He smirked at you. "As long as I'm getting paid, I'll be here. But be warned, if anything weird or particularly insane happens, I will be charging extra.”
You nodded in agreement. “Fair. Completely fair.” You then looked down at your watch and smiled. “Well…congratulations. You have officially lasted longer than 90% of the doctors we hired.”
He looked amused by this statement. “Does that mean I get a gold star or a medal?”
You smiled. “How about a drink ?”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise and smiled. “A drink? Sounds like your way of trying to bribe me.”
You chuckled. “You caught me red-handed.”
He put the cat down on the ground, sat up and leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands together on the desk. “Alright. You can buy me a drink, but I'm ordering top-shelf everything.”
You nodded. “Of course.”
He stood up and grabbed his cane, then began walking towards the door. “Well then…let's get going, shall we?”
You smiled and stood up too, but then—Nurse Sandra came in. “Y/N ! We have an emergency in the Penny Brothers’ cell ! They are fighting ! Come quick !”
House stopped in his tracks and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What now?”
You didn’t answer and ran off. House sighed again, but he then decided to follow you, quickly stumbling after you. He could hear you running down the hall, and tried to follow the noise to keep pace with you.
You ended up in front of the Penny Brothers’ cell and gasped as you realised that Pennywise’s arm was missing and was now in Penny’s mouth.
“MY ARM ! GIVE IT BACK, YOU PARASITE !” Pennywise shouted. Penny refused and crawled up the ceiling like a huge spider.
House hobbled up to you and stopped next to you and leaned slightly against the wall, his breathing ragged from pain and exhaustion. Looking through the barred door at the current situation, he made a face and muttered something under his breath. “What the hell is happening here?”
You cursed under your breath. “Doctor House. You should not be here right now. Those patients are…atypical. Just stand back and let me handle this, alright?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course. I suppose I should just stand here and twiddle my thumbs while two circus freaks eat each other, right?”
Suddenly, a loud roar in the cell interrupted you both and you looked back inside to find both clowns growling at each other.
“Pennywise ! Penny ! What is going on ? Why are you two fighting ?” You asked urgently.
House snorted. “Did you say Penny and Pennywise? What, their parents didn't know what to name them, so they called them the same thing?”
You ignored House for now. You needed to calm the Penny Brothers down and entered the cell. “Hey hey ! What is going on here ?”
Both of the clowns' gazes immediately locked onto you as you entered the cell, standing completely motionless as their creepy glowing eyes were staring straight at you.
House stood by the door, watching cautiously.
You raised both hands. “Alright. Let’s just…calm down, okay boys ? Tell me. What is going on ?”
Pennywise growled. “Penny’s got my arm, and the bastard won't give it back.”
You nodded and looked up at Penny still holding onto the ceiling with drool dripping down his chin. You sighed. “Alright, Penny. Why don’t you get back down so we can talk? Did something happen? Are you hungry?”
He simply huffed in disapproval and Pennywise grumbled angrily. “Of course he's hungry. He always is. That's why he's eating my damn arm.”
You nodded. “Alright. Alright.” You then asked a guard to go get meet from the kitchen and sat down on the floor of the cell. The guards nodded and quickly left to retrieve the food. Meanwhile, Pennywise slumped against the wall and grimaced in pain as he continued holding his bloodied shoulder.
You looked up at Penny. “Penny. Come back down with your brother’s arm. Please.”
He remained on the ceiling for several more seconds. Pennywise grumbled again, his expression becoming more irritated by the second. “Yeah, good luck with that. It's no use. This idiot's stubborn as a mule and he'll never let go of my arm unless he gets what he wants.”
You stared at Penny. “Penny. I know you did not mean to do that. Just…come down. Look at Pennywise. He is in pain. He is hurt. He needs his arm.”
Penny's gaze remained fixed on you, but you saw his eyes dart over to his brother for a moment, and a hint of guilt flickered on his face.
Pennywise let out a pained chuckle. “Go ahead, boy. You know you're in the wrong here. Come on down and give me back my arm, ya stupid lil’ shit.”
After several more seconds of contemplating, Penny finally dropped down from the ceiling and took a few, cautious, steps forward on all fours. His eyes remained locked onto his brother, his gaze wary and uncertain.
House watched, still completely silent, but clearly intrigued by this whole charade. You smiled at Penny and extended a hand. “Now, Penny. I know you probably were hungry or wanted to play…But I need you to please give me the arm.”
His gaze switched to you, then down to the arm in his mouth. He paused for a moment again, then dropped the arm to the ground. It landed with a wet splat on the floor.
You smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Penny.”
You then grabbed the arm and gave it back to Pennywise. “Will you be able to heal on your own or should I ask Doctor House to give it a look, Pennywise ?”
House perked his head up and took that as his cue to enter the room. He hobbled over and knelt down next to you, taking a look at Pennywise's arm with a critical eye.
After a few moments, he spoke. “Yup. It’s severed. So hum…what do you want me to—?”
But his eyes widened in shock when he saw Pennywise’s arm miraculously reattach itself.
“What in the—?” He fell back.
You chuckled as you observed Pennywise's arm mending itself before your very eyes. House's shocked expression gradually changed into one of curiosity.
“This…This can't be…I…” He stood up and looked between the two brothers. “I…I'm going to need an explanation for that.”
You smiled knowingly. “Penny and Pennywise are…well…VERY special patients.”
House raised an eyebrow. “No kidding. But how special we talking, exactly? Because the arm reattaching itself…That really shouldn't be possible, on any scientific level.”
You coughed. “…A not human level.”
He blinked in sheer disbelief. “Not human? As in…I don't know, aliens or something? Unless we’re talking about some kind of weird, one in a million genetic mutation.”
Pennywise guffawed. “We are gods, ya idiot!”
House’s eyes widened further. “Gods…Are you serious? You’re telling me you two are actual gods?”
You sighed and shook your head. “No. They are not. They are aliens but with a superiority complex that we are currently working on.”
He looked somewhat relieved by your response. “Alright…aliens, I can buy…That at least makes some sense. I mean, I'm still trying grasp the whole arm thingy, mind you, but it's a much better explanation than them being actual, literal gods.”
You smiled and nodded before the guard came back with raw meat. You then looked back at the clowns and took the bag before throwing an entire cow leg into the air. House raised an eyebrow and was about to ask why you would do that until both Penny and Pennywise stared at the thrown piece of meat with wide, unblinking eyes. For a few seconds, both of them simply stood still. Then, both of them abruptly crouched down, before lunging forward simultaneously and beginning to viciously devour the meat in the air.
You smiled and wordlessly stepped out. House took a moment before hobbling along next to you for a few seconds before speaking. “So…Those two are definitely among the weirder patients you have, right? I mean…Aliens who consider themselves gods? That pretty much takes the cake in my book. Unless you got some other patient in here that's even weirder than those two.”
You smiled enigmatically at him.
He stopped dead in his tracks. “No. No way. What, do you really have something better than God-Complex Alien Clowns?"
You chuckled. “All in due time, Doctor House. I think you have seen enough for one day. And I still owe you a drink.”
…
“I have to ask. And be completely honest. I want the complete and full truth. How exactly does this facility manage to attract lunatics like that? Because you've got some of the most deranged, batshit crazy, utterly insane individuals that I've ever seen. And don't even get me started on the clown aliens that I just saw. Where the hell do you even find these people?”
You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, General McCain is behind the recuperation teams. They send people to retrieve slashers and they are admitted.”
House raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? People go on a manhunt for these people? And somehow just finds them? How? I mean, how do some random retrieval teams even know where to look? What, do they have a tracker or something?"
You opened the door of the hospital for him.“We receive calls or anonymous tips on murders. The slashers are rather easy to find actually. They usually hunt or kill in one specific location. And they leave traces…blood…victims.”
You walked towards your car. He hobbled to the car and got in the passenger seat, grunting slightly in pain from the effort as he leaned heavily on his cane before sitting down. “Hmm…Still…You got alien murder clowns. I don’t think you’d ever get those kinds of patients—not without a lil’ bit of help.” He closed the car door, then looked over at you.“So be honest. How do you know where to look for the really crazy ones? Or are you just waiting for them to stumble through the front door one day?" The car engine roared to life and you pulled out of the parking lot, heading out of the hospital at a steady, but comfortable, speed. House continued questioning you. “Seriously though. How do you find the most insane, most out there, totally off-the-rails patients like that? It's not the sort of thing that just…happens, surely.”
You chuckled. “Well, I do not know exactly how it works. I am still new after all. But I believe General McCain has dealt with slashers before. He knows them. He knows how they think and act. Let us just say that most slashers like to live in abandoned places—where nobody goes or wants to go. You just need to search long enough. And as for patients like Five Hargreeves and Arthur Fleck ? They are transfers. The only slasher who ever actually stepped into the hospital willingly was Michael. Or that’s what I heard.”
His expression became intrigued as he nodded in understanding. “I see. So your head of security isn't just security, huh? He’s a professional slasher hunter too? Makes sense. He'd have to be, to bring in guys like that. And how many of these 'slashers' have you got in the hospital now?”
You thought about it. “Mhm…Not sure.”
He frowned. “You're not sure? You don't know how many dangerous, murderous psychos you've got under your charge?”
You smiled weakly. “They are are not all slashers. There are normal patients like Arthur or Five who are still very human. And there are other kinds of people who we do not know because they belong to the left-wing of the hospital.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The…left-wing of the hospital? You mean there are more patients that I haven't seen or met yet? How many more patients are we talking here?”
You smiled as you kept driving. “You won’t meet the left-wing patients. They have their own doctors and staff. We barely meet occasionally. I have never met them myself.”
House leaned back in the seat. “You've never met them? Really? You're telling me there's a whole section of patients you don't ever see? How are they even able to isolate themselves like that?”
You shrugged and stopped in front of a bar. “Heavy doors and hospital regulations.”
He hummed as he unbuckled himself, then used his cane to slowly climb out of the car. “A whole section of the hospital that is off limits, and you’ve never been curious?”
You smiled, but didn’t answer and opened the door for him. He sighed and hobbled inside, glancing around briefly and giving the place a look-over. “You could not have picked a more generic bar if you tried. I can practically already taste the mediocre brew.”
You smiled and playfully nudged him. “It is a place for the staff to distress after a long day of work. And the alcool is excellent. But I often come here for a good burger and fries. I am starving.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he followed you. “Burger and fries? Seriously? I thought you were a classy lady. Ordering the cheapest food you can find…You trying to impress me?”
You grinned at him and shrugged. “Extra ketchup. Extra fries. I will also eat with my hands. Can you believe it?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Oh really? That's very classy, I see you're really going to great lengths to impress me.”
You laughed his sarcasm off. “Come on. I am paying for whatever you’re getting. The least you could do is keep me company while I eat.”
A smile returned as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, easy there. Did I turn down your offer? Besides, a free drink and meal is not something you can just turn down.” He hobbled forward and sat down in front of you. He let out a sigh of relief and started massaging his calf. “Ugh…walking up and down that corridor with all the patient' cells. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. But, you’re buying me a drinki. I won’t press charges.”
You smiled and discreetly retrieved something from your pocket. “Maybe this will…cheer you up ?”
You left a Vicodin pill box on the table.
His eyes widened at the sight of the pills. He quickly snatched up the box and opened it, looking inside. “A gift? What’s the catch?”
You smiled. “You told me about your leg. I know Vicodin pills are expensive and even more so when you have no actual health insurance or prescriptions. No catch. You impressed me today.”
He chuckled as he looked back up at you, a smirk returning to his face. “You really don't have any shame, do you? Bribing me with a free drink and painkillers. You've got to work on your subtle seduction techniques.”
You smirked back. “Sometimes honesty is the best seduction technique there is.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked wider. “Is that so? Well then, in the name of honesty…Let me be just as honest with you. That is the single most pathetic attempt at flirting I have ever witnessed in my entire life.”
You hummed. “If you do not want my gift I could just…” You ever so slowly started dragging the pill box away from him.
His smirk disappeared in a moment, and he quickly snatched it back, glaring at you with a sharp eye. “Ah-ah-ah. Hands off. That is my Vicodin. I don't care how terrible your pickup lines are, you're not getting this back now.”
You smirked. “Ah. So suddenly you are opened to bribes ?”
He rolled his eyes again, before shoving the box into his pocket and leaning forward. “Alright, fine. I'll admit. For the right price, I am completely and totally receptive to bribes.”
You chuckled. “You and I will be happy coworkers. I can already feel it.”
He rolled his eyes and lifted up one of the menus on the table. You looked at the menu as well. “The maxi cheese burger looks good.”
He smirked and nodded as he looked over the menu. “The 'maxi burger.' Sounds like an even more generic name than the name of this place honestly. I think I'll have to order it just to see just how mediocre it is.”
You chuckled. “Ah. So you can tell me how shitty my tastes are?”
He nodded and chuckled as well. “Oh, I can already tell they are pretty shitty. Hell, you took me to a generic-name, generic-looking bar. In terms of good tastes, you've been failing pretty hard so far.”
You smirked. “Even if you do not like it, I will enjoy my burger…and enjoy the sight of you disgustingly picking at your food because you thought I would care about your opinion on my food choices.”
He rolled his eyes. “Who said I won't like the food?” He closed the menu and set it down on the table. “Maybe that shitty burger you're ordering is the best thing I've ever had in my life, and it will completely blow my mind.”
You smiled. “Then we will both be happy and maybe I will get the chance of seeing a smile on that face.”
He rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart. I am very hard to please, in case you haven't noticed."
“You don’t say…” You bit back a cheeky smile as a waiter came by and you gave him your order.
House looked up at the waiter and spoke in a slightly mocking tone. “I want the biggest, largest, greasiest, most fat-packed, cholesterol-filled meal you have on the menu. No vegetables, no fruits. I want everything as unhealthy as possible. You got that?”
Your eyes widened and you started laughing to yourself. He smirked as he heard you laughing, and then turned back to the waiter, who was still standing there—looking vaguely concerned. “You heard me, right? No rabbit food. I want a burger that'll send me straight into cardiac arrest, and a side of bacon so greasy it'll harden in my arteries.”
The waiter nodded and walked away, still a little nervous.
You chuckled as you watched the waiter walk away and shook your head in disbelief. “You know, I did not take you for a man with a death wish.”
He chuckled as well, nodding in agreement. “Well, if I'm gonna eat junk-food, I well better go all-out and get all the junkiest stuff I can find. Hell, I might even order dessert if this place has any.”
You smirked. “They have the chocolate cake from Matilda. You know—the movie ?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That sounds ridiculously unhealthy and totally fake, and absolutely perfect. I'm gonna order three.”
You started laughing even louder.
He gave you a smirk, clearly amused by your reaction. “You laugh, but it's the truth. If I'm gonna treat myself, I'm gonna go all out. I'm not the kind of guy who'll order some diet salad or something just so I can look healthy.”
You started cackling and replied sarcastically.“You truly are a people person.”
He shrugged. “Oh, come on. I'm a man of simple tastes. I don't need fancy restaurants or anything like that. I was never one of those social butterly types. And I don't even like butterflies that much to be honest. They're kinda terrifying. Just sitting there, slowly flapping their wings right in your face, staring with their creepy, buggy eyes…It's like a horror movie.”
You smirked and looked at him with an amused expression. “Then I must be a nightmare to you. Trying to convince everyone that the slashers are capable of redemption and reinsertion in society.”
He smirked right back at you. “Actually, that part's not what worries me. I already have a good idea of how insane these slashers are, so I understand your efforts are, more likely than not, going to be completely futile. What worries me is that you seem to have a tendency to try way too hard to make people like you. In my professional opinion, your personality is sickeningly sweet, bordering on irritating. You're going to give me a cavity.”
You winced and brought a hand up to your chest. “Ouch. You could have at least kissed the rock before throwing it at me.”
He huffed. “Sorry, but I'm a man of medicine. I gotta call it as I see it. And it's my honest medical opinion that you're way too nice of a person. You're going to get taken advantage of, mark my words. Or maybe that’s your master plan. Making everyone believe that you are so nice and then BOOM. You are actually an evil witch.” He smirked and shrugged. “Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe you are just a nice person, and you truly care about the well-being of these maniacs, and you want to do your best to help. Who knows. But one thing is for sure: You need to learn to loosen up, be a little more mean. You're going to be eaten alive otherwise.”
You took a sip of water. “Well…I do not need to. Not anymore. I have you to be the mean voice now.”
He smirked. “Right. I'm the mean old and grumpy doctor with horrible bedside manners. You, on the other hand, seem to be the type that the patients are going to end up clinging to, like a bunch of little parasites, because you are so…ugh…nice. Glad to know I play such a vital role in your life. Being mean is something of a specialty of mine, in case you couldn't tell by now.”
You smiled and stared at him. “…I was joking, you know ? I do not believe you are all that mean. Just demanding. And that’s good by me. Besides, I believe the patients like you.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you. “Really? What, is it my charming personality? My irresistible sense of humor? The fact that I can keep a constant sarcastic tone in every conversation? What is it that the lunatics are finding so fun about me, aside from my rugged good looks and incredible intelligence, of course?”
You stared silently at him for a moment.
“Your honesty, Doctor House.” You finally replied and smiled. “The patients recognise genuine people when they see one. You might hide behind your sarcasm…but they know you are not someone who will deceive them.”
He huffed and rolled his eyes yet again. “Oh please. They're a bunch of lunatics. They're crazy and delusional and most likely have serious brain damage. If I'm being completely honest, I doubt they're even capable of recognizing anything, aside from maybe bright lights and loud noises. Do you really think that they're capable of detecting my…I don't know, I guess my 'honesty' or whatever? Give them a little more credit than they deserve, why don't you.”
“Slashers are more sensitive than you give them credit for.” You smiled. “They see more than what we think.”
He rolled his eyes again. “You have got to be kidding me. You really have way too much faith in these people. What, do you honestly think they have X-ray vision, like Superman, or something? 'Cause let me tell you something: the only people in the world with X-RAY VISION are x-ray technicians and radiologists. These loonies are not superhuman, no matter how much you want to believe they are. They need a reality check. That's all there is to it.”
You smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve seen masked serial killers, criminal masterminds and alien killer clowns. And yet…You still believe there is nothing more to them ?”
He huffed and shook his head. “I don't believe there's nothing more to them. I'm sure they all have complicated, disturbing histories and traumatic pasts and all sorts of weird mental issues. That's just a given with insane people. But what I don't buy into is this notion that they're all somehow psychic, and can sense my underlying personality and intentions. That's just ridiculous. Unless you're a psychologist, you have got no hope of deciphering a person's thought process with some kind of superhuman intuition. I'm not buying that bullshit for a second.”
You smiled. “And yet, we choose to trust each other.”
He sighed. “Please…Don't compare our completely normal, everyday relationship to your insane patients. The fact that you and I trust each other in a fairly normal way is completely different than these freaks "sensing" that I'm trying to help them. There is a perfectly logical process in me trusting you, which involves the fact that you are a normal, somewhat sane person, and that you have given me no reason to believe otherwise. See? Simple, easy, and completely understandable. Not some kind of mental sixth sense.”
You hummed and rested your chin in the palm of your hand and there was a knowing gleam in your eyes.
“So…you do trust me ?” You asked with an amused smile.
He huffed and crossed his arms. Busted. "Of course I trust you…enough. You haven't given me a reason not to. You are…tolerable. But would I really trust you with everything ? Of course not. I don't just go around blindly giving out my trust to just anyone. You have to work for it. I have high standards. And don't expect total trust right off the bat. You have a lot of work to do before then. That is not earned easily, let me tell you.”
Your smile widened. “I’ll take it.”
He huffed again and smirked as he began rubbing his forehead, where a growing headache was forming. “You are so easily pleased, I swear. I've given you the absolute bare minimum of trust, and you're acting like it's a marriage proposal.”
You blinked before laughing again. Then the waiter came back with your orders. Your eyes widened as you saw the actual size of the burger who was brought for House. It was almost the size of the table. He smiled and rubbed his hands together eagerly, his headache completely forgotten as he looked at the colossal, greasy monstrosity sitting in front of him.
“Oh yeah. That's more like it!” He grabbed a knife and fork and immediately set to work cutting off a large chunk before shoving it into his mouth and eating ravenously.
You chuckled and grabbed your own burger to take a big bite out of it.
He took another large bite and nodded his head. “Not bad. Not bad. They definitely overloaded it with grease and cholesterol, just the way I asked for it. It's really making my arteries harden as we speak. This is the good stuff.” He took another bite, followed by another, before stopping to speak again. “I'm guessing your burger isn't nearly as disgusting as mine?”
You chewed enthusiastically and did not even bother answering. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, slightly surprised by your overly-enthusiastic expression, before taking another massive bite and then speaking with his mouth half-full. “Damn…Do you get this hyped up over everything? You're acting like you've never had a decent burger before in your life.”
“Everything tastes better in company.” You replied before taking another bite.
He rolled his eyes before taking another bite himself. “Oh, spare me with the clichés. I swear, you are just a walking Hallmark card.”
You tilted your head. “Hmm ?”
He chuckled as he shook his heard before taking another bite. “You just sound cliché. Hallmark Card. Like, the type of overly-cheesy bullshit that Hallmark would sell, and that stupid, romantic, overly-sentimental morons would write. I can practically see the little, crappy hearts all over the inside and the corny, poorly written messages. You definitely sound like someone who would write one of those.”
You snorted. “And you would be an old broken radio. Repeating over and over: Misery. Misery. Misery. Blah blah blah. Boooring.”
He rolled his eyes again. “You see, right there. That right there was a pathetic attempt at a witty comeback. That should be embarrassing for you.”
You grinned. “You are just jealous that I can still see the good in this world, you terrible sceptic.”
You ate a fry. He rolled his eyes again and scoffed. “What, you think I'm some kind of Grinch who hates the idea of good things in the world? Please. I'm not a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm not pure evil either. I can appreciate good things just like anyone else.”
You stopped eating for a second and seemed genuinely curious. “Like what?”
“Like…This food for one. And the fact that I'm getting a free meal. Can't really complain about that.” He replied.
You nodded. “True. Very true.”
He chuckled and took another bite. “Also that little pill of Vicodin you gave me earlier. That was a nice bonus.”
You smiled. “So…everything I gave you?”
He shrugged. “I can count the number of people who have given me either free food or free drugs in one hand, and you've given me both so, yeah, that's pretty good in my book.”
You wordlessly smiled.
He raised an eyebrow at your expression. “Seriously…What's with that grin? Why are you so damn smiley all the time? You look like a golden retriever, with that goofy smile permanently grafted onto your face.”
You shrugged. “Be the change you wanna see in the world as they say.”
He rolled his eyes again. “Well, if that's what you want to do, be my guest. Good luck changing the world with your endless happiness.”
He took another, massive bite of his burger and let out a satisfied groan of pleasure.
You grinned. “So ? Good ?”
He nodded vigorously as he swallowed the huge mouthful. “Oh, yeah. That's good. Really good. Just pure heart attack material.” He took another, huge bite, before speaking again in between chewing. “I don't think there's one single healthy thing on this entire burger. Bacon, sausage, cheese, mayonnaise, ketchup…They threw it all in here.”
You smiled. “Nothing better for the end of your first day. Try not to kill yourself though. We’ve got work tomorrow.”
He smirked in response and raised the rest of the burger up to his mouth in a mocking mock-salute. “Hey, who knows? I may keel over tomorrow. No one knows for sure how long they've got left on this world.” He then let out a sarcastic laugh and took a few hasty bites. “You just never know when death is sneaking up behind you. Even if you're just at work.” He took another, huge, bite out of the burger.
You huffed a laugh. “I would resuscitate you. Bring you back from the beyond myself. No way am I losing another doctor.”
He chuckled in response. “Aw, that's sweet of you. I guess I am a bit of a rarity on the medical front. Can't be that easy to find a doctor willing to put up with working with a bunch of insane, raving lunatics like them. So you better keep me alive. I'm apparently valuable.”
You smiled and answered truthfully. “Yes. You are.”
He smirked again. “Well, look at that. We actually agree on something. That's a rare occurrence for us. I am valuable. You've caught onto that quickly. I'm clearly the MVP of the hospital. No one else in that hospital can do what I do, and you know it.”
You nodded while discreetly trying to steal one of his fries. “Oh yes. Incredibly valuable. Best doctor this side of town.”
He rolled his eyes at you trying to steal one of the fries, but didn't say anything on it. “Of course I'm the best doctor this side of town. Where else are you gonna find a brilliant mind like mine? No other hospital in the country could ever produce something like me. I'm one in a million. You should be honoured to have the privilege of working with such a legend. And I have really good eye sight, in case you are wondering. I can see you trying to steal one of my fries, and I am not about to let that happen.”
He quickly shoved the plate away from you.
You pouted. “Sharing is caring ?”
He smirked and poked his remaining fries in a childishly defensive way. “My fries. All mine. Get your own.”
You scoffed before breaking into a light laughter.
He shook his head. “Yeah, go ahead and laugh. It ain't gonna get you any closer to a single one of my fries. These bad boys are all mine, and I ain't sharing a single one.”
You pouted. “But I finished all mine.”
He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “And whose fault is it that you finished yours before I finished mine? This sounds like a you problem. Yeah. Sucks to be you.”
You huffed. “Fine. It’ll be less for my love handles.”
He smirked and nodded, before taking another, enormous bite of his burger. “Yeah, exactly. So you should be thanking me. Doing you a favor really. You don't wanna get fat, you'll stop looking as cute. It's my good deed of the day.”
You froze. “Wait…Hold on.” You smirked. “What was that ?”
He paused mid-bite and his eyes widened momentarily, realizing what he just said. He then quickly swallowed and attempted to recover, a confident smirk returning to his face. “What, you think I was actually calling you cute? I am a doctor, in case you forgot. I was just pointing out an obvious medical fact. It's a well-known, scientifically proven fact that the heavier you are, the more unattractive you are.”
You hummed. “Right. It’s the first compliment I received from you.”
He rolled his eyes and rolled with the conversation. “Alright, alright, you're cute, I admit it. There. I said it. Happy now, you attention-seeking, validation junkie?”
You smiled. “Thank you, Doctor House.”
He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Oh yes, you are very welcome. It was my pleasure to boost your already astronomically high self-esteem, and to remind you that you are physically attractive.”
You looked down. “Right. I haven’t taken a shower in two days, I am sleep-deprived and I am still in my nurse uniform. But I am physically attractive in your opinion.”
He rolled his eyes again. “You still look decent, considering all those factors. Trust me. You aren't half bad. You've still got a long way to go before you are as sleep-deprived, unwashed and haggard looking as me."
You smiled and didn’t say anything after that. You let him finish his burger and paid before you left the dinner. He held the door open before stepping out into the lot and waiting for you to do the same. You did and thanked him before looking up. It was dark outside. But the stars were shining bright.
You closed your eyes and filled your lungs with fresh air. Then you re-opened them and stared at the stars above.
He looked up as well, following your gaze to the sky to see the bright stars above. He leaned against the wall and put his cane at his side. “…You like stars, huh? A lot of people do, I guess. I don't get it personally. They just look like bright, random lights in the sky. People give them all these weird names and meanings but they're just…lights. I don't see what's so special about them.”
You smiled. “My uncle and I used to look at them at night. Together. Then we would make a wish every night.”
He rolled his eyes but secretly was listening intently. “Oh yeah? What kind of wish? Don't tell me you were wishing for some kind of childish dream, like becoming a princess or a superhero, or president. Or worse, that you'd find true love.”
You chuckled. “Oh no. None of that.”
He looked at you. “No? Then what were you and your mysterious uncle wishing for? Or is it some kind of super top secret information, too secret to share with me?”
You shook your head. “No. If you wish to know…I would ask them to keep our family safe—to watch over us.”
He snorted in response. “You asked stars, of all things, to watch over you? Seriously?”
You smiled weakly. “My uncle told me that the stars were the people who passed away over the years…so I wasn’t really asking the stars. But my parents. To watch over me and my uncle.”
He raised an eyebrow, the sarcastic smirk disappearing. “Oh…I see.”
It was suddenly very silent between the two of you…
“I, uh…I'm sorry for your loss.”
You shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
He nodded and took a deep, heavy breath.
He stayed silent for another moment before letting out a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. He then turned away from you. “Ugh…Now the conversation just got depressing. Can we move on to something else? All that emotional crap is making me nauseous.”
You smiled and looked at him. “Of course. So…where do you live ? I will drive you.”
He looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “You're just gonna give me a ride, huh? You expect me to let myself be whisked away by some random nurse? Not so fast. I'm not letting a creep like you drive me off to some remote country-side cabin or something. I've read that horror story dozens of times."
You chuckled. “Except I drove you to the diner and bought you dinner and I am now your coworker. Besides, I told you I need you to come to work tomorrow. I won’t kill you—yet.”
House’s smirk returned to his face. “Oh, so you're just gonna wait until I'm no longer useful, huh? I understand. You're playing the long con. I will let my guard down and then you'll knock me out, take me to some abandoned farm in Idaho, and I'll wake up in a dark, damp cellar chained to a wall. You really should be more subtle about it, you're tipping your hand before your master plan is in full swing.”
You grinned. “Wow. You read me like a book.”
He shrugged. “I'm a genius. That's my job: figuring people out. So, let me guess. This cellar I'm being held prisoner in is going to be your torture chamber, right? Or maybe you'll hold me hostage so you can live out all your weird, fetish-fueled-power-play fantasies or something. I can see you're the type that gets off on that kind of thing. You'd probably like to be the mistress to a billionaire, having all the best that money can buy.”
You restrained a laugh. “And you would be…what ?”
He smirked. “The billionaire. Of course. Who wouldn't want to be a billionaire with a hot mistress that follows you around, wearing expensive clothes and jewelry, pampering you 24/7, and doing anything and everything you say? It's a great life. Who wouldn't want that kind of life?”
You chuckled. “Come on, Doctor House. You would never be mistaken for a billionaire.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why not? I'm smart, I have money, I'm a doctor, I'm single and I have a nice apartment. It could totally happen. I've got the credentials and the means to be a billionaire with a beautiful mistress, and you know it.”
You smiled and didn’t answer before walking to your car.
“Mister Billionaire. Your ride is here.” You opened the passenger door.
He rolled his eyes and smirked, before hobbling over to the passenger side of the car and getting in. “Yeah, yeah. Just drive. And no funny business, understand? One wrong turn and I will not hesitate to jump out of this moving vehicle.”
You closed the door and smirked before whispering. “I would catch up with you in no time.”
He chuckled as he buckled up, fastening the seatbelt before turning to you. “Oh, you would huh? I'd like to see you try. I may not look like it, but I can go pretty far with my 'gimpy little leg' if I need to.”
You smiled before getting in the driver seat and starting the car. “So…Where to?”
He told you to take a left. You smiled and did as he instructed. He occasionally winced when a sudden movement jostled his leg, but otherwise remained silent, mostly staring out the passenger window.
You started humming and drumming your fingers on the wheel.
He rolled his eyes and smirked. “You really are a cheerful one, aren't you? All smiles and sunshine all the time. Doesn't it get annoying having to fake it all the time?”
You glanced at him with a confused expression. “Who said I was faking it? I love my life.”
He rolled his eyes again and huffed. “It just seems impossible for someone to have such a positive view of everything all the time. It's like everything you look at through those big, wide, doe-eyes of yours is either a ray of sunshine that must be nurtured, or a piece of art that must be worshiped. How it is possible to see absolutely everything in such a positive, sunny view all the time? It's like you live in some Disney-world nightmare land where everyone is skipping through a field of flowers and singing happy songs 24/7.”
Your fingers twitched and you stopped drumming. He noticed. “What, did I finally hit a sore spot? You don't like it when someone questions your sunshine-and-rainbows view of life? Is your precious, happy-go-lucky world view being threatened by the mean old cynic who hates good vibes? What, is your world gonna fall apart now? Did I finally pop the bubble?”
You stopped the car. “I believe we have arrived.”
He turned away from you and looked out the window to see that, indeed, your car had stopped in front of his apartment building.“Huh. Looks like you weren't trying to kill me after all. That's a surprise.”
You both stayed still.
He remained silent too, neither one of you moving. Then, he finally turned to you and spoke. “Alright, looks like I'm here. You gonna unlock the door and let me out, or is this the part where you pull out the rope and gag from the back and start planning my basement jail break?”
You didn’t reply.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well? I'm waiting. Or are you gonna just sit here and stare at me all night? You wanna sit awkwardly until the end of time? I'm tired and would really like for this night to be over, so if you could just get out and open the door for me that would—”
“Is it that difficult to believe that I am simply trying to be a good person, Doctor House ?” You finally asked—tired of his constant skepticism.
He raised both eyebrows in response. “Huh. Did I finally touch a nerve? Did I finally get the overly-sunny, relentlessly-happy nurse to drop the kind, generous act, and show me her true grumpy-face? That's a first. Is this what a real conversation with you sounds like? I never thought I'd see the day.”
You looked at him and smiled weakly. “Yeah. You won. I just…like to be a good nurse, Doctor House. I work with dangerous individuals who feed on fear. Have you tried to stop and think for a second what would happen if I lost my smile for even a moment?”
He paused before turning serious. “Of course I did. I'm not stupid, you know. I know you do what you do for a reason. I'm just choosing to give you a hard time about it, because I enjoy messing with people like you.”
You frowned. “Like me ?”
He scoffed. “You know exactly what I mean: the happy-go-lucky, sunshine and rainbows type. The kind that has a perpetual smile on their face, and sees every glass as half full, even if they spill it. The kind of person who never seems sad, no matter what happens, always smiling through the good times and the bad. The kind of person that never seems to get sick of anything or anyone, and that is willing to give everyone second, third, fourth…infinite chances, even when others tell them to just let the person go.”
You forced a smile as you realised that perhaps Doctor House wasn’t being hostile against you on purpose. “I see.” You climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door.“Well…I guess you won.”
He huffed humourlessly. “I always do. It's what I'm good at.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and then carefully got out of the car, keeping his cane by his side and making sure to put most of his weight on his good leg.
You nodded. “Well…goodnight, doctor.”
He nodded as well and then smirked. “Yeah, good night, head nurse. Guess I'll see you at work tomorrow."
“Yes.“ You then turned around…but his voice sounded behind you
“Hey, at least give me a hand to walk with, will you? I'm the old guy with the bad leg, remember? You really gonna just gonna make me hobble all the way to the apartment by myself?”
You froze and didn’t look back. “You made it clear what you think of me. You think I am fake. You think that I am not a good person. Why would you want me to come with you ?”
He rolled his eyes at your overdramatic reply. “For crying out loud, I'm just asking for you to help me limp to the door. You're acting like I'm asking you to come spend the night and read me a bedtime story. What's this, a little payback for me insulting you? You're giving me the silent treatment and refusing to help me walk because I called you out on your fake, overly-cheerful act? Grow up.”
You hesitated before sighing and walking back to him. “I thought you didn’t like people offering you help ?”
He rolled his eyes in response. “I don't like people offering to help if I don't need any. Right now, I'm an old, crippled man who needs a little help getting to the apartment. So, I'm making an exception.”
You sighed before wrapping an arm around his waist to secure him. He gripped his cane with his free hand, and then placed his other arm around your shoulders, using you to balance himself, before the two of you started walking carefully towards the main door of the apartment building.
You arrived and called the elevator.
He hobbled alongside you, leaning on you for support, as you brought him into the lobby of the apartment building. He continued to keep a steady grip on his cane and his arm wrapped around your shoulders while you pressed the elevator button with your free hand. The two of you stood, waiting in the lobby for a few moments. He stayed steady against you and remained silent, before the elevator finally arrived and the doors opened with a ding.
He limped into the elevator, using his cane and your support to help keep his balance as the two of you navigated inside. You pressed the button to take the elevator up, and then the doors shut, leaving the two of you alone in the small lift together.
He seemed to lean forward and you pressed your free hand to his chest. “Hey. Stay with me.”
He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and smirked. “What, scared I'll fall over and hurt myself? You really are a mother hen, aren't you?”
You smiled. “The patients call me Mama Bear. I think it is rather funny.”
He rolled his eyes and smirked again. “Of course they do. I bet you're like their pseudo-mother figure, always babying and coddling and doting on them. No wonder they like you so much. You're their mama.”
There was a distinctive ding and the doors of the elevator opened. He lifted his cane and hobbled out of the elevator, and you helped guide him safely into the hallway.
The two of you started walking down the hallway, still walking side by side with your arm wrapped around his waist. The hall was nearly empty, filled only by the sound of muted tv broadcasts floating out of the apartments and the occasional creaks and groan of the building itself.
You stopped in front of his apartment door and helped him get in. You looked around and found a mess…Old takeaway boxes, books everywhere than on the shelves, clothes thrown one on top the other…
He limped into the room and sighed at the sight of his messy apartment. “Ugh…Yeah, sorry if it's a bit of a dump right now. I haven't had time or the energy to clean the place up lately. I've been busy with work, and…Well…” He paused for a moment to make his way over to the couch and to ease himself down into the cushions.
You nodded before proceeding to pick up the trash to throw it in the bin.
He leaned back and sat in the couch as he watched you pick up the trash and garbage and then place it into the bin. “You don't have to clean for me, you know. I can do it myself when I have time. Or, I could just hire a cleaning lady.”
You didn’t reply and only kept picking up old empty boxes, bottles and beer cans.
He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You're not gonna listen to me now? I'm telling you, you don't have to clean up my apartment for me. I can do it myself when I have the time. I'm not so crippled that I can't pick up some garbage.”
You smiled. “You are now a doctor at St Louis Hospital. You need a proper and clean space to rest to be fully efficient.”
He rolled his eyes and smirked. “You really are a little mother hen, huh? You just can't help yourself when you see a grown man who's a little messy, you just have to start tidying the place up. How stereotypical.”
You ignored his negative comments and started picking up the books next.
He rolled his eyes and sighed, before resigning to letting you clean up after him, figuring that he wouldn't be able to get you to stop. “Ugh…There. Fine. Knock yourself out. But can you at least do it all a little quieter? You're giving me a headache. I don't need you making a bunch of noise while I'm trying to rest my leg.”
You nodded and tried to be as quiet as possible. He leaned back on the couch and sighed, before resting his cane at his side and getting himself more comfortable. He took a deep, heavy breath and closed his eyes, trying to relax and ignore the sound of you picking up clutter and stacking books.
You put them back on the shelves one by one. You were happy to see the floor now.
He let out a sigh, his eyes still closed as he listened to you sorting the books. After a few moments, he finally spoke. “The books don't have to be in a certain order you know. I have a system—a very specific system. My books need to be kept in a very specific order based on a very specific criteria that only I understand.”
You hummed. “Doctor House. I have a theory. I believe you do not need those books. I believe you read every single one of them. I believe you remember each and every word. I know that no matter the order I put them in, you won’t even look at them.”
He opened one eye and smirked. “Oh yeah? And how do you know that?”
He closed his eyes again. “You seem so certain about the idea that I'm that smart, that I've read every single one of those books and remember every single word, or that I won't even bother to look at them if they're out of order. I do not have photographic memory.”
You smiled and look at the title of one of the books. “Blood transfusion. Chapter 3.”
He opened one eye then, looking over at the book you picked up. He then smirked. “I can clearly see that the book you're holding is open to chapter 3. Well done, you.”
You chuckled. “Come on. Chapter 3. Imagine I am a dummy and I need that knowledge because one of my patients needs an urgent blood transfusion.”
He closed his eye again and sighed. “Chapter one covers the basics of the process: The different blood groups, Rh factors, and blood typing. This one is the most important because you need to be sure that this patient can accept another one's blood without their whole immune system rejecting it. Chapter two goes off of that by going into detail on how you can prepare blood for transfusion…”
He then launched into the book, reciting the specifics of Chapter 3 from memory, just as you had asked.
You smiled. “Correct, Doctor House. A+.”
He rolled his eyes and smirked. “Wow. Thanks, I'll be sure to frame that A+ and put it on my fridge. Or maybe I'll use it to pick up all the ladies. I'm sure 'A Plus on a book on blood transfusion' is going to get me laid.”
You hummed before continuing with your cleaning.
He smirked again and then closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He listened to you continuing to sort through the clutter of his apartment, cleaning it up and making it more presentable. “Are you planning on staying all night and tidying up every part of my apartment?”
You did not answer. You just kept picking things up. Even dirty clothes that you put into a pile for a good washing.
He sighed and then leaned back in the couch once more, settling into the cushions and closing his eyes again. “Yeah, of course you are. This is like a little treat for you, isn't it? You get to come over and play nurse, even when you're off the clock. You get to play mother hen and clean up my apartment for me. It's a nurse's wet dream.”
You didn’t answer his obvious taunt. He smirked as you remained silent and continued cleaning. He then decided to tease you. “Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find my porn stash.”
You hummed. “Porn is normal for a single middle-aged man to own. There is no shame in it.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at you. “That's it? No disgusted reaction? No lecture on the evils of pornography? No shock and horror?”
You shook your head negatively. “No, Doctor House. This is your home, your sanctuary. I won’t be so terribly rude as to shame you for anything that you do in your free time.”
He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised that you would have such a relaxed attitude towards pornography. “Not even a single raised eyebrow? No shocked gasp? No look of judgement? Nothing?”
You smiled and huffed. “You are an adult.”
He smirked again. “Maybe I should be concerned that you seem so nonchalant. You should be having an appropriately shocked, aghast reaction to something like that. Instead, you're telling me that I'm an adult that consumes porn and you're fine with it. You're acting like a mother that just found her son's stash and isn't all that bothered by it.”
You kept a smile on your face. “Why would I feel concerned by your porn consumption ?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? You really don't think there's anything wrong with porn? With people, especially men, getting addicted to a harmful stimulant like pornography? You don't think it's an issue that some people, some guys, get addicted to this stuff and can't get off without it? You don't think it's harmful for people to develop certain unrealistic expectations about real life, sexual relationships because of the imagery that's pushed by the adult entertainment industry?”
You stilled before slowly looking back at him. “…I believe you are not the kind of man to take those pictures to heart, Doctor House.”
He rolled his eyes and smirked. “Of course not. I'm not dumb enough to get so hooked on it that I'm incapable of getting it up in real life without the images on a screen.”
You nodded before looking around. “Well, it seems I have finished. I will be going now.”
He nodded and opened his eyes again. “Yeah, looks like you're done. Now, the only problem is that it's nearly midnight. Any other time, I'd say go ahead and drive home, but this late at night…”
You smiled. “I am perfectly capable of driving back to the hospital. It is not all that far.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and you've been working all day, which means you are probably sleep deprived. That, on top of the roads being potentially icy at this temperature and the risk of some nutjob driver running into you…”
You shrugged. “The patients need someone to look after them at night.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I get that. But one of the nurses can take your place. That hospital isn't going to fall apart if you're gone for one night.”
You hesitated. “Well…I will probably find a motel or hotel nearby.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and what a lovely night you'll have there, in those dingy, sketchy places. Not to mention all the criminals prowling the streets at night, who would love nothing more than to mug an exhausted, young woman after midnight.”
You sighed. “What other option is there ?”
He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Well, you could always stay here for the night.”
You blinked. “Here?”
He nodded, and then smirked. “Yeah, why not? You just spent the last hour cleaning the place. You already know the layout of the apartment. I'm pretty sure I have an old shirt or an over-shirt in my closet that you can borrow. And I could sleep on the couch.”
You frowned. “With your leg? You need a good night sleep too.”
He smirked and rolled his eyes. “My leg is fine. I can handle a night sleeping on a couch. I've slept on far worse back in medical school.”
You hesitated. “Are you certain?”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yeah, I'm certain. I'm a doctor, remember? And I'm a guy. We don't complain when it comes to this kind of thing. I'm perfectly capable of spending one night on the couch.”
You reluctantly nodded. “Alright. You talked of spare shirts ?”
He nodded and pointed to his bedroom door. “Yeah, there's a closet in my bedroom. Just walk in and open the closet, you'll see them. Knock yourself out.”
You nodded and went there before finding an old Star Wars t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes once more. He opened them to find you standing into his kitchen to get a glass of water. “Is that my old Star Wars t-shirt? You really rummaged through the deepest trenches of my life to find that thing. Last time I wore that was in…What, high school? College? I can't remember which anymore.” He shook his head and smirked before going back to relaxing. “…I was so into Star Wars, it was actually kind of sad. I was into pretty much every kind of geeky stuff as well. Movies, comic books, D&D games, whatever I could to get my fix. I kind of wish I still had those old things…I bet the apartment would look a lot less boring if I had a few of those things sitting around.”
You nodded and smiled at him. “Perhaps. Goodnight, Dr. House.”
He nodded as well and then closed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”
“I’m terribly sorry, dear. Mr. Wayne is in a meeting, and he is not to be disturbed until it is over. Would you like to leave a message for him?” The voice on the other end replied.
Your smile twitched. “Yes. Could you tell him that St Louis Mental Hospital’ head nurse called?”
The intern was quiet for a moment, the sound of typing audible in the background as she began writing down your message. “Yes, of course. May I ask for your name?”
“Y/N L/N.”
She was quiet again for a moment, as if she were writing it down. “Head Nurse Y/N L/N from St Louis Mental Hospital…I have that noted. Is there a number where he may call you back once his meeting is over?”
“The same one than I called you from.”
She wrote it down. “Alright…and may I ask what this call is about, ma’am?”
You hummed. “The fundings given to St Louis and the lack of medical staff.”
She was quiet, seemingly taken aback by your response. “Err- I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. But why are you calling Wayne Enterprises about that? We don’t handle hospital finances…”
“Mr. Wayne personally sent funds to keep the hospital running. It is the reason for this call.” You replied evenly.
Again there was an awkward confused silence on the other end of the line as the intern struggled to find words. Her voice was uncertain when she spoke again. “One moment, please…I’ll transfer you to his private secretary.”
You hummed. “Thank you.”
You were placed on hold, and after a few moments of listening to generic hold music, a man picked up the phone. He had a formal, upper-class voice, and he spoke with a smooth and cold, professional manner. “Secretary to Mr. Wayne. How may I help you?”
“Right. This is Head Nurse Y/N L/N from the St Louis Mental Hospital ? I would like to speak to Mr. Wayne.”
The secretary gave an emotionless hum of acknowledgment. “Yes, I received a message from one of our interns. Mr. Wayne is in a meeting as we speak. May I take a message?”
“Yes. Please. Tell him I need to speak to him urgently concerning the hospital’s conditions and the treatment of patients.”
The secretary was very quiet for a moment, and you could hear the sound of a pen quickly scratching across some paper on his end. “I’ve made a note of your message, ma’am. I will inform Mr. Wayne of your wish to speak with him when he is done with his current meeting. I assume he will try to return your call as soon as he is available.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
He hung up. It seemed that you now had to wait for Mr. Wayne to return your call. You sat for a long while and kept working. Eventually—after what was almost fifteen minutes of waiting—the phone rang. You picked up the receiver, not expecting to hear the cool, collected voice of Mr. Wayne on the other end.
He spoke in a polite, professional tone. “Good evening. This is Bruce Wayne. I’m guessing you’re the head nurse trying to contact me about St Louis Mental Hospital?”
“Indeed.” You replied.
He was quiet, and you heard some papers being shuffled on his end of the line. “Yes. I see one of my secretaries wrote down a message from you. So you said you wished to talk to me about the hospital’s funds, is that correct?”
“Yes. I couldn’t help but notice how most of the funds was given to the armed forces keeping the patients and that almost nothing was left for the medical or other members of staff. Also, when I first came in the hospital, I saw how many of the patients suffered from mistreatment and malnutrition due to terrible living conditions. I am now contacting you in the hopes to convince you of sending more money in order for the hospital to provide the necessary care for the patients.” You exposed your arguments and Wayne was quieter while you spoke.
He eventually sighed. “I’ll be completely honest with you, Head Nurse L/N. I am…well aware of the hospital’s conditions. You’re not telling me anything new.”
You frowned and clicked a pen. “I see…Then I suppose you understand the seriousness of the situation.”
“I understand. Believe me, I do. I suppose I’ve just been hesitant to give them a larger sum of money. The hospital is good, but they’re…expensive. And I’m worried that I may be giving more money than I should be to keep things running.” He explained.
You nodded. “I see. But those patients need help. Not only guards to keep them away from society, but a way to move forward. They need hope, Mr. Wayne.”
He was quiet for a moment before he responded, his voice low and soft. “I understand that, but you have to understand that I’ve tried to help. We, Wayne Enterprises, have sent over millions of dollar in funding; not just to St Louis, but to other similar facilities as well. And I’m…well, I’m a bit tired of feeling like I’m throwing money into a fire. I’ve given the hospital a good sum of money, and yet I still get reports of the patients being as violent and deranged as ever.”
You closed your eyes and sighed. “Sir…I want nothing more than to help them. The patients. But I need you to help me save them. Be the hero they need. I beg of you. I just know that they just need someone to believe in them.”
Wayne was quiet for nearly an entire minute, but you could vaguely hear him tapping a pen as he thought. He exhaled deeply, his voice tired and resigned. “I understand what you’re saying, but I simply do not see how it’s possible. Every psychiatric facility I’ve given money to has been just like this one. The patients don’t improve. They don’t get better. I am starting to believe that they are…untreatable.”
“They are not untreatable.” You immediately disagreed. “They just need a slight push in the right direction. They need…to believe they can do it.”
Wayne sighed again. “Do they really? You’ve read their files. You know what they’ve done. You surely can’t think that most of them would ever get better. You understand how unlikely real reform would be, right? Can you truly imagine somebody like Arthur Fleck ever getting better?”
You frowned and closed your eyes before sighing. “Might I share a personal story with you, sir?”
Wayne was quiet for a moment, a curious note in his voice. “I’m…listening. Go ahead.”
You looked up at the ceiling. “When I was 11, my parents got into an accident and they both died. I thought I would never get over it. But then, I met someone. A man who gave me a home and a life where I thought I would find neither again…”
Wayne was quieter now. He didn’t speak to interrupt you, and only let out a soft hum that signaled for you to continue.
You smiled. “Do you know what the name of that man was ?”
He remained silent.
You smiled. “Norman. Norman Bates. One of the few slashers who was deemed safe enough to come back to society.”
You could hear movement on Wayne’s end, as if he were sitting up straighter. “Norman Bates? You’re…joking, right ? The man who used to dress as his own mother and kill his clients in his motel?”
You chuckled. “Surprising, right ? And believe it or not…I spent the best years of my life with that man.”
Wayne was completely taken aback. He let out a sigh that sounded almost like a laugh. “Forgive me, but that’s…quite surprising. I’m supposed to believe that you, an educated head nurse in a mental institution, was raised by a slasher ?”
You kept a smile on your face. “Believe what you want, Mr. Wayne. I told you my truth. I do not expect you to understand. But I ask you to take that example and think about the patients under my care. Think about how wonderful it would be to give them the chance to have a life again.”
Wayne was quiet for a long time, truly contemplating your story. He sighed once again, and you could hear him shift in his chair and rubbing his temples. Finally, after over two minutes of complete silence, he spoke again, and his voice sounded even more tired than before. “Alright…alright. I’ll give the hospital more funding. I’ll give a larger sum, just for now. But I’m not doing it lightly. I’m taking a huge risk.”
You grinned and stood up. “Thank you ! Thank you so much, Mr. Wayne !”
He hummed. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m doing this under one condition; I will pay the hospital a visit in three months and if I see absolutely no signs of improvement in the patients, I won’t fund the hospital anymore. Do you understand? Even if you haven’t ‘reformed’ them, I want to see something. I won’t give a single dollar more if I see that the entire place is still a hellhole like it was. If this fails, then Wayne Enterprise will cut off all support. You’re running on borrowed time from the get-go.”
You nodded. “Yes, sir !”
“Good.” He inhaled deeply. “Alright…I’ll have 5 million transferred as soon as I hang up. And…l’ll see you in three months, head nurse.”
Without waiting for a reply, the phone line cut off. But, you were still feeling ecstatic. You ran out of your office and jumped up in the air. “YES !” You had a reason to celebrate, but you still needed to be careful. Now that you had the extra funding, you needed to use it properly and use it right.
And you had the next three months to do it.
….
You got to work immediately, starting with sorting the budget in the order of importance.
First, you needed to hire competent doctors and more nurses. And the cooks were necessary to ensure the patients all ate properly and that they didn’t all end up malnourished. You started making a list and couldn’t help the smile from spreading across your face when you received a message to confirm the transaction.
You could not help but feel overjoyed.
You continued making a list and sorting out the budget as you tried to determine exactly how much the hospital needed.
You stood up and called Nurse Sandra in.
Nurse Sandra stepped inside and shut the door as she walked towards your desk, looking perplexed. “You wanted to see me?”
You smiled at her. “Yes! I need your help, Nurse Sandra. I have just received funds for our medical and non-army staff. I need you to help me make a list of criteria for our future doctors and nurses.”
She nodded, her expression changing as her interest increased. She took a seat across from you and took a notepad out. She looked up at you with a bit of excitement in her eyes. “And just how much money did we receive, if I may ask?”
“5 million.” You replied with a small smile.
Her eyes widened, and you could’ve sworn her eyes shone at the news. She scribbled something down on her notepad, before looking at you again. “5 million, you say? Good lord, that’s a lot of money…that’s fantastic news!”
You smiled and nodded. “I think so too ! Now, we must work even harder. We cannot let Mr. Wayne’s generosity go to waste.”
She nodded and looked at you with a determined expression. “Right…So how will we begin? Shall we start with the doctors first?”
You nodded. “We need doctors who are…brave?”
She chuckled softly. “Yeah, I know what you mean…How about we also add ‘calm in the face of danger’ to the list?”
You nodded. “Who is used to extreme cases ?”
She nodded as well. “Yes, definitely. I’d say a solid background is a necessity…Perhaps we should also add a requirement for ‘good with traumatized patients’?”
You nodded. “Also, ready to work 24/7 ?”
She nodded in agreement. “Of course. All of our staff have to be ready for anything. Oh, and we should definitely add ‘willing to work under an ungodly amount of pressure’.”
You nodded. “Definitely. And hum…what else?”
She chuckled and smirked a bit as she scribbled down some more notes. “Oh, you’re forgetting another one…‘Not a total dick’.”
You gasped. “Nurse Sandra!” But then laughed.
She grinned and laughed along with you. “I’m just saying, head nurse. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not work under some jerk.”
You nodded. “Right right…”
And with that, you sent out applications for doctors.
A few came but…it was a disaster.
Some of them couldn’t handle the pressure and left as soon as they started. Other people tried to work here for only a few days…before they were forced to leave after getting into an incident with some of the more unstable patients.
This continued for over a week with no sign of stopping, leaving you and everyone else still in the hospital at your wit’s end…You were almost out of options when you heard a cough.
You looked up and found a man with a cane standing there. His icy blue eyes almost staring straight into your soul.
You then sighed and begged. “Please. Tell me you are a doctor.”
The man chuckled and took a few steps forward. He stopped at the desk, leaned on his cane, and looked down his nose at you with a smirk on his face. “Well, I wouldn’t describe myself as simply ‘a doctor’…”
You frowned. “Well, are you licensed ?”
His smirk widened and he chuckled again. He slowly hobbled forward a bit more, standing beside your desk now.
He held out one of his hands. “Yes. I am most certainly licensed.”
“Thank god!” You let out a sigh of relief and shook his hand.
He grinned. “Don’t thank god. Thank me.” He sat down in front of you next. “So…I assume you’re having trouble hiring?”
You frowned. “Who told you that?”
He chuckled again, looking very smug. “It’s written all over your poor, tired, stressed-out face. It doesn’t take an expert to recognize someone who’s at the end of their rope.”
You smiled weakly. “Fine. Good guess. Now…Tell me. Name. Experience. Career. Medical school. Go.”
He smirked. “Right to the point, aren’t you? No small talk. No foreplay.” He let out a small sigh, shifted his weight and leaned back in the chair. “Let’s see…well, my name is Dr. Gregory House. I went to Johns Hopkins medical school. Graduated top of my class. I was chief of diagnostic medicine of internal medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital. Is that enough to get the job?”
You hummed. “Yes. But I’m not impressed. Tell me. Why should we hire you?”
He raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise flashing across his face. “Oh? You’re not impressed, huh? I’ve got one of the most impressive medical histories of any hospital in the country, and you’re actually asking why you should hire me? I’m sure you don’t want an entire list. I mean, you would have to clear almost an hour’s worth of time for me to tell you all the reasons why you should hire me.”
You smiled and crossed your fingers over your desk. “I am all ears.”
He let out a tired groan. “…really?” He gave you a long, hard once-over and sighed before sitting up straight. “Alright…well, to start with, I’ve personally solved tens of thousands of medical cases. There’s a medical textbook in my name. My success rate in curing the ‘terminally ill’ is nearly a hundred percent. I’ve got the medical history and the experience to back me up, and I’ve even solved extremely rare diseases that any other doctor would’ve written off and called ‘incurable’.”
Your smile stretched as he started talking more and more. You then whistled. “Okay. Impressive. Now…I would like you to answer me honestly. Just one question and you will have the job.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a rather tempting bet, head nurse L/N. Alright. Go ahead. One question. Ask me anything.”
Your smile disappeared for a moment. “…Doctor House. What happened in Princeton-Plainsboro? Why did they decide to let you go?”
House’s expression froze for a moment. “That’s…an unexpected question.” All the arrogance and sarcasm that had been dripping from his words vanished for a moment, replaced instead by a sort of numbness in his voice. “You…did your research on me, huh?”
You smirked. “I like to know all my options. Besides, it allows me to know and perhaps bond with the staff before they even get to work here. Now, talking time.”
A grimace twisted his face as he stared at you, his gaze intense and focused. He nodded slowly, his voice even and unemotional. “Fair enough. I was let go from Princeton-Plainsboro on the basis of me overprescribing opiates…and a minor drug abuse problem.”
You hummed. “Is that so? And is that still a problem?”
He rolled his eyes and gestured to his cane. “This isn’t a prop, you know. I had to have an extremely painful operation done on my leg. And they had me on high doses of very powerful pain medication to keep me from screaming in agony 24/7. Of course I needed more than the average person. I wasn’t abusing it. I just needed it to function like a normal adult. And I still need it. Vicodin makes me focus.”
You stared at him.
He shrugged, his expression defensive as he stared you down. “What? I need it. I use it to keep my mind clear and my brain healthy. I’m not an addict. I just…have to be on it all the time.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Huh-huh.”
He frowned, his expression hardening as he leaned forward in his chair. “Oh, don’t give me that. You’re looking at me like me taking a little Vicodin everyday is going to impede my ability to be a capable doctor.”
“Is it?”
He rolled his eyes and gestured around. “Do you see any shaking? Do I sound nervous or tired to you? Have I given you any indication whatsoever that I am not in full control of my mental and physical state?”
You hummed. “Not yet. But I will be honest with you, Doctor House. This hospital is nothing like the one you used to work in. The patients are…special. Dangerous. They can be cunning and manipulative. They will take every opportunity to mess with your head and if they see a weakness…they will take advantage.”
He let a small smirk cross his face, his eyes taking on their smug glint once again. “Oh? And you’re scared they’ll be able to get into my head? Really?”
You didn’t smile. “Only yesterday, two of the doctors I hired were seriously injured, Doctor House. The patients here are notoriously hard to deal with. I would advise you to think very carefully.”
His smirk widened, and he was clearly amused. “Oh, I am thinking carefully. In fact, I’m thinking that whatever patients you’ve dealt with so far cannot compare to what I’ve dealt with before.”
It was your time to smile before you stood up.“Follow me.”
He looked surprised for a moment before he rose with the faint ‘tap’ of his cane, and he followed you silently. You both walked out and started walking towards one of the cells.
“In this cell we have Michael Myers. I want you to do a checkup on him.” You told him.
House was mostly expressionless, other than the slight raise of one eyebrow. “Michael Myers? The one and only Michael Myers? The guy who supposedly killed his family on Halloween in 1963? That Michael Myers?”
You smiled. “Ah. So you’ve heard of him?”
House grunted, the hint of a smirk on his face. “The story of Michael Myers is infamous. A young man who snapped and killed his own family for what seemed like no reason at all. I’m…well, curious to see him in person, if you want to call it that.”
You hummed understandingly. “Well, it is your lucky day.”
You then opened the door. He nodded and stepped into the cell, his expression growing more serious. He carefully made his way into the cell, stopping to stand in front of Michael Myers, who remained sitting on the floor.
He leaned on his cane and slowly looked the man up and down. You entered next and smiled.
“Hello, Michael. I’ve brought a friend with me. Is that okay?”
Michael simply sat there, staring at the floor and didn’t speak up.
House let out another chuckle from beside you. “Oh, he looks like such a social butterfly.”
You smiled at House and shot back. “Then you two will surely get along.”
He smirked, and his gaze didn’t even stray from Michael. “Oh, I look forward to this.”
He began stepping closer to Michael, though the man still didn’t move or even look up at him. House knelt by his side and looked him over intensely.
You then sat in front of Michael and smiled. “I know you do not like people invading your personal space, Michael. But this gentleman is here to examine you. Make sure you are healthy. Is that okay? I will need your consent.”
House looked irritated by the fact that you were talking to Michael like he was a child, but he said nothing and waited to see what the man would do. Michael was still unresponsive for a moment, until he slowly turned his head and fixed his gaze on House for the first time. House returned the stare for several seconds, before letting out a low huff of air in mild amusement at the sight of Michael’s blank, cold gaze.
But Michael eventually slowly nodded.
House immediately began looking over his physique, his gaze still trained on the other man’s blank face. He chuckled softly. “Looks like a very healthy specimen. No injuries, no rashes…not so much as a single bruise or scab on him. Not a lot of muscle or body fat on him, but I suppose I can’t blame him for that. He’s been in this hospital for, what, the past 40 years?”
“50.” You corrected him. “The first slasher to ever be admitted.”
House let out a low whistle. “50 years? That’s a long time.” He looked closer at the man. “Still…he’s in good health for someone who’s been locked up for five decades.”
You smiled and nodded. “Michael is a very strong man.”
House hovered his hand a few millimeters above Michael’s biceps and gently grabbed his arm. He pulled on the end of Michael’s right arm like he was pulling a rubber band, testing the mobility in his muscles.
And all throughout, Michael remained emotionless and stared directly at House, his gaze unfaltering and unmoving.
You could see Michael tense up, you scooted closer to him. “Hey, Michael. Look at me. You’re safe. Doctor House is a friend. He won’t hurt you.”
Michael continued staring at House, his gaze remaining focused on him as he continued his examination. House noticed it as well, and he remarked. “Don’t like having someone touching you, huh big fella?”
Michael stared at the doctor before taking out a notebook you had given him.
He showed House a page where the word NO was written.
House looked amused at his little notebook as he smirked and spoke again. “You don’t have any problem with making it clear what you want, huh? Not much for small talk?”
Michael held up the same page.
House chuckled again, raising his hands in a sort of mock surrender. “Alright, I can see that you just get straight to the point. No need for idle conversation or pleasantries. You’re to the point. I respect that.”
Michael stared at House for a moment before turning back to you and changing pages in his notebook to READING TIME?
You blinked and nodded. You then began to open your mouth to agree, but House cut you off. “Reading time? Are you serious? You have ‘reading time?’”
You glanced at House. “Now, manners Doctor House. He did not attack you and that means he is allowed to be read to.”
House rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking a bit put out. “Oh, he gets rewards for behaving. How fun.”
You ignored Doctor House’s obvious sarcasm and got out a book from your bag.
House snorted. “What is that? A children’s book?”
You glared at him. “Alice In Wonderland is a perfectly acceptable book for any age.”
Despite your glare, House smirked. “Oh, please. I doubt he’s even capable of understanding anything more complex than Goodnight Moon.”
You rolled your eyes and only started reading to Michael. Michael listened intently as you began to read, his demeanor shifting suddenly as he instantly started listening.
House raised his eyebrow at this. “Huh. Guess he’s more capable of understanding than I thought. Unless he just likes the sound of your voice.”
You kept reading and Michael imperceptibly scooted closer to look at the images while you read. House watched him intently as he moved closer to you, clearly still somewhat taken aback by this development. He refrained from making more comments.
Once the chapter over, you closed the book and smiled at Michael. “Thank you for your cooperation, Michael. I will come back later to read some more.”
Michael still hadn’t said a word, but he nodded slightly. House looked between the both of you, clearly having gone from being amused to intrigued by this development. You then stood up and were about to step out when you suddenly remembered.
“Ah! Before I go. Michael. Would you perhaps have any special request? Something you would like to change in your current living situation?”
Michael thought about it for a few seconds. He reached towards the notebook he had used before and flipped through it, looking for something. House looked even more intrigued by this, his eyes fixed on Michael as he waited for his response. Michael finally stopped flipping through the pages of the notebook and showed you a specific page.
MORE READING TIME
You read and nodded. “Of course. But I was wondering…maybe in terms of living accommodation, dear?”
House interjected again before Michael had the chance to write anything, his smirk still in place. “Oh? Maybe a king-sized bed? Some nice, satin sheets?”
You glared at House. “Those are patients. Not prisoners. If they wish for a king-sized bed and satin sheets, then I will do my best to provide them with that.”
House rolled his eyes, but he said nothing in response. Michael seemed to think for a moment, before turning another page and showing you another note.
RADIO.
You smiled. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, Michael.”
House raised his eyebrows again as he heard your response. “Really? How kind. If you just add a refrigerator, he’ll be able to live like a king in here. Why not give him a jacuzzi tub while you’re at it?”
Suddenly, Michael seemed to pick up on your growing frustration about the doctor. He wordlessly stood up and faced the doctor. All hints of mockery instantly disappeared from his expression, replaced by a blank, slightly anxious face. Michael was a huge man—two or three heads taller than Dr House. He stared down at him before you came and smiled up at Michael.
“Michael. It’s alright.”
Michael stared blankly at you for one more moment, before his expression grew cold and he turned back to stare at House. House didn’t look away from the imposing figure in front of him. He said nothing and simply stood there, wordlessly staring back at Michael…
You put a hand on Michael’s. “Hey. Look at me.”
Michael immediately tore his gaze away from House and looked back at you, his expression softening the second you put your hand on his.
You smiled at Michael. “It’s okay. Doctor House is a friend. Just a friend with a…very big mouth.”
Michael’s gaze went back to House for a moment, and it seemed he was considering whether to do something about him or not. However, the moment quickly passed, and he turned his gaze back to you as you continued to hold his hand.
You used your index to trace soothing patterns on his inner wrist. “Calm down. Everything is just fine.”
Michael was clearly taking note of your gesture, his gaze locked on your hand as you traced those soothing patterns on his wrist.
He was now entirely focused on you, and the tension in his body lessened significantly.
House was still silent at this point, quietly watching the entire interaction.
“Everything is fine. Now me and Doctor House will leave the room, alright ?”
Michael frowned deeply but nodded. He still hadn’t taken his gaze away from your hand, but he simply stood there and waited as you took a step back. House hadn’t moved an inch, anxious about setting Michael off again.
You slowly released Michael’s hand.
“Good.” You then started to back away slowly and gestured for Doctor House to follow you.
House got the cue and slowly followed you, keeping his back to the door and never turning away from Michael, in case he decided to rush suddenly to attack.
He waited until both of you were completely outside the cell again before speaking. “Well, that was certainly an experience…”
You let out a loud sigh of relief and lifted a hand to your chest.
House leaned against the cell door, looking relieved but also stunned by the entire experience. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I can’t believe you actually got him to turn away from me…If you hadn’t been there, I’d probably be a dead man right now. Or at least, I’d be seriously injured.”
You looked at him and asked with a small hopeful smile. “Still interested by the position, doctor ?”
He chuckled. “Honestly, part of me wants to just leave and never come back…but the other part of me is just too damn curious. This hospital is like a zoo. It’s a madhouse in here. And I am curious how things would work if I decided to stay. I mean…I never worked with patients like that before. It wouldn’t be boring. That’s for sure.”
You beamed at him. “Really ? You are willing to stay ? Oh thank you ! Thank you…”
He nodded, raising a hand to motion for you to calm down. “Yes, I’ll stay. Don’t get too excited though. I’m still reserving some of my doubt, so don’t go celebrating just yet.”
You nodded. “Of course. I am just happy we finally have a doctor !”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, before pushing himself off the wall and straightening up. “Well, I’ll need to sort out some things first, but I can start as soon as tomorrow, assuming you want me to be here that fast.”
You nodded. “Of course ! Living accommodation will be given to you. And also I would need you on the clock 24/7. Could you handle that?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously expecting me to be on the clock 24 hours a day ? No time off, or anything like that ? I’m not a machine, you know.”
You started thinking about it. “That’s right…I should probably find a second doctor then. Maybe a third ? It has already been hard finding you…”
He nodded. “You’ll probably need at least two others besides me. There is no way I’m working 24/7. No one could do that. I’m willing to come here almost everyday, but I’m not looking to work to death. I’ll be here from 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM every day, and no earlier and no later. I need time for rest too.”
You nodded. “Right.”
He nodded as well. “I’ll also need all the medical files you have so I can look through them. I need to know everything I can about the health of these people. And I’m guessing the majority of them haven’t had any real medical exams done in the past 10 years.”
You winced. “That’s exact. I was actually surprised when I looked into the files. But, you will have access.”
He hummed and walked away. “I’m surprised you even have files at all, given how disorganized this place is so far.”
You sighed and shook your head. “Not my fault I’m afraid. I was hired only a month ago.”
House rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can tell. You’ve cleaned the place up a bit, but you’re nowhere near done yet. You need more doctors. You need better record keeping. You need better staff and better equipment. And even the staff you have now are still nowhere near competent enough to keep this hospital in one piece. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, and you’ve only made a dent so far.”
You winced at his bluntness. “Hurtful, but fair. I already hired more nurses. And a cleaning crew. I will also ask for a common room for physical exercise and perhaps for patient interaction.”
He nodded. “That’s good, but you’re still going to need a lab and a pharmacy, and you need better equipment. You have anything even remotely resembling an MRI machine in this place?”
You closed your eyes. “Listen. Before I came along, the hospital barely had money for anything other than guards and weapons to keep the patients out of trouble. I received funds from a benefactor only a week ago. I am already working as hard as I can, but I am still struggling.”
He sighed. “Well, good for you. You’ve been dealt a shitty hand. I get it. But I’m gonna be real with you…I don’t know how long this hospital is gonna last if you just keep limping along with your current team. This place is gonna fall apart if you don’t start doing more and get a better team. You’ve just been putting bandaids on bullet wounds without treating the real issue.”
You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. “And what do you suggest ?”
He shrugged. “First of all, I suggest you start looking for other doctors. You need at least two more besides me. And you need better medical equipment. Everything in this hospital is in a sorry state, and you can’t treat your patients well with the limited bullshit you’ve got right now.”
You nodded. “I’ll look what I can do. Could you perhaps help me with the equipment choice ? Did they have good equipment in Princeton-Plainsboro ?”
House smirked slightly, a hint of mocking pride evident in his tone. “Of course, they did. And I can help you pick out some new stuff, but you’re still gonna have to spend a lot of money. New equipment isn’t cheap, you know.”
You nodded and were already typing on your phone, but your typing was extremely slow. M-E-D-I-C-A-L E-Q-U-I…
At seeing this, House rolled his eyes again, his expression becoming more and more exasperated. “Are you…seriously googling ‘medical equipment’?”
You looked at him. “…No ?”
House pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “You are, aren’t you? What are you, like, 10 years old? What kind of hospital manager googles ‘medical equipment’?”
“I am not a hospital manager. We do not have one. I am a head nurse. This is my first job. Give me a break.” You huffed then faced away from him to slowly type in peace.
He let out a sigh. “Of course. Of course you’ve never done this before. Why am I surprised?” He ran a hand over his face and started muttering under his breath. “What the hell am I getting myself into?”
You finished typing. “Okay so hum…Any suggestions ?”
He sighed again and leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his forehead. “Are you asking me to give you specific names of companies? Because that’s not something I can just do off the cuff. There are dozens of reputable medical equipment manufacturers, and they all make things that are useful and necessary. It’s gonna depend on what you want most.”
You started thinking about it. “I already asked for more pills. I asked for the usual hospital staff needs based on the nurses’ requests. Like bandages, creams, casts…”
He nodded. “And that’s a good start. Those things are definitely gonna be needed. But a lot more is going to be necessary. You’re going to need more medications, more tools, more medical and surgical equipment…you’re going to need a lot, and it’s gonna cost a shitload of money.”
You nodded. “We received 5 million. For everything I did so far, I’d say we’re good on the money. But I think we’ll need a hospital manager. Because frankly ? I think I cannot do everything myself. I did not even have the time to get some sleep in the past two days…”
House chuckled humourlessly and shook his head in disbelief. “Not only are you completely inexperienced, but you’re also trying to do a job that would require three people on your own.”
You sighed and rubbed your eyes. “Yeah. I know. I just…We need more. So far this hospital has been a prison more than an actual health care facility. When I first came, half the patients were ill or malnourished. I had to pay for the food out of my own pockets…I cannot stop now.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression becoming slightly more serious. “You…paid for groceries for your patients…out of your own pocket? You’re telling me that before this place had any funding, you personally, as a nurse, bought food for the patients that the hospital couldn’t properly take care of?”
You hesitated. “…Yes. Because the cooks were serving them rotten food and tins. I saw one spit in their soup.”
House actually looked surprised by this, his smirk disappearing for a few seconds. “Wait…you’re serious? Who has been taking care of the patients so far then?”
You smiled weakly. “Me and like three brave nurses. Very good women. They lasted more than most.”
House sighed and shook his head. “I…I have to admit, I’m actually…impressed. That was a stupid decision, and I have no idea why you would actually do that, but…it shows that you care. That’s admirable, I suppose.”
You smiled hopefully at him. “Does that mean you’ll still stay ?”
His smirk returned. “We’ll see. You’ve actually…managed to impress me, in a way. I thought you were incompetent, inexperienced, and completely unqualified at first sight. Now…I think you’re incompetent, inexperienced, and somewhat what this hospital needs.”
Your smile brightened. “This hospital needs you too, doctor. What do you say?”
You extended a hand. He chuckled softly and shook your hand. “Don’t get too excited. I’m only agreeing to help this place because I’m mildly interested in how it’s going to operate. This is just…a work opportunity and a learning opportunity. Also, I will need a weekly income.”
You nodded. “Of course. What amount would you deem satisfactory ?”
He thought for a second, tapping his chin with his hand. “I’d say…roughly ten thousand dollars a week. I mean, I’ll be handling not only basic things like check-ups and prescriptions, but also more difficult patients. I’ll also be overseeing other doctors, and providing medical advice. My help isn’t gonna be cheap.”
You nodded. “Done.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That was…surprisingly easy. I’d expected you to try and bargain the price at least a little.”
You chuckled. “Doctor House…You are the only doctor who came into a patient’s room and managed to get out without a scratch. Even when I entered with the other people trying out for the position, they would usually end up injured or psychologically unstable. I would have accepted any price”
He blinked in surprise before snorting. “Really? They must have just been incompetent rookies then. I’m probably the most capable doctor you could have picked.”
You smiled. “Let’s continue our tour first, shall we?”
He nodded and followed you. "Lead the way."
You started walking around the right-wing and introducing him to the other patients.“Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Jack Torrance, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Five Hargreeves, the Penny Brothers, Arthur Fleck…”
House looked interested in each patient, but he didn't appear surprised or even disturbed by their presence. In fact, he looked…curious. "Hmph. You've certainly gathered a variety of people. Not what I expected."
You smiled and noticed. “You aren’t scared.”
"Scared?" He asked and thought about it. "No, not really. Intrigued, maybe. But they're just people. Psychopaths, sure, but just people nonetheless. Nothing to be afraid of.”
His answer pleased you. You stopped and turned around to face him fully and beamed at him. “I believe you will make a great difference here, Doctor House.”
His smirk grew, and his expression shifted into something resembling a self-assured grin.“You think so? Well, I am the best in my field. I doubt there’s a single person in this hospital, patient or staff, who’s more qualified than me.”
You nodded. “Then welcome aboard.”
He nodded as well, and he gestured for you to continue. “Alright. I believe now we need to discuss my living arrangements, yes?”
Your eyes widened. “Right. I usually sleep in the hospital. But the staff are allowed to go back home once the day over. You can do the same.”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Wait…you choose to sleep here?”
You winced. “Some of the patients have night terrors. And Michael sleepwalks. I do not understand how he manages to get out of his cell, but he does.”
House’s smirk returned. “You’re telling me you’re staying here all day and all night just to look out for the patients? That sounds like a recipe for disaster…and extreme exhaustion.”
Your smile faltered slightly. “I know. But I have no choice.”
His smirk faded, and he let out a sigh. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate. You need a break. And you need a life.”
You hesitated before wordlessly gesturing for him to follow you. He raised an eyebrow, but he decided it was best to just comply. He followed you silently, his cane tapping against every step he took.
You stopped in front of Arthur Fleck’s cell and stepped in.
House raised his eyebrows, as if surprised by your choice in destination. However, he said absolutely nothing and simply followed you into the cell.
You both stepped in and you found Arthur hunched over on the bed.
“Good afternoon, Arthur.”
His head was bent, his chin resting on his chest. However, upon hearing your voice, he lifted his head and looked up. His lips broke into a wide grin as he saw you. “Head Nurse Y/N. What a lovely surprise…”
House watched with interest, examining the man’s behavior and mannerisms. You didn’t hesitate before taking a few steps forward. Arthur wordlessly stood up and took your hand to kiss the back of it.
His gaze remained locked on you even as he began kissing your knuckles. “It’s truly wonderful to see you, my dearest.”
You nodded in kind. “Arthur. How have you been? Did you receive the new green hair dye products you asked for? I did try to find the right brand.”
He smiled warmly as he gently released your hand. “Indeed, sweetie. And I thank you for bringing it for me. It’s absolutely lovely. You’re a lifesaver.” He chuckled softly, continuing to smile at you. However, his gaze suddenly shifted to House as he slowly seemed to remember that he was no longer alone in the cell. “And who might you be ? Another recruit ?”
House was staring at Arthur intently now, still leaning on his cane, and he responded to him immediately. “You could say that. I’m a doctor. Doctor House.”
Arthur gave him a quick once-over. “I see. Have you met the others yet?”
He shook his head. “Just one. I’ve only been here for a few hours now.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Only for a few hours, and you’re already checking in on patients? Either you’re very dedicated or very curious.”
He chuckled. “You could say that. Or both, either one is technically right. I enjoy learning things…and I’m always up for a challenge. And this place looks like it’ll certainly provide that.”
Arthur huffed out a laugh. “You’d be right about that. But a man like you doesn’t look like the kind to take a big interest in patients like us.”
Doctor House raised a quizzical eyebrow at his comment. “A man like me ?”
Arthur chuckled softly. “Yes. A man like you. You strike me as someone who looks down upon the mentally insane. Just another stuck up doctor who only cares about a good paycheck.”
House smirked, seemingly amused by this. “You’re not too far off on the second point. I’m certainly here for the money, but I don’t necessarily look at my patients as ‘below me.’ That’s something I find far too annoying to deal with. But I like to learn, and I like a good challenge…and that’s what I intend to get here.”
Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose you’ll definitely find that here. But if I may, Doctor…what do you think of me? I am curious.”
House smirked, now seeming far more interested in the conversation. “Oh, this should be good. Alright then, why not. You do strike me as interesting. Your general demeanor is far different from any other patients’ I’ve ever seen. You’re calm, almost friendly. You can definitely be hostile, but you seem far more civil than most. And honestly…you sound fairly rational. I wouldn’t have even guessed you were a patient if I saw you outside this cell.”
Arthur chuckled but his laughter sounded hollow and suddenly it broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. House raised an eyebrow, his smirk slipping at hearing his laughter. However, he had seen things like this before, so he simply waited for him to finish.
After a little bit, Arthur stopped and wiped his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. But hearing someone say that I sound rational…never fails to sound hilarious to me.”
House simply let out a snort. “Well, you certainly don’t seem rabid or completely out of your mind. That’s more than it can be said for some.”
“You haven’t read my file. It shows.” Arthur told him honestly.
House chuckled. “That is a fair point. But honestly, it doesn’t really matter to me what your official diagnosis is. Diagnoses are usually a load of crap anyway.”
Arthur smiled and got out a cigarette. “Do you mind if I—?”
House shrugged, a smirk returning to his face.“Go ahead, I don’t mind. I don’t care if you smoke in here. This is your cell after all.”
Arthur smiled before looking at you. You nodded in agreement and then you lit up his cigarette. House leaned his cane against the wall and crossed his arms loosely as he spoke.“You two seem awfully close.”
You looked at Doctor House and immediately knew where he was going with this. You were quick to explain. “Arthur Fleck was the first patient I had to treat urgently when I first started working here.”
House raised an eyebrow. “Oh, was he? What’d you do, fix him up after he had a temper tantrum?”
Your eyes darkened. “No. He was being beaten up in his cell and I decided to intervene since the guards didn’t.”
His smirk disappeared, and he frowned. “Wait. The guards…let him get beaten in his cell by another patient while they just stood and watched?”
Your jaw twitched. “Not a patient.”
House’s frown deepened, and he now looked mildly disturbed. “Not a patient? Who the hell was it, a guard? A visitor?”
You sighed. “His name got Bat and man in it.”
House’s eyes widened and he looked stunned. “Wait. Wait a minute. You’re telling me it was the Batman in here beating this guy up? Seriously? Who is he, the Joker?”
Arthur burst into laughter. “You REALLY didn’t read my file.”
House rubbed a hand over his forehead, and let out a sigh. “Jesus. Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any crazier. This is insane. But…how is this even possible? Batman isn’t supposed to beat people up. That’s the whole goddamn thing with him. He doesn’t kill people.”
Your smile didn’t come back as you told him. “Yes. He doesn’t kill. But he does beat up and leave scars. This is why I stay at night. I can’t leave the patients.”
House didn’t respond, for once he seemed utterly speechless. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, closed his eyes, and exhaled again. “This….is insane. No. This is beyond insane. I can’t even imagine…a freaking superhero in a psychiatric facility who beats up patients.”
You sighed. “This is why we need you. The patients are resilient and strong but…they can still be hurt. They can be injured and in pain. And we are the only people who can stand between them and the world.”
He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, his smirk now completely gone. “Yeah. I can…can see I’m gonna be needed here a lot more than I expected. I mean…a vigilante just comes in and brutalizes the patients…and none of you have any way to stop it? You really do need me or at least someone like me here.”
You smiled before looking back at Arthur who was wordlessly smoking and looking at Doctor House. “I like you already.”
House looked back to Arthur, who was still smoking his cigarette. His expression was neutral as he looked right back at House, but his gaze was fixed and unwavering.
House just stared back for a few seconds before letting out a snort. “I’ve got to say…I’m starting to understand why this place is underfunded. All the money needed to keep this place up and running is probably going into defending against future lawsuits. The hospital can’t afford much security, but it’s probably spent a fortune in legal fees.”
You looked at House. “The guards are not underfunded. The rest of the staff is.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wait. The guards are getting more funding than the rest of the staff? No wonder the guards are so incompetent. You put money into them and they still don’t do their goddamn job.”
You nodded. “I talked to General McCain. The head of security but…his hands are tied. They are paid to make sure the patients stay inside. Not to protect them from outside threats.”
He huffed out a half-laugh, clearly still in disbelief at this entire situation. “This just gets crazier and crazier. You’ve got incompetent guards who aren’t paid to protect anyone but themselves, the local goddamn superhero beating up patients, and you’re the only staff member here who actually cares about any of them. This hospital is insane.”
hey I was wondering if you could write a fic about the nurse secretly being a love god or a cupid you don't have to if don't want to no pressure
The asylum was unusually quiet that morning. You dragged your feet down the corridor, pale and sniffling, a box of tissues tucked under one arm. Normally, you were the picture of composure.
But today? Today you felt feverish, and worst of all—your power was slipping.
Because you weren’t just a nurse. You were a god. A love god, hidden neatly among mortals. Normally, your arrows only flew when you meant them to. Normally, you could control who got caught in the shimmering pink glow of infatuation.
But colds did funny things to divine bodies.
Every sneeze was like pulling back a bowstring. Every cough was an arrow loosed into the air. The golden spark shot down the hall before you could even see where it went.
You wiped your nose and groaned, “Oh no…please don’t let that have hit anyone…”
…
But it had.
Pennywise was resting in his favourite rocking chair while Freddy was sprawled on the couch nearby, boots kicked up on the armrest and his hat lowered over his eyes. The arrow struck Pennywise square in the chest. He froze, his yellow eyes widening.
He turned—and saw Freddy.
And in an instant, the world changed.
Freddy—burnt ass, scarred, grinning with razor teeth—suddenly looked, to Pennywise, like the most devastatingly handsome creature in all of creation.
Freddy glanced up at the sudden silence. “The hell y’all staring at, cotton candy?”
Pennywise’s lips split in a wide, dreamy grin. “You.”
Freddy sat up slowly with eyes wide as saucers. “Uh…d’ya hit your head, Bozo?”
But Penny wasn’t listening. He dropped to his knees dramatically, hands clasped. “Take me, dream demon! For I am yours, now and forever!”
Freddy’s jaw dropped. “What in the actual f—?!”
Pennywise grabbed Freddy’s leg and yanked him off the couch. He then nuzzled his face against his chest while Freddy tried to pry him off. “No! Fuck off! Hey! Ya listenin’ to me, ya big fat bitch?!”
But Pennywise didn’t hear anything—he couldn’t. He just kept staring at Freddy with the biggest grin he could muster and heart eyes…also a little drool. “I love you too, sugar.”
Freddy would normally LOVE messing with the clown and get along with the chaos, but he could see that this wasn’t really Pennywise. So he punched the clown in the face, stood up in a hurry and shouted. “FUCK OFF, P! CAN’T BELIEVE I’M SAYIN’ THIS BUT I REALLY DON’T WANNA FUCK YA! YA DON’T EVEN LIKE SEX, YA DUMBASS!”
Pennywise grinned widely before chasing after him in all fours. “For you, I’ll make an exception!”
Freddy’s head *CRAPCRAPCRAP…*
Meanwhile, in your bedroom…
“Oh no,” you whispered, nose already tickling with another sneeze. You tried to stop it—tilting your head back, pinching your nose, praying the fever didn’t drag another arrow out of you.
But it was useless. “—hhhhhhtchooo!”
The golden spark shot like a bullet down the corridor, veering straight into the living room.
Inside, Michael was standing near the window, massive shoulders blocking out half the light. Arthur sat not far away, humming softly as he fiddled with his deck of worn cards. The arrow pierced Michael’s chest first. His breathing hitched.
And then he turned his head. Slowly.
Towards Arthur.
Arthur blinked, mid-shuffle. “Michael? Are you alri—?”
Before he could finish, Michael crossed the room in two strides. His hand clamped around Arthur’s throat, throwing him harshly against the floor. The impact cracked tile beneath them.
Arthur gasped, cards scattering everywhere. “M–Michael!”
His breathing through the mask was ragged, heavier than Arthur had ever heard it. Pinned to the floor, Arthur frowned, utterly confused as Michael held him there. His hand searched for his hidden knife, but Michael stoooed him and instead intertwined their fingers to pin it above his hand. Michael sat on top of him and raised a fist to beat the man to a pulp when Arthur closed his eyes. If this was his end…well, there were far worse endings than being killed by a friend.
But then, pain never came. Instead, he felt a warm liquid drip down on his face.
He slowly opened his eyes to find that Michael’s fist was shaking as his nails dug into his palm. He was desperately trying to hold himself back. Arthur looked up and hesitated whether to laugh or cry. This bloodthirsty cursed killer…held more restraint than most men he knew or had ever known.
He was fighting so very hard against his very nature to protect him…His fingernails digging into his own shaking palm to stop himself.
From your bedroom, your hand clamped over your mouth again, heart hammering.
“Oh god,” you whispered, “it’s getting worse.”
Your nose tickled. Another sneeze was coming. You rubbed your nose raw with a tissue, sniffling miserably. And then—of course—your body betrayed you again. “hhhhh-HhhAATCHHhhhoo!”
Another golden spark shot out like a bullet. You groaned, reaching out helplessly as if you could catch it midair. No chance. It sailed straight across the room and struck Jason next. Jason had been sitting quietly in the corner, hunched and fidgeting with a small carving of wood he’d whittled.
The arrow hit him straight in the chest, and he jolted as though struck by lightning.
His masked head snapped up—straight towards Brahms, who was crouched on the floor nearby, muttering to his doll and humming tunelessly. Jason dropped the carving.
His whole body trembled. Slowly, he lumbered towards Brahms.
Brahms blinked, tilting his head at the towering figure. “Jason?” he asked softly, not understanding why his friend’s shoulders shook so badly.
And then Jason bent down and enveloped him in an enormous, crushing hug.
Brahms stiffened in surprise at first. Jason clung to him tightly, massive arms shaking as he whimpered and panted beneath his mask.
“…Oh,” Brahms whispered, realization dawning. His lips curled into a small, genuine smile. “You want a hug?”
Jason squeezed tighter, pressing his masked face into Brahms’s shoulder.
Brahms’s arms slowly came up, wrapping around the giant. He closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth. “It’s alright. I’m here.”
But then…Jason surprised him by suddenly removing Brahms mask and his own to aggressively kiss him. Brahms was so shocked, he didn’t know how to answer…but Jason didn’t leave him time to process as he suddenly pulled him up to carry him to their bedroom.
Suddenly, Brahms seemed to understand and tried desperately to grab onto the walls around them and door frames to slow him down. “Jason…Jason! No! Wait!”
Jason wasn’t waiting…
He kissed Brahms again and kept walking forward.
From the doorway, your throat tightened as you muttered weakly, “Okay, maybe that one wasn’t so bad…” But then your nose twitched again. “Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze, don’t—hhhhhHHhhhhhTtTSSSHhhhhhhuuuhhh!”
The golden arrow zipped down the room and smacked straight into Norman, he had been quietly sitting in a chair, hands folded neatly in his lap as he was reading. His eyes glazed for a moment, then flicked towards Jack Torrance.
“Uh…” Jack straightened slowly. “Why are you looking at me like that, buddy?”
Norman’s lips parted slightly. His eyes softened, hazy, but intense. “You’re beautiful, Mister Torrance.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Norman slowly stood up, the book falling from his lap and his eyes never leaving Jack’s. He took a slow step forward. Then another.
Meanwhile, Jack instinctively stepped back. “…Hey now, I don’t know what game this is, but I don’t like it. Knock it off.”
Norman tilted his head with a dashing smile. “…Such a magnificent man.”
Jack’s throat went dry. “Oh, boy…” He chuckled nervously, hands coming up as Norman inched closer, gaze hungry and trembling.
“Listen, man. I really think you and me is a really bad idea. We’re good friends, but that’s it.”
Norman didn’t answer and Jack ran to the bathroom and closed the door. But Norman didn’t let it deter him. He went to find an axe to smash the door down.
Ironic.
From the doorway, you buried your face in your hands. “This is getting worse by the minute…” you groaned.
And of course, your nose was already starting to tickle again. Your entire body ached from holding back another sneeze. You pressed tissues to your nose, praying for mercy, but your divine cold wasn’t about to spare anyone.
“hhhhhHHhhhttttTSSsshhhhhhoooooo!”
Another glittering arrow shot across the room and struck Chucky this time. The doll froze mid-step, plastic face slackening for just a moment before his stitched features stretched into a wide, unnervingly dreamy grin. His little head swiveled, eyes locking on Patrick who was staring at the reflection in his axe.
“Well, well, well…” Chucky purred, hopping down from a chair. His stubby arms spread wide, voice syrupy. “Ain’t ya a fine piece of Wall Street meat? Forget Tiffany—daddy’s found himself a real man.”
Patrick barely looked up, his gaze still fixed on his reflection in the shiny blade.
Chucky started waddling towards him. “C’mere, sugar. Don’t play hard to get. I’m gonna crawl right into your Armani sheets and—”
The axe came down in a clean, brutal arc.
CRACK.
“Jesus Christ!” Chucky shrieked, dragging himself across the ground with one arm. “What the hell, ya psycho?!”
Patrick wiped the blood from his face and admired the axe’s sheen once more. “You repulse me.”
Chuckled cackled. “Ya lil’ savage. Only makes me want ya more, baby!”
Patrick proceeded to bring the axe down. Multiple times.
Your sinuses were on fire. The tissues were damp and useless in your hands. Every time you tried to fight back the pressure, the universe seemed to conspire against you.
“hhhhhHHhhhhhTTTTTsssshhhhhhuuuuuuh!”
Vincent had just arrived. The arrow hit him square in the chest. He stilled. His head lifted. His eyes locked immediately on Bubba. He was sitting awkwardly on the couch, watching all the chaos unfold with wide, confused eyes.
Vincent froze. His breathing quickened. Then, with the sudden urgency of inspiration, he pulled a small, worn Polaroid camera from his coat pocket. He lifted it to his eye, tilted his head, and clicked.
The shutter’s snap made Bubba jolt. He looked around as if searching for what Vincent had just captured, then pointed at himself—confused.
Vincent nodded. Another flash. Click.
He then lowered the camera only long enough to tilt his head the other way, studying Bubba like he was a statue in a museum. Then—click. Another picture. Bubba blinked rapidly, unsure of what was happening. But slowly, he adjusted in his seat.
He was posing.
Vincent’s chest rose and fell with silent, feverish devotion. Every angle, every gesture—perfect. He stepped closer, crouching to get a lower shot. Click. Click. Click.
Bubba puffed out his chest, cheeks darkening under the mask with pride. For once, someone was looking at him like art.
And of course—your nose started to twitch again. Your body was trembling. Feverish, tissues crumpled in your hand, you tried to stay still, to keep the arrows from flying—but it was too late. The arrow streaked across the room, ricocheting off a light fixture before striking Eddie Gluskin square in the chest.
Eddie froze mid-step, wide-eyed and shivering, and then his gaze landed on Bo. The moment was instantaneous, consuming. Bo barely had time to react before Eddie lunged at him like a wild animal.
He darted towards the nearest glass door, locking himself inside the small security room. The sliding lock clicked, and he breathed a sigh of relief—until he saw Eddie pounding on the glass with both fists, wide-eyed and unhinged.
“I’M GONNA MAKE YOU MY NEXT WIFE!” Eddie bellowed, voice cracking with strange, fevered devotion.
Bo leaned back against the wall, eyes wide in disbelief. “…The fuck is wrong with ya, dumbass?!”
Eddie pressed his face closer to the glass, a crazed sort of adoration in his expression. “You…you’re mine! Mine!”
Bo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He usually liked madness, but he had no intention of becoming that fucker’s twisted wife. He knew what that meant and he wasn’t about to let that psycho do something similar to him.
Your nose twitched again, the inevitable looming…You tried to steady yourself, breathing through your mouth. “Okay…just…just hold it…”
But your body had other plans.
The last golden arrow shot across the room.
Penny froze, his infectious laughter vanishing into a stunned silence. His eyes locked onto Eddie Munson—the unfortunate target of his new fevered, unrestrained love. Eddie froze. He had seen how the others had changed because of that weird gold arrow. Then his hand shot to a beer bottle, smashing it against the wall in one smooth, desperate motion.
“PENNY! DON’T!” he screamed, voice cracking.
But it was already too late.
Penny surged forward, mouth gaping wide, drool dripping from the corners, eyes glowing with manic devotion. He lunged towards Eddie with the kind of reckless, single-minded energy that only Penny could muster. Eddie barely staggered backwards, screaming like a child, trying to evade the monstrous clown who now saw him as the object of his all-consuming affection.
The asylum was officially a battlefield of twisted, feverish love—all because of one sick nurse and a sneeze too many.
…
Hours later…
You woke with a start, sunlight streaming weakly through the asylum windows. Your head felt clearer, your nose no longer burning, and your body finally at peace.
Stretching, you rubbed your eyes and stood up. You groaned softly and brushed yourself off. “Okay…time to fix this mess.”
A few careful gestures, a couple of gentle waves of your hands, and the arrows of uncontrolled affection unraveled like golden threads. Finally, you took a deep breath and smiled, exhausted but satisfied. Your power, once uncontrolled by illness, had restored balance.
But then…you heard the slashers scream and yell from multiple rooms. You sighed.
The alarm blared through the entire area, filling everyone’s ears and sending them into a panicked frenzy. You knew what it meant.
Another patient’s escape.
You frowned as you made your way back to your office, still mentally reviewing the hour you’d just spent with the Penny brothers. Their progress had left you cautiously optimistic and you were eager to write it down. However, you didn’t expect to find one of your patients waiting for you on a chair just opposite your desk.
You stopped short in the doorway.
Arthur Fleck sat in the chair opposite your desk, legs crossed, hands resting loosely in his lap, as if he’d been invited. He looked up the moment you appeared, his expression calm, eyes sharp and unmistakably alert.
Slowly, you closed the door behind you. You then took your seat, fingers interlaced, your posture composed despite the alarm blaring just beyond the walls.
“Mr. Fleck,” you started with a tight smile. “I was on my way to check on you in the infirmary. But it seems you found me first.”
He looked composed and lucid now—a far cry from his previous state. He leaned back in the chair and elegantly crossed his legs, entirely at ease. “Yes, ma’am. Apologies. I was…tired of lying in bed.”
You nodded understandingly. “Right. I am glad to see you up and about, Arthur. However, your physical condition is still rather less than satisfactory. You should have waited in the infirmary. I did say you needed rest.”
He chuckled softly under his breath and his eyes met yours. “Of course, of course. I understand. But, to be honest, I didn’t want to wait while the whole hospital is in an uproar over lil’ ol’ me. I decided to wait in here instead, knowing you’d come back to your office eventually.”
You exhaled through your nose and smiled placidly. “I see. Are you perhaps trying to get me fired, Mr. Fleck?”
His smile widened just a fraction. “Oh no, no, no. Nothing of the sort I assure you. I simply preferred to wait for you here. It’s much more…private than the infirmary room.”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. “Do you mind if I—? It’s been so long.”
You nodded nonchalantly. “Of course.”
He lit it with unhurried care, inhaled deeply, then exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. He relaxed his body further back into the chair and sighed. “Thank you, sweetie.”
He seemed totally unfazed by the fact he had escaped guards, or that he was risking punishment from even sitting in front of you.
You coughed. “So…could I inquire as to the reason for this impromptu visit ?”
Arthur smiled again, smoke curling from his lips as the alarm continued to wail somewhere in the distance.
“I thought we might have a nice little chat,” he explained—lazily waving around. “While everyone else is busy tearing the place apart looking for me.”
You hummed thoughtfully and began sorting through the papers on your desk, deliberately casual—pretending that his presence in your office wasn’t a blatant breach of every safety protocol the hospital had. “You could have also…well, escaped.”
He let out a burst of soft laughter and nodded in agreement. “Oh. Of course, I could have…but I’d rather not be shot today.” His eyes flicked briefly towards the door before returning to you. “And there are too many guards and people running around out there. I just wanted a little privacy. I therefore much preferred to have some conversation with my new favourite nurse while they’re all running around.”
He took another drag, the cigarette smoke curling from his lips and filling the room. “So…since you’re being nice enough to humor me…could I ask you some questions?”
You smiled politely. “Be my guest.”
His expression mirrored yours—calm, smug, quietly sly.
“Tell me, head nurse.” His gaze swept over you. “Why haven’t you left this godforsaken place yet? Like any sensible person would have?”
You tilted your head and slowly blinked—not sure what he meant by that. “…I work here.”
He chuckled, his smile never leaving his face. “Yes, I know. But that’s not a real answer.” He took a moment to exhale more smoke. “The conditions here are miserable, the patients and employees alike are treated horribly, and there are barely any good news to go around. Let’s call this hospital what it is. A prison. a life sentence. You know that. I know that. Why on earth are you still here?”
You had no answer for him so your chose to remain silent.
He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “Oh come now. This can’t really be a question that hasn’t crossed your mind before. You are clearly a good professional head nurse. You don’t belong in a dump like this…and you are still here. You must have a reason. Right?”
He took another drag. “So…I’ll ask again. Why haven’t you left?”
You smiled faintly. “Well—for the same reason I’m sitting here with you instead of screaming for help. Perhaps—like you—I wanted a nice conversation.”
He smirked as you imitated his reasoning. “Great act, sweetheart. But I do not buy it.”
You tilted your head quizzically at him. “What do you mean?”
He let out another huff of quiet, amused laughter and shook his head. “Really?” He leaned forward in his seat and watched your expression intently—as if he knew something you didn’t. “Your body language already tells me all that I need to know, my dear.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re nervous and scared. You’re trying so hard to remain composed. But it shows. And it’s so obvious. It makes it funny.”
You suddenly looked straight into his eyes and smiled calmly. “I apologise. I think you have misunderstood my intentions, Mr. Fleck. I’m here because this is my job. I’m here because I want to help people like you.” Your voice didn’t waver. “I’m not scared. I’m not nervous. I’m here because I choose to be.”
Arthur snorted in disbelief. “Oh now, isn’t it just adorable. You truly are a remarkable actress. I almost believed you for a moment.”
You leaned in closer, holding his gaze without blinking. “Answer me this. Do I really look scared to you, Mr. Fleck?”
He smirked and leaned forward as well. He stared straight into your eyes, his gaze cold and sharp. He took another slow drag, not breaking eye contact with you. He laughed softly and finally shrugged. “Of course you do. Your expression is too stiff. Your body is too tense.” He looked you up and down, studying you intently. “You’re scared. But you’re trying so very hard to appear calm and composed…and you would’ve almost had me fooled if I wasn’t more perceptive than most people. I know fear. I have seen it. I have felt it. Fear is so very noticeable once you know the signs.”
He leaned back in his chair and took another drag. “Besides, anyone in your position would be scared, right? I mean it. You’re all alone in a room with a complete madman. You know what I am capable of.”
He let out another burst of quiet laughter, watching your face for any twitch or shift in your expression. “I know when others are frightened, and right now, you’re one of those frightened little rabbits. You’re an intelligent one, but a rabbit nonetheless. No matter how hard you try, you can’t change yourself. And it is no shame. Everyone would be scared in your situation.”
You suddenly stood up and he wondered what would be your next move. He raised a quizzical eyebrow as you locked the door.
“Interesting move, I’ll admit. Why?” he asked.
“Let me explain something to you, Mr. Fleck.” You slowly walked back to him and lowered your hands to the arms of his chair to trap him in his seat. “I did not spend 6 years or more studying medicine and psychology for you to tell me if I am scared or not. Of course I am. As I would be in any situation where I know I am in danger. But, I decided to trust you, to help you. Because I believe you can do better. So yes. You are right. I am scared. But I should not be. For I believe you and all the other patients in this facility are bound for greater things than rotting in a cell for the rest of your lives.”
His face went completely blank as he listened to you, no hint of a smile or a smirk on his face anymore. But then, his eyes shone and he grinned. “Oh…do tell me more.”
You were a little taken back by how interested he suddenly seemed. You cleared your throat awkwardly, clearly a little thrown-off. “Are you truly interested in what I have to say?”
He nodded slowly and tapped his cigarette for the ashes to fall in the ashtray on your desk. “Very much so. Especially the part about us being ‘bound for greater things.’ Everyone says we need to change, but not a lot of people believe we can be great. Most of the time, they would be happy if we became what society deems normal. But you? You believe we can be great. You believe we can reach greatness. That sets you apart in my eyes. Because truly? Who wants to be normal? No…Greatness is what we all aspire to achieve.”
You thought about it and nodded. “You have the potential. All you need…is a little push in the right direction. And yes. You can reach greatness once the effort is there.”
For some reason, Arthur didn’t look as amused or mocking as he had before…he actually looked like he was taking your words very seriously. He slowly nodded again, and let out a soft hum. “And you are that someone who could give me that great push, I suppose?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know if I will be. But, yes. That’s my goal. I want to help patients like you realize their potential even if they sometimes don’t realize they have any. Because sometimes, patients don’t believe they even deserve a second chance.”
A very small smile started to form on his face, one that actually looked genuine. He chuckled softly and eventually shook his head in disbelief. “You sound like someone who actually cares. About all the dangerous, violent, psychopathic men and women locked up in here…as if they could actually be helped.”
You nodded—certain of your words. “Of course they can. People don’t act out for no reason. There’s always an explanation for bad behavior. As I said, someone just needs to find it. And then…they can help that person.”
He remained silent for a moment—contemplating something—before he suddenly grabbed a pair of scissors on your desk and raised it to your throat. “…What if I killed you right now?”
You froze, your eyes widening at the sudden move. He had the tips of the scissors less than an inch from your neck, his hand firm. But even with a weapon at your throat, you didn’t struggle or fight. Your body remained relaxed and your expression was calm; you barely even moved.
“Is that…truly what you want, Mr. Fleck?”
He kept the scissors at your throat, not pressing any harder than he already was, his eyes staring very intently into yours for a long moment. He then confessed. “I’m not going to pretend I haven’t…considered it.”
You hummed and didn’t move. “Would that be beneficial for you in any way?”
A small smirk started to form on his face again and he tilted his head—pondering the idea of a dead nurse on his already soiled hands. “Perhaps. It would certainly be satisfying.” He moved the scissors slightly, running the metal blade lightly over your skin without breaking it. “You’d be out of my way…and the rest of the patients wouldn’t ever have to worry about you trying to treat them. Seems like a good outcome to me.”
You frowned slightly and asked—genuinely curious. “…You have no wish to have a life again, Mr. Fleck?”
He chuckled bitterly, running the tip of the scissors lightly up and down your skin. “What kind of life could I have outside of this place? I have no family to return to. And what woman would want me? I’m a murderer with a list of mental health problems a mile long. There’s no going back to ‘normal’ for me, sweetheart. I’ve made my bed. I have to lay in it now.”
You leant forward—the tip of the sharp scissors digging into your skin. “Who said you were dead yet, Mr. Fleck? You do not need to lie in that bed forever. That bed could change into something better…”
His smirk widened slightly and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So you think I can achieve a wonderful, beautiful future by just obeying and listening to you? That’s funny. You’re truly desperate, aren’t you? You’d do anything to try to turn me into a harmless little toy who obeys your every command, wouldn’t you? Is that what you truly want? To be the ‘saviour’ who succeeded in turning a bunch of criminals into model citizens?”
You slowly lifted your hand to his wrist. “…I have no interest whatsoever in making you into anything but a man with a future, Arthur.”
He looked down at your hand on his wrist and his smile faltered slightly. “A man with a future you say? You should probably lower your standards for what I could achieve. You’re only setting yourself up for a lot of disappointment.”
Your thumb stroked his inner wrist. “Let me be the judge of that. Please.”
Arthur’s eyes lowered to your thumb and his jaw twitched before he looked back up at you. “And if you’re wrong? If I’m proven to be exactly the man everyone thinks I am—a psychotic mass-killer with no hope of ever being released?”
You smiled—a weak smile that told more than words ever could. “Then the scissors will still be there.”
His eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that response. He hesitated and eventually let out a humourless laugh. “You see a glimmer of hope in a pile of ash. The only reason you’re still standing here unharmed is your good fortune. Anybody else would be dead already. You’re not dealing with a dog, or a harmless pet. You’re dealing with a wild animal. I’m a threat, sweetheart. We all are.”
You hummed and ever so slowly lowered his hand with the scissors still in it. “I repeat. My intention is not to turn you into a pet, Mr. Fleck. My first objective is your health, my second your security and my third your future.”
He finally let you lower his hand all the way and the scissors fell to the floor. Arthur seemed lost for a second before he smiled weakly and shook his head. “You’re not the first person to say that, you know. The doctors and psychiatrists I’ve been with—they’ve all said that they want to ‘fix me’ and make me into a good boy. They all say it’s for the best…but then they usually just give up when they realize that I’m too much for them to handle.”
You smiled sympathetically. “Please. Let me try. What do you have to lose?”
He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Well, I’m not really doing anything at the moment. So, go ahead. I am curious to see what you have to offer the Joker.”
Joker. Not Arthur. You noticed and realized how Arthur seemed to truly juggle between his two identities. And it seemed one of them had clearly taken over these past few years.
You nodded and sat back down before smiling. “How about we start by calling you ‘Arthur’?”
Arthur’s smile lingered for a moment longer before slowly fading. Something unreadable passed through his eyes as you said his name. Not anger. Not amusement. He seemed to be recalling a name long forgotten.
“…Arthur,” he repeated softly, testing it. It had been so long…
The alarm was still screaming somewhere in the distance, muffled by thick walls and locked doors. Neither of you moved to acknowledge it. You straightened a folder on your desk and finally sat back in your chair, your posture composed once more.
“If we’re going to do this,” you stated evenly, “we’ll do it properly.”
Arthur tilted his head.
“Oh?” he murmured curiously. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“By establishing boundaries,” you replied. “For both of us.”
That earned a low chuckle.
“Boundaries,” he echoed. “That’s funny, coming from someone who just stood still with scissors at her throat.”
“And yet, you lowered your hand.” You shot back without ever lifting your eyes.
That made him pause. His fingers flexed slightly, as if he’d only just remembered the sensation of holding the weapon. His gaze drifted briefly to the spot on the floor where the scissors lay, then back to you.
“Fair point.”
You opened the folder in front of you, revealing a blank page. No notes. No observations. No diagnoses yet.
“This is not an interrogation,” you continued. “And it’s not a performance. You don’t need to impress me, frighten me, or prove anything.”
Arthur leaned back, crossing his arms. “Then what do I need to do?”
“Answer honestly. Or don’t answer at all.” You replied.
His lips twitched. “You’re giving me options now?”
This time, your eyes lifted to meet his. “I always was.”
Silence stretched between you again.
“You’re not afraid of what I’ve done.” Joker stated.
“I’m aware of it,” you corrected.
“And you’re not trying to fix me.” He asked.
“No.”
“Or save me.” He added.
“No.”
He studied your face carefully, searching for cracks. “Then why try to redeem me?”
You didn’t answer right away. When you finally did, your voice was steady. “Because you’re self-aware. Because you know what you are capable of. And because you chose not to act on it just now.”
Arthur laughed quietly.
“Careful,” he warned. “You’re giving me credit I don’t deserve.”
“I’m acknowledging reality,” you replied matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to deserve it.”
Something in his expression shifted.
“…All right,” he indulged at last and laid back. “Let’s say I play along.”
You met his gaze. “Then my first question is simple.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you. “Oh, I doubt that.”
You leaned forward just slightly. “When did you stop believing your life could be anything other than this?”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately. For the first time since he’d entered your office, he looked away. Arthur’s eyes remained fixed on some invisible point beyond your desk. His fingers drummed lightly against the arms of his chair.
“You want to know who I used to be,” he acknowledged. “Before all of this…before the masks, the smile, the crimes.” He exhaled, a soft, humorless laugh escaping him—a painful rictus. “I used to be…someone nobody noticed. Just another face in the city. I made people laugh. Well…some of them. Not all of them. Mostly it was just me, pretending. Pretending the world wasn’t grinding me down into nothing.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes dark but distant.
“I wasn’t…good. Not really. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t clever. I was awkward, scared, and…unseen. Nobody looked at me twice. My jokes fell flat, nobody understood me…my life was…small. Invisible. And that made me angry. Angry at them. Angry at myself. Angry at a world that didn’t notice when someone like me stopped existing.”
He paused, a short, brittle laugh escaping him.
“And then…things happened. Things I thought I could survive. Things I thought I could…fix myself around. But the world doesn’t fix itself, and people don’t change unless something—someone—forces them. And I snapped. Not once. Not twice. Over and over. Until there was no one left in my life but me, staring back at a mirror I didn’t recognize.”
Arthur lifted his gaze, finally meeting yours. The smirk was gone.
“That’s who I was. That’s the man I used to be and who was so desperately trying to be…someone. And somewhere along the way, that man…he…died. Or maybe he just stopped mattering altogether—if he ever truly did.”
He took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke drift lazily towards the ceiling.
“Do you know what it’s like to be invisible…until one day you realize the world doesn’t care if you live or die? That’s me. That’s the ‘before’ you won’t see on the surface. The before no one remembers. The before nobody wanted to see.”
You stared at him, letting the silence hang in the room for a moment. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, wary, as if expecting mockery or dismissal.
But he found neither.
“Personally? I would have remembered you.” You replied casually and shrugged. “The person you were before…before all of this. The scared, awkward, unseen man who tried to make people laugh. I would have seen him. Maybe I wouldn’t have understood all your jokes, but I would have certainly recognised the effort behind them. That’s what would have made me stay and laugh.”
He blinked slowly, caught off guard by the confidence in your words. “You…would have?” he asked, his voice low, suspicious, as though the idea itself was impossible. Arthur’s hand twitched slightly. The cigarette wavered in his fingers. He leaned back in his chair and eyes were deep…two deep pools of blood and unshed tears.
“Yes. Because I care,” you replied softly. “I care because I know that even the person you’ve become doesn’t erase who you were. And it doesn’t have to define who you can still be. That man…he’s still in there, Arthur. And I intend to help him surface again.”
He exhaled slowly and cackled…but not mockingly.
“You’re…stubborn,” he accused you.
“And you’re worth it,” you shot back, returning his gaze without hesitation.
He smiled. But then…Arthur noticed the bruises around your neck.
He went completely quiet, the smirk vanishing from his face. His expression went completely blank as he kept his gaze fixed on your throat. His eyes lingered on the discolored skin around your neck, taking in the shape and color.
“How did you get those bruises…?”
You looked down and started writing things down—purposefully ignoring the question. “I will ask the guards to let you and the other patients leave your cells at least 30 minutes a day for fresh air.”
He was quiet for a moment as he watched you write—unbothered. His voice was tense when he spoke again, his words tight and sharp. “I asked you a question.”
Your pen stopped writing at the seriousness in his voice and you sighed before finally lifting your gaze once more. “Does it matter, Mr. Fleck?”
His expression stayed the same. “Yes. It does matter.”
His eyes never left your neck, his gaze fixed onto the bruises.
You smiled. “Why are you interested ?”
His face remained stoic, his jaw tight and clenched as he kept staring at the bruises on your neck. He inhaled through his nose before responding. “Humor me, just this once…who did this to you?”
You kept a smile on your face, even if you weren’t smiling inside. You were scared he would find out. “I cannot say. It would be betraying my oath as a nurse for patient confidentiality.”
His expression hardened, and his grip on the arms of the chair tightened until his knuckles turned white. He clenched his jaw so hard, you could practically see the muscle in his face straining. He inhaled deeply again and slowly stood up, the chair scraped loudly against the floor as he took a step towards you. “Who. Did. This…?”
He was standing so close to you now. You could see the anger in his eyes and the glimmer of insanity.
You kept your smile on. “A patient I made a promise to and could not keep. I paid the price. That’s all.”
“And just what promise could you have possibly broken to justify your neck looking like that?” he asked before pointing at your neck.
“…I missed our regular reading session.” You replied with a nonchalant shrug. No reason to lie now.
Arthur cracked his neck and sighed before taking another drag of his cigarette. “So let me get this straight. Your neck was almost crushed…because you missed someone’s ‘reading time?’”
You smiled—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Patients here are special. They are scared. They want something to believe in…It will take time for them to get used to me.”
He gritted his teeth and leaned in even closer, his face right next to yours. “I will ask you one final time. Who did this…?”
You did not answer.
He inhaled deeply, his shoulders hunching forward as he exhaled through his nose. There was a slight hitch in his breath, like he was fighting to stay calm. “You’re not going to tell me…are you?”
You smiled apologetically at him.
He chuckled, his laugh harsh and sharp. He raised a hand and placed it against your neck, his hand moving slowly around the bruised skin as if he was inspecting it—measuring it. He gently traced your bruises with his fingertips, his touch surprisingly light and gentle as he assessed the damage. “Fine then. How badly does it hurt…?”
Your smile twitched. “It’s okay. How bad does it look?”
He didn't respond immediately, instead focusing on the skin beneath his fingers. His hand inspected the purple blotches on your neck.
“It looks terrible.” He then started laughing uncontrollably. You had read in his file he could have those sorts of laughing fits. You had never actually witnessed one before.
It looked painful.
You noticed the way his shoulders shook, how each exhale hitched sharply, and how his hand tightened against the desk for support.
The cigarette slipped from his fingers unnoticed, clattering to the floor.
Arthur’s body wavered, and he staggered forward with a hand on his chest, eyes widening as he tried to steady himself. Without thinking, you rushed forward, catching him under his arms before he could fall. Kneeling beside him, your knee brushed against the fallen cigarette…but you did not falter.
You held him up.
“Careful,” you murmured, adjusting your hold to support him better. You noticed the flash of embarrassment and fleeting pain in them.
He exhaled shakily, still laughing, though the sound had fractured into quiet gasps. “I…apologise.”
You nodded, keeping him steady. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Just breathe. I’ve got you, Arthur.”
You held him steady until your were sure the episode had ended, adjusting your grip so he wouldn’t topple, even as the sting from the cigarette burned your skin. His laughter had dwindled to short, ragged gasps, and for a moment, he seemed almost lost in the sensation of being caught—supported. Then slowly, his hands wrapped around your arms, gripping you in return. Not aggressively—more as if anchoring himself, needing the solid presence you provided. You felt the pressure of his fingers as they sank into your flesh—but you knew he didn’t mean to hurt you.
“I’ve got you,” you repeated, your voice steady as your eyes closed. “You’re safe. Right here. You won’t fall while I’m here to prevent it. I promise.”
Silence. Then…
“You feel…real,” he murmured, as if surprised by the sensation. “You don’t feel like an hallucination. But then again, none of my hallucinations ever feel fake…”
You held his gaze, letting him feel the truth of it. “I am real, Mr. Fleck. It might not feel like it right now, but I am.”
Another short laugh escaped him—lighter this time, more brittle—but he didn’t pull away.
However, soldiers barged in and immediately separated the both of you. They tackled Arthur to the floor and you stood up.
“Do not hurt him.”
They froze, two of them holding Arthur's arms while another had his knee on the man's back.“…You sure, ma'am…?”
You nodded and forced yourself to remain calm as you saw the clear pain on Arthur’s face. “Yes. Just bring him back to his…hum…room. For now.”
They looked at you like you were insane, but reluctantly listened and pulled him up forcefully. He craned his head around to look at you, his eyes wide and frenzied as he let another manic laughter escape him.
He didn't fight back; he simply let them carry him out of your office while he cackled…
You sighed once he was out and sat down, only to have General McCain come in. “I heard what happened. You were in that office with him for 30 minutes. What did he say? Did he threaten you? Did he hurt you?”
You looked up at the General, taking in a deep breath before answering truthfully. “He did not.” You paused, thinking about what to say.“We…simply had a conversation.”
The General raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced. He crossed his arms and looked at you expectantly. “And what exactly was this ‘conversation’ about?”
You shrugged. "…Everything and nothing. Just normal conversation topics. He just wanted to talk."
General McCain gritted his teeth. “Head Nurse Y/N. I am Head of Security. If you protect the patients…no one will be able to protect you.”
Your eyes widened at his words, and your expression hardened. "I am here as a head nurse to try and help these people—whether it be their mental illnesses, their physical injuries, or their emotional wounds. Whatever it is, I will use everything in my power to keep them well. All of them. That is my duty."
General McCain sighed. “You forget about my duty. If something happens to you? I will have to go search for new staff. Again.”
You shook your head and held back a bitter smile. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but my duty to my patients comes first. I am here to give them the treatment and care they need, and if that means risking my own safety in the process by talking to a patient like Arthur Fleck, then so be it.”
The General was quiet, his expression stoic and his arms still folded. He was quiet for quite a while…then… “Do you have any idea just how dangerous Arthur Fleck really is?”
You smiled and restrained a mocking laugh. “You think I haven’t read his file or something?”
The General’s expression stayed neutral as he responded. “His file only goes so far. He’s a homicidal maniac with a talent for manipulating other people’s emotions and exploiting any situation to his advantage.”
You stared at General McCain. “Have you read the entirety of the file? The man had—forgive my language—a very shitty life. He was raised by his adopted mother and her boyfriend, they were abusing him physically and mentally, until the trauma to his brain caused him to develop Pseudobulbar affect. In Arthur's case, his PBA causes him to laugh uncontrollably during moments of intense stress and sadness. He is in intense emotional distress and to make matters worse, he has hallucinations and cannot differentiate said hallucinations from reality. He is suffering immensely.”
The General nodded, but his expression did not change. “Yes. I am well aware of his circumstances. But it does not change the fact that he is a threat to himself and anyone around him. He has a long list of violent tendencies, and a history of lashing out and attacking others. He’s dangerous. And yet he seems to have taken a liking to you. That doesn’t concern you in the slightest?”
You chuckled. “A liking? That is stretching it.”
The General raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “You call it stretching, but I call it an observation. The way he was acting in your office? The way his eyes were fixed on you? You were holding him for god’s sakes. Even with the guards pinning him down, he kept his gaze on you! He sees you as an ally. And that is a dangerous position for you. If he didn’t have a genuine interest in you, then why was his attention focused purely on you?”
You froze and slowly glanced up at him before crossing your fingers. “…Because I am not the one with a gun, General McCain.”
The General huffed. “And that’s the problem.”
He nodded towards your office door. “He’s insane. You know how disturbed his mind is. And somehow, you think it’s a good idea to talk to him…alone….without any guards around to protect you…?”
You chuckled humourlessly and shook your head. “Well, I didn’t exactly expect him to show up in my office, did I?”
The General sighed, and you could see a hint of weariness in his expression. “That’s not the point. The point is that you should have called for guards, or for another nurse, or for me. You could have requested for someone to be there in the room with you. You could have taken any precaution and called for someone to be with you at any given moment using the beeper in your pocket…but instead you had a casual conversation with a psychotic killer for thirty minutes.”
You smiled cheekily. “And I am fine. Thank you for asking.”
The General rolled his eyes, letting out another sigh. “You’re completely disregarding my warning. You’ve been here for less than two weeks. I’ve been here for years. You’re very fortunate that he didn’t get the chance to do any real damage.”
You nodded and stared at him before trying to cut the conversation short. “Thank you, General McCain.”
The General rolled his eyes. “You can’t just ‘thank’ me, then shrug off what I’ve said. I am being completely serious, head nurse. You need to be more careful when it comes to these patients. You cannot give anyone an opportunity to be alone with you. Especially Arthur Fleck.”
You nodded—seriously this time. “I understand. I will…take your words into consideration.”
The General scoffed. “You’re not taking anything into consideration. I can tell by the look in your eyes.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Do you have any idea what would happen if something went wrong and Fleck attacked you in your office? If he got the upper hand and no one was there to help you?”
You stared straight into his eyes. “If he wanted me dead, general. We wouldn’t be having this conversation. Being afraid of the patients is one certain way to get yourself killed. I simply chose to treat them as human beings—something people in this establishment seem to forget that they are.”
The General met your gaze, his expression unchanging. “Being reasonable and cautious is not the same as being afraid. You have to remember that they are dangerous, sick, and psychotic. They are violent and disturbed. You can’t just go in there and ‘treat them like human beings.’ You can’t act like they’re ordinary people who can be reformed because you want them to. I get that you’re trying to do a good thing here, nurse. I really do. But you have to realize that some people can’t be ‘saved’, no matter how badly you might want them to—and no matter how much you treat your patients like human beings, some of them aren’t even in there anymore.”
He sighed again, the stern expression on his face softening. “Arthur Fleck is insane, pure and simple. There’s no ‘reasoning’ with him or ‘treating him like a human being’ or trying to ‘give him a second chance’. He’s too far gone.”
You shook your head—disagreeing wholeheartedly with his bias assessment. “If you keep telling them that, how do you expect them to hope for better things? Why not just give them all guns and ask them to shoot themselves dead?”
The General grimaced. “Don’t be dramatic. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m not saying they don’t deserve to live. I’m simply saying they can’t be expected to return to normal society. They’re too dangerous, and they need constant surveillance and medication to keep them under control.”
You sighed and stood up. “I have a call to make. If that is all…”
The General sighed. “Yes. That’s all. Just…keep what I said in mind. And please—be careful with those patients.”
You nodded. “I will. Now, if you would please leave my office?”
The General gave another curt nod and stepped out of the office, closing the door gently behind him as he left. When he was gone, you took a deep breath before pulling out your phone and searching for the number of Wayne Enterprises.
You then dialled the number.
The phone rang for several minutes before a voice finally picked up, a soft, feminine voice that sounded like it belonged to a young intern. “Wayne Enterprises. How may I help you?”
You put on a nice smile and replied politely.“Yes. Good evening. I would like to speak with Mr. Wayne if possible ?”
I've been thinking a lot about Fran Bow lately, and I realized that one of the children at Oswald Asylum, Adelaida Fugents, who has a tendency to hurt herself because when the nurses sometimes ties her wrists, she wants to get out of it to continue drawing. Leaving them scarred and bleeding.
Since Bo has albeit worse scars, including some history of being tied to the high chair. I'd imagine at some point the staff thought that it would be nice to Adelaida to have somebody who could relate to her. Now they know that Bo has a horrible record of sexual charges, but I'd think they'd trust him enough to not harm a seven year old. Still, having some nurses around would be smart.
The first time they brought Adelaida into Bo’s room, nobody was relaxed about it. Two nurses stood near the door. Another stayed in the hallway.
Bo noticed immediately and rolled his eyes. “Y’all act like I’m gonna eat her. M’not one of the damn clowns. I don’t hurt kids.”
“Just cooperate, Bo,” one nurse reminded him firmly.
He snorted and leaned back in his chair, boots stretched out in front of him. “Yeah, yeah.”
Then the little girl stepped inside.
Adelaida looked tiny compared to him. Thin arms, messy hair, sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest. White bandages wrapped around both her wrists. Bo noticed the bandages instantly. His expression changed for half a second before he looked away again. Great. They had brought another scarred lil’ freak for him to fraternise with…
“This is Adelaida,” the nurse explained carefully. “She likes drawing.”
He scoffed and lowered his cap over his eyes. “Yeah? Good for her.”
Adelaida stared at him openly. Unlike most people, she didn’t seem nervous. Her eyes drifted down to his wrists instead, where old restraint marks sat faded against his skin.
“You were tied too,” she remarked quietly.
Bo glanced at her and huffed. “…Yeah.. Good eye, pipsqueak.”
She slightly tilted her head.
“They tie me because I scratch,” Adelaida explained. “But I need my hands to draw.”
Bo grunted—completely uninterested in the little him looking around with big googly eyes. “That so?”
She nodded seriously and sat down at the small table in the room. She immediately opened her sketchbook and started drawing.
For a while the room stayed quiet except for the sound of pencil scratching paper.
Bo kept pretending he didn’t care, but every few minutes his eyes flicked towards the bandages around her wrists. He recalled the times when his own parents did the same and he winced internally at the unhappy memories. He used to be a violent kid, but that pipsqueak seemed as violent as a squeaky toy in a dog shop.
Finally he muttered, “How bad d’you pull at ‘em?”
Adelaida answered honestly. “Until they come off.”
He hummed. “And then?”
She shrugged. “They bleed.”
Bo stared at her for a moment. “…That’s stupid.”
She smiled and shrugged again. “I know.”
He remained silent and she continued. “But I don’t like being trapped.”
“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Nobody does.”
One of the nurses relaxed slightly seeing the conversation stay calm. That was a mistake.
Because a minute later Adelaida asked, “Did they use leather straps on you?”
The room went dead silent. Bo’s entire body stiffened. The nurses immediately stepped forward, worried he’d snap, but instead he just rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked irritated.
“…Used whatever they could get their hands on.”
Adelaida nodded like that made perfect sense.
Then she held up her sketchbook toward him.“Look. I drew you.”
Bo blinked. The drawing was rough and childish, but recognizable. Big shoulders, messy hair, angry eyebrows. She’d drawn all his scars too.
“You made me look ugly as hell,” he told her, but grinned all the same. “You’re goin’ places, kid. Maybe not fancy places, but am sure ya ain’t a rotten apple.”
Adelaida looked delighted by the criticism.
For the next few visits, it became routine.
Adelaida would sit in his room and draw while the nurses supervised. Sometimes she talked nonstop about imaginary creatures and strange places. Sometimes she stayed quiet for an hour straight.
Bo usually acted annoyed the entire time.
But he also started noticing things. Like how she scratched at her wrists whenever she got anxious. Or how she’d panic if someone touched her sketchbook without warning.
One afternoon a nurse reached for the notebook too quickly during cleanup. Adelaida jerked back hard enough to reopen one of the healing cuts on her wrist.
The second blood appeared, Bo stood up so fast his chair screeched across the floor.
“The hell are you doin’?!” he snapped.
The nurse backed up immediately. “Bo, calm down—”
Bo didn’t care. Ray of sunshine over there was busy drawing. The nurse could wait five second for her to finish. “Fuck OFF!”
Adelaida looked startled more than scared.
Bo ran a frustrated hand through his hair before crouching awkwardly in front of her.“Lemme see.”
She hesitated, then held out her arm. He looked angry the entire time he checked the cut.
Not angry at her. At the situation. At the fact the scars on her wrists looked familiar.
“You gotta quit yankin’ on those straps till you tear yourself open,” he muttered.
She sighed. “I can’t help it.”
Bo went quiet for a moment before cupping her face. “Lemme get it through your thick skull. No one’s comin’ to save ya from your life. So y’better get used to it. Yankin’ won’t help. Bloodin’ won’t help either. It’ll just make ya more into a freak and then you’ll stay trapped in this hell house for life. Believe me, kid. Won’t be a happy endin’ for ya.”
Adelaida sighed and stayed silent until the nurses took her away. After that, the nurses noticed something strange. Bo behaved better on the days Adelaida visited. Less fights. Less screaming at orderlies. Less throwing things when angry.
But later that same day, Adelaida fell asleep at the table with crayons still in her hands. And Bo sat there completely still for almost an hour so nobody would wake her. He looked down at that little girl and just hugged her tight.
The way he would have liked to be held at that age…
Oh, thank God! I was so worried about you! I had fallen for the messages but it's all good now. Lost the old account (scatterbrain1997) but I'm content with starting over.
I'm so happy that you're not gone!!
I’m so sorry about your old account. And I am also happy my account is back. 💜
Man I love ur Sinners headcannons(closest thing I could get to Cornbread x reader content tbh) I have one cute request...well two where the reader kisses them off guard or the vampire is asleep and the reader comes in and cuddles with them.
Remmick
He'd been reading, or pretending to anyways, sprawled out on the couch. Maybe it was how soft his lips looked in that moment, or the way he'd been muttering to himself in that lilting Irish drawl you loved so much...
You couldn't help yourself.
You leaned down and kissed him. Remmick froze for only a moment. For a heartbeat, he didn't move at all.
And then he smiled.
Before you could pull away, his hand shot up, cupping the back of your neck and bringing you right back down to deepen the kiss.
"Oh no, darlin’. Ye don't get to just kiss me once and run off. That's not real polite, s'it now? No no...Me thinks you best gimme another piece of sugar. Me thinks I deserve it." He then kissed you again. His thumb brushed over your jaw, coaxing you closer, savoring every second of his little special moment with his special person.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, and he was grinning widely.
"And now...me thinks we should get rid of all yer clothes and get to the bedroom before I lose my patience and just take ye on the couch instead."
You laughed softly, still dazed. "Well...okay then. Guess we have to move."
He smirked, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before effortlessly carrying you. "Oh, we definitely do, mo chroi."
Remmick adores you. There’s nothing more to say. He loves the kisses and treats each one of them like a treasure.
Stack
Stack had been leaning back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, talking your ear off about another ridiculous plan of his. He was throwing you that lopsided grin that always meant trouble and kept making you laugh.
You didn’t plan to kiss him. You just…did.
You leaned in while he was mid-sentence. The words died on his tongue the instant your lips touched his. For half a second, he froze, blinking like he wasn’t sure what just happened. Then his hand shot out, catching you by the hip before you could retreat.
“Well, damn,” he breathed against your mouth, his grin curling back in place, showing you that golden tooth. "Didn’t know it was that kinda conversation."
You tried to step back, but he wasn’t having it. He tugged you closer until you stumbled into his lap. "Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Y'don’t get to drop a bomb like that and just walk away."
He kissed you again and is thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your face just enough so he could catch the little sound you made when he deepened the kiss. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, still smiling.
"Thanks, baby. Been wantin' to do that all damn day."
You laughed breathlessly and he squeezed your waist before letting you go.
"Now," he added, eyes glinting, "or you can either pretend that didn’t just happen…or you can stay right here for round two. Your call, baby."
No need to say, you ended up having one hell of a make out session after that.
Mary
Mary was sitting cross-legged on the couch, painting her nails cherry red while humming under her breath. You’d been watching her for a while and before you even realized what you were doing, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to hers.
She gasped, the brush slipping and leaving a streak of red across her thumb.
You pulled back, mortified. "Mary, I—"
But before you could finish apologising, she caught your chin between her fingers and tilted your face back toward hers. The corner of her mouth curled into a slow, knowing smile.
"Well, sugar plum," she murmured, "if that’s your way of sayin’ hello, I’ve been greetin’ people wrong my whole life."
She leaned in and kissed you. She tasted like cherries. "You tryin’ to kill me again, sweet thing? My poor heart can’t take surprises like that."
You smiled shyly. "I didn’t mean to—"
"Oh, hush," she interrupted with a laugh, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You meant it. And I loved it. End of story."
You smiled and kissed her again. At least, you knew now that kissing Mary would never be a problem.
Bo Chow
Bo was leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands stained faintly with motor oil and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was talking about something, some repair job of some kind. You’d been trying real hard to focus on what he was saying, but you kept getting lost in the curve of his mouth, the rough rasp in his tone, the glint of sweat on his throat from working under the sun.
And then you just…did it.
You stepped close, plucked the cigarette from his lips, and kissed him.
The world stopped for a heartbeat.
Bo didn’t move. Then, as the shock melted into a grin, his hand came up fast to cup your cheek and he hummed into the kiss.
When he pulled away, that grin of his turned into a smirk. "Well, hell. If I knew ya were gonna do that, I’d’ve stopped talkin’ sooner."
You laughed, a little flustered, trying to step back, but he tugged you right back against him. His thumb brushed over your lip, his gaze dark and warm all at once.
"Hey hey now…none o’ that," he tutted playfully. "Not done yet. Ya don’t just light a fire and walk away, baby. That’s not how it works."
He kissed you again with his arms around your body and chuckled before finally letting you go. He wiped his thumb along your jaw where a little smear of oil had rubbed off. "Now look what ya made me do. Got grease all over ya. Guess I’ll have to clean ya up later, huh?"
And he scrubbed you squeaky clean…
Cornbread
Cornbread was half-asleep on the couch when you did it. He’d been sprawled there like a cat, one arm draped over his eyes, the other dangling off the side of the couch holding a half-empty glass. You’d been watching him for a while. He looked so peaceful that you didn’t even think before leaning in.
Your lips brushed his, soft as a breath.
He froze for half a second, then his lips curved into that lazy, lopsided grin you knew too well.
"Well, I’ll be damned," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "Didn’t know I was dreamin’ yet."
You started to pull away, embarrassed, but his hand came up slow and steady, catching you by the back of the neck. His thumb traced your jaw, calloused and gentle all at once.
"Uh-uh," he said, his eyes opened now. "Ain’t no way you’re kissin’ me like that and walkin’ off. No ma’am/sir."
He tugged you closer, just enough for your lips to meet his again. His free hand came to rest at your waist, keeping you there while he deepened the kiss. When he eventually let you go, his grin had gone soft around the edges. "You got a funny way of wakin’ a man up," he teased. "But I like it."
You rolled your eyes, but he chuckled and tipped his head back against the couch. "Don’t stop on my account," he added, patting his chest with a wink. "Reckon I could get used to that kinda alarm clock."
Annie
You found her at her worktable, sleeves rolled up, hair in a messy braid, muttering to herself as she pressed dried herbs into little glass jars.
She didn’t even notice you coming up behind her.
"Annie?" you whispered her name softly, and she turned just as you leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t long. Just a quick, impulsive press of lips. But it was enough to stop her completely.
Her eyes went wide with her lips parting slightly in awe. "Oh—oh my stars," she breathed out, voice trembling with surprise and delight.
You started to step back, suddenly shy, but Annie’s l hands caught your shirt. "Wait—" she said quickly with a happy smile. "Now, where are you runnin’ off to?"
You blinked, amused, but before you could answer, she was already tugging you back in.
This time she kissed you. Her hands lingered against your chest, feeling your heartbeat, grounding herself in it. When she pulled back, she chuckled, her eyes crinkling with happiness. "Now how am I supposed to focus on work?"
You smiled, brushing your thumb against her cheek. "Guess you’ll just have to take a break."
She looked at you, then at the herbs on the table, then back at you and laughed again, bright and gentle. "Yeah. Maybe I will."
And when she leaned in for another kiss, it tasted faintly of honey and sunshine.
Bert
It wasn’t planned. You just… did it.
Bert froze. Eyes wide. Lips still parted from whatever snarky comment he’d been about to make. For one glorious second, you saw his entire brain stop processing…then his eyebrows shot up.
"…Did—did you just—" He blinked. "—kiss me?"
You smirked. "Mhm."
Before you could pull away, he grabbed the back of your neck and laughed, low and breathless. "Oh, hell yeah. Come here, darlin’."
The next kiss was hungry and messy, his hands cupping your face, pulling you closer until your breath hitched. He smiled against your mouth and licked inside your mouth…chasing your taste like a starving dog. You broke away and his grin was downright wicked. "Thanks for the gift, baby."
You started to say something, but he cut you off by kissing you again. "Mm-mm. Not done yet. Daddy needs his sugar. Give it here."
You shoved at his shoulder and laughed. And when you kissed him again, he hummed against your lips, smiling so hard you felt it.
Joan
Joan was arranging a stack of papers at the dining table. You watched her for a moment, the way the lamplight caught her silhouette and highlighted the sharp elegance of her features.
You leaned in and kissed her.
She froze immediately, paper trembling in her hands. Her eyes went wide, shock flickering across her otherwise composed face.
Before you could step back, Joan’s hand lifted, brushing your cheek with the gentlest touch. Her fingers lingered there as she leaned into you, meeting your lips with a slow, deliberate kiss. When she pulled away, her eyes softened, glimmering with something she rarely let anyone see.
Her hand remained against your cheek as she leaned back just slightly, her gaze lingering, soft but intense. "A rather sweet kiss. I suppose…I’ll allow it. And I suppose you have another one for me? It would be rude to not kiss me again."
You grinned, leaning in for another quick peck, and she let out a small laugh before hugging you tightly.
First time writing for Paddy. Been obsessed with him for a while. LONG WORK. Also SMUT. Lots of smut. So much smut. I have…no excuse.
The rain pattered softly against the window of your office, smearing the gray cityscape into watercolors. The war had ended 2 years ago, but its shadows never left. Every day, soldiers—men who had stared into hell and come back—sat across from you.
Some spoke, some never did.
When the door opened that afternoon, you didn’t need an introduction.
Colonel Blair “Paddy” Mayne. War hero.
His uniform was gone; in its place, a rumpled civilian suit that didn’t quite seem to fit him. He stood there a moment, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave.
“Colonel Mayne,” you greeted him gently, gesturing towards the chair. “Please—come in.”
He seemed to reconsider for a moment but, he still settled into the designated chair. His eyes were sharp, restless, but his hands trembled slightly as he clasped them together.
You watched him silently.
This was a man who had led men into deserts at night, who had destroyed airfields with his own hands. A legend. And yet here he was, staring at the floor, as though afraid of what might spill out if he looked you in the eye.
“What brings you here today, Mr. Mayne?” you asked after a moment.
His eyes seemed to stare at the floor for a second longer before returning to his clasped hands.
“They say I drink too much. They say I fight too much. They say…” He paused, then gave a low laugh and shook his head in disbelief. “They say I can’t let go of the bloody war.”
You leaned forward. “And what do you say?”
At that, his eyes finally met yours. For the first time, you saw the storm behind them—the loneliness, the exhaustion, and something else: guilt, maybe, or grief.
“I say…” He paused. “I say fuck ‘em.”
The silence that followed was thick, but you didn’t rush to fill it. Instead, you offered the one thing he hadn’t been given since the war ended: a space where he didn’t have to be a hero, or a legend, or a fighter.
Just a man trying to breathe.
You smiled sympathetically at him. “I see…Well, I guess we’ll have to see if we can word that into a more eloquent form.”
The sessions stretched into weeks.
Every time Paddy sat in your office, he carried himself like he was still in command. He would sit on the couch in front of you and wait for you to start. Sometimes he’d deflect with a story about a bar fight, eyes glittering with mischief. Sometimes he’d give a dry one-liner and lean back in his chair, waiting for you to press him. Other times he said nothing at all, just sat with arms crossed, his silence heavier than words.
You kept trying—different approaches, different tones. But the wall never cracked.
Finally, one rainy Thursday afternoon, you closed your notebook, crossed your legs, and leaned your chin into your palm.
Your gaze settled on him, unimpressed but steady.
“…That,” you finally stated, voice calm but edged with dry wit, “is a lot of government money wasted on you.”
For a moment, the silence held. Then—unexpectedly—Paddy’s mouth curved into a crooked smile.
“Ah,” he rumbled, low and amused, “so that’s your strategy now? Insult the client until he opens up?”
“Not insulting,” you replied, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Observing. Which, funny enough, is what I’m trained to do. But if all you plan to do here is nap or tell me how many pints you can drink before swinging a punch, I’d just as soon ask them to redirect that funding towards someone willing to cooperate.”
That earned you a laugh—short, sharp, and real.
He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well that’s perfect. Even my therapist thinks me a waste of time now. Doesn’t even try to hide it.”
“I have to be frank,” you shot back. “Otherwise men like you would sit in that chair and waste both our time until the building collapses around us.”
He raised an eyebrow back at you, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head. He leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, and met your gaze coolly. “You think I’m wastin’ yer time, then?”
You shrugged nonchalantly. “Are you not? It’s been a month, Mr. Mayne, and we’ve hardly made much ground, have we?”
He scowled, though you suspected it was more for show than sincerity. He was used to having soldiers obeying his every command. But here you were, talking back and looking less intimidated by him than the average Private. He didn’t seem to know how to react to you at all. And that, you suspected, was why he kept coming back.
You sighed and looked down. “Anything else you’d like to share before we end today’s session? Anything other than the usual purposefully vague and meaningless statements or occasional references that are not helping your situation?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a sharp, humorless smile. “What, you don’t enjoy me references? I do so love poetry. I would imagine such an intellectual of your calibre to understand the value of words better than anyone.”
You shot him a dry look, which did nothing to dim his smirk. Paddy leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze held yours, an edge of challenge in it. He was sizing you up, looking for weaknesses that he could needle.
“Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose, but young men think it is, and we were young.” He quoted and smirked—as if he knew his poetry would only bring himself more of your exasperation.
You held the gaze, unblinking. Two could play this game. Slowly, you steepled your fingers and tilted your head; a calculated move.
When you spoke, there was a hint of mockery in it. “I don’t suppose your tendency to quote poetry during a mental health session is supposed to be a good indicator of mental stability.”
He snorted, amused. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead and he shoved it back.“And yet it seems to get a reaction out of you. I was under the impression that therapists were meant to remain emotionless and unruffled.”
You kept your voice dry, unimpressed. “And I was under the impression that soldiers were meant to take therapy seriously.”
He grinned, his eyes gleamed with the thrill of a battle of wits. This was familiar ground for him, and he was enjoying it now, the back-and-forth of verbal sparring. He leaned back in his chair, propping his legs up on your desk as if he didn’t care that the expensive wood might be damaged. He chuckled and folded his arms across his chest, studying you with those intense blue eyes.
“Aye. As you can see, I take it very seriously.”
You shot a disapproving glance at his boots on your desk, but he simply raised an eyebrow, looking quite unrepentant. You decided to ignore them. It wasn’t worth it to argue about that now, and somehow you had a feeling he would enjoy getting a rise out of you if you made an issue of it. Instead, you focused on the man himself.
You observed him silently for a few moments, taking in his relaxed, almost careless pose. He reminded you of a lion lounging in the sun.
Your fingers tightened on your pen as his eyes met yours and his smile felt like it was a wall between him and you. You understood the words he hadn’t said, the unspoken pain he carried. Wars weren’t just won or lost on the battlefield; they lived and died in the minds and hearts of men like Paddy Mayne.
You were quiet, letting the silence stretch out until he was comfortable enough to fill it.
He was watching you closely, and you noted the subtle changes in his expression for the first time. The tension around his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers would flex unconsciously at his sides. Signs of a man constantly on edge, always at war with his own mind and demons.
Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “I don’t…fit out here. Everything seems trivial, pointless. After everything we went through.”
You nodded, a gesture of understanding. You understood what he meant. The horrors he must have witnessed, the things he had done in the name of war…it was a heavy weight to bear. You knew better than to try and sugarcoat it with clichéd reassurances like “Time heals all” or “You’re just adjusting to civilian life”. Paddy was too smart, too cynical for platitudes.
So instead, you replied honestly. “The world is grieving. Nothing will erase what happened. The people you lost? They won’t come back. And the person you are today? War shaped him. It is normal now that the war is over, you miss it. Because it filled up many years of your life, Mr. Mayne. Nobody expects you to forget.”
He went quiet, mulling over your words. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the arm of the chair—a nervous tic, a habit he’d picked up from God-knows-where. Finally, he let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand across his face. The weariness was back in his eyes, the shadows under them more pronounced.
He let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “World’s grievin’? Right. No. World’s celebratin’. War’s fuckin’ over. But what do we have to show for it? What do I get? A pat on the back and a good ol’ ‘go back home, soldier’. They wouldn’t even gimme my goddamn Victoria Cross. What? Do they expect it to warm somebody else’s chest or somethin’? Perhaps one of those fuckin’ British officers? ‘Cause I ain’t British enough for their fuckin’ standards.”
That was more than he had shared in weeks of sessions combined, and it was all bitter resentment and pent-up emotions bursting forth. Anger simmered beneath his words, but there was more to it than that. There was disappointment, bitterness, even hurt. The Victoria Cross was his due, and he felt cheated out of it—the injustice eating at him. He ran a hand through his hair again, a sharp gesture that told of his frustration. There were layers upon layers to Paddy Mayne, it seemed, and you wondered how long it would take you to reach the core of him.
His gaze flicked back to you, the challenge there again, as if daring you to comment. But you only nodded, acknowledging the pain behind his words. This was progress, even if it was in the form of a bitter outburst. Paddy had seen more suffering and death than most could imagine, and the scars of war ran deeper than the eye could see.
So you kept silent, allowing him the space to continue, patiently waiting for him to say more.
He took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving as he fought to compose himself again. You could see the effort it took, the way he clenched his jaw, his knuckles white from gripping the arm of the chair.
For a moment, you wondered if he would simply storm out, leave without another word.
But he stayed.
“Why the Victoria Cross?” you decided to ask. “Why do you want it so much?”
Paddy leaned forward, his fingers drummed against his knee—he was restless.
“Why? Because it's what I damn well earned,” he growled. “I didn't fight, bleed, and nearly die on every battlefield for nothing. It's the highest honor a man could get, and I deserve it. I am owed it.” There was a raw furious intensity to him as he spoke, as if the thought of anyone questioning his worth as a soldier was an insult to everything he had been through.
You tilted your head. “Many soldiers fought. Many died. You survived. Isn’t that reward enough?”
Paddy's jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened.
“No,” he bit out, the word sharp and flat. “It's not. Surviving isn't about reaping rewards. It's about living with the weight of what was lost. The VC is more than a medal, it's an acknowledgment of what was done, a validation of the sacrifices made.”
His words betrayed a deep-seated sense of injustice, and perhaps a hint of guilt. It was as if he believed that the loss of the medal were in some way an invalidation of the hell he endured.
You leaned forward, your tone gentle but firm. “Paddy, the VC doesn't define your service. The blood and sweat you shed does.”
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair again. “Easy for you to say. You weren't there. You don't understand.” His gaze flicked back to you, and there was a challenge in it, daring you to argue with him.
You hummed. “That is correct. I wasn’t. I can only imagine the suffering you had to endure…but you are alive, Mr. Mayne. You are alive and have many choices before you. You could start over. Find a new profession. Find a hobby. Find something new to experience. Live.”
Paddy laughed humorlessly. “Find a hobby, you say? Start over? It's not that simple. I wasn't meant for civilian life,” he snapped, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I was meant for war.”
You frowned. “Now now, Mr. Mayne. Who told you that? I doubt that as a baby your first word was war. I doubt as a child, your first thought was to hold a gun. And I especially doubt that war is all that ever mattered to you.”
Paddy's eyes glinted with a sharp defiance. "Aye, maybe not. But since the moment I picked up a gun, I was hooked. The thrill o' battle. The adrenaline coursing through my veins. There's nothing like it, nothing that can compare. Besides…I dunno how to be anythin’ else now."
You looked down. “Well…As your therapist I would advise brushing your hair, trimming that beard and to have a nice dinner…”
Paddy snorted in disbelief. "What, like a civilian?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the unruly locks out of his eyes, clearly agitated at the thought. He'd become accustomed to the roughness of war, the constant readiness for battle, the adrenaline. The thought of something as simple and ordinary as grooming himself seemed…alien almost.
“I'm not meant for that life,” he resigned himself, shifting in his chair. “I'm a fighter—that’s what I am. I doubt a new haircut or a good dinner would change that.”
You sighed and gave him a pointed look. “Taking care of yourself doesn't make you any less a fighter, Mr. Mayne. If anything? It only makes you one even more.”
Paddy gave a dismissive wave, as if your words were just the empty prattle of someone who didn't understand.
“I can look after myself just fine,” he denied stubbornly, running a hand over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there. “I don't need to go around primpin’ and preenin’ for people I don’t give a shite about.”
It was clear that Paddy's idea of "looking after himself" was vastly different from what was considered the norm. He was used to a life of grime and dirt, of surviving off whatever he could find. The thought of worrying about his appearance seemed absurd to him now.
You sighed again, knowing that convincing him to make even the slightest change would be like trying to move a mountain. “How about this…Have you tried going to group therapy? I heard it was a success in New York. I could give you a good address? Not far from here?”
Paddy scoffed mockingly.
“Group therapy?” he spat out the word—as if it had a bad taste. “You mean, sit in a circle with a bunch o' strangers and pour my heart out? No, but thank ye for the lovely suggestion.”
He leaned back, clearly repulsed at the thought. The idea of baring his soul to a group of people he didn't know was inconceivable to him.
You sighed and corrected. “People like you, Mr. Mayne. People who were soldiers. People who have been in your shoes…”
Paddy rolled his eyes, his expression one of pure skepticism.
“Oh yeah,” he drawled, the sarcasm thick. “The camaraderie of fellow war veterans. We'll all swap war stories, compare scars, and have a jolly old time reliving our nightmares together. Sounds fantastic, innit?”
You shook your head, exasperated. “It's not about 'swapping stories' or having a grand old time. It's about understanding, support, and healing. You're not the only one who's been through hell, Mr. Mayne. But you might find a little comfort in knowing you're not completely alone.”
He suddenly stood up and pointed a shaking finger at you. “I AM ALONE! MOST OF MY SOLDIERS ARE DEAD! SO DON’T YE COME AND TELL ME ABOUT PEOPLE WHO FUCKIN’ FOUGHT TOO OR WHO EXPERIENCED THE SAME THING BECAUSE I WILL PUNCH YE IN THE GODDAMN FACE!”
Your eyes widened slightly, but you forced yourself to remain calm in front of his threat. There it was. The pain, the anger, the deep-rooted hurt that Paddy had been carrying for far too long. It all spilled out in that raw, desperate cry. And beneath the anger and the defensiveness, there was something else there, too. Loneliness, grief, and a profound sense of loss. You knew that something you said must have triggered Paddy’s fight or fight response. You were determined to go to the core of what was going on in his head. Why didn’t he want to move on?
“…I take it by your words that the loss of your soldiers must have been a major trauma for you.”
Paddy scoffed before falling back into his chair—all fight having vanished as soon as it had appeared as memories started filling his mind. “…Aye. I lost many brave men. One of ‘em in particular. He was…He was like a brother to me. And I…I couldn’t protect him.”
You nodded understandingly. “His name?”
Paddy remained silent for a moment. His name? Right…Paddy closed his eyes and the image of endless sand dunes and the sound of gun shots fired appeared. For a moment, it seemed as if he wouldn’t answer. But finally, he whispered. “Eoin. His name was Eoin.”
You crossed your fingers in your lap and observed Paddy for a moment before continuing. “You lost a dear friend of yours. I understand. It is painful. But, that doesn't mean you have to stay alone.”
His eyes snapped back open and he glared at you.
“What do you know about it, eh?” he spat back and gestured around your neatly organised office. “You, sitting in your cozy office, tucked away from the real world, you know nothing about what it was like out there.” He jabbed a finger at you again, his voice trembling with anger. “You've never lost a friend, a brother. You've never seen the things I've seen.”
You held his gaze, refusing to shrink away from his anger. “You're right,” you conceded. “I haven't lived your life, faced the horrors you've faced. But I do understand pain, loss, and grief. And I also know that bottling it up doesn't make it go away.”
Paddy opened his mouth to speak, but you pressed on, holding up a hand to silence him.
“Let me finish,” you demanded. “I may not have experienced the horrors of war firsthand, but I've seen its effects. I've watched as soldiers like you, once fierce and unyielding, returned home broken and empty…”
“No!” He interrupted you and slammed his hand against his chest for emphasis. “That’s what YOU think. I've seen it all, and yet I'm still here. But I'm not weak. I'm not broken.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Mr. Mayne…Nobody said you were weak. In fact, you might be one of the bravest men I know.”
Paddy froze. Your words caught him off guard, the wind taken out of his sails. He'd been expecting more arguments, more challenges to his authority, but not…whatever that was. He looked at you, searching for mockery or sarcasm in your expression. But there was none. You looked at him with sincerity, with what almost looked like…respect?
He was speechless.
You looked down at your watch and sighed. “I…unfortunately have to end our session. It is time.”
Paddy's expression shifted from surprise to something else—disappointment, maybe? But he hid it well, quickly plastering on his usual mask of nonchalance. He nodded stiffly.
“Right,” he grunted, shoving back his chair to stand up. “Next time, then.”
You nodded and smiled. “Of course. See you soon, Mr. Mayne.”
Paddy nodded curtly, shoving his cap back on his head and stuffing his hands into his pockets. He gave you a curt nod in farewell and stepped outside. Meanwhile, you stood there, watching as the door shut behind him with a soft click.
Silence settled in the room.
You couldn't help but wonder if your words had made even the slightest impression on him. Maybe he would dismiss your words, shove them deep down, and continue his path of self-destruction.
Or maybe, just maybe, they would linger and take root. Only time would tell.
A few nights later…
He was at the bar. Again.
Paddy was about to order a whiskey to drown his sorrows when he saw none other than you. Waiting. Looking down at a glass of your own.
He did a double-take, almost spilling his drink.
You were alone—but dressed in a dark blue dress with mesh see-through sleeves…clearly waiting for a date considering the makeup and the nervous nail biting. The dress hugged your curves in all the right places, and Paddy found himself staring, completely taken off guard. He glanced around, half expecting to find a potential date standing nearby.
But there wasn't anyone else. Just you.
He hadn't quite expected to run into you here, let alone looking like that. It seemed so out of character for the usual no nonsense therapist with the eyes of steel. And yet…you looked beautiful, and the sight of you in that dress made him forget, momentarily, the horrors of war and his own inner demons.
Paddy took a deep gulp of his drink, the burning sensation liquid courage in his throat. Then, against his better judgment, he walked over to your table. You were so engrossed in thought that you didn't notice him approaching until he was right in front of you.
Your gaze flicked up and your eyes widened in surprise when your recognised him. “Mr. Mayne…”
Paddy forced a nonchalant smile. “Didn't take ye for the bar type.”
You promptly looked back down and gently stroked your inner wrist with your thumb…a self-soothing gesture. “…Me neither. And do not worry. I doubt I will be coming back.”
Paddy raised an eyebrow, taking in your demeanor. Your fingers nervously tracing your wrist, the way you fidgeted in your chair. This wasn't the composed, confident therapist he was used to seeing. There was definitely something different about you.
He sat down across from you without asking, gesturing to your glass. “What's got ye here then? Waitin’ on a date?“
You huffed bitterly. “A no-show I’m afraid. But…I should have known. I have been getting a lot of those lately.”
Paddy tilted his head, studying your expression. His eyes appreciated your new outfit more than he’d care to admit. And that was a first date getup? He bit back a grin. Blocks who stood you up must have been out of their mind or straight up stupid.
“Their loss,” he replied, surprising even himself with his sincerity. “You're dressed to kill, and he stood you up. Men are truly idiots.”
You cracked a smile at that. “Should I remind you of your current gender affiliation, Mr. Mayne?”
Paddy couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering over your dress once more, lingering on the delicate mesh sleeves. Good quality. The kind that made you want to slowly get your fingers through the opening at wrist to touch the skin beneath…
“I stand by me words. Men are idiots.”
You chuckled weakly before looking at the clock. “Right…Well, since he is obviously a no-show. I will now be getting back to my apartment with my tail between my legs to comfort myself with a piece of chocolate cake. Good night to you, Mr. Mayne.”
You stood up.
Paddy watched you gather your things, a sense of disappointment washing over him. He had come over with the intention of…well, he wasn't quite sure what he had intended. But before he could stop himself, he reached out and grasped your wrist gently, his fingers warm against your skin. You froze, your body tensing slightly as you glanced back at him. His fingers were rough and calloused from year of handling ammo and gun powder…but strangely gentle on your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.
“What is it, Mr. Mayne?” you asked, struggling to keep your tone unaffected.
Paddy hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He looked down at your wrist in his grip. His thumb involuntarily traced light circles over the soft skin there as he gathered his thoughts.
“I…I mean you can't just leave to sulk in your apartment,” he rushed out. “Not in that dress.”
You huffed.
“Well…I was actually going to get out of that dress and change into my pajamas for my chocolate cake pity party…” you then seemed to remember who you were talking to and sighed before shaking your head. “Why am I even telling you this? You probably don’t care.”
Paddy's grip on your wrist tightened for a split second.
“Of course I care,” he managed, his voice rougher than he'd intended. “It's a crime for no one to appreciate…” He trailed off, his gaze sweeping over your form again, a silent admittance of his own appreciation.
You blinked and seemed to finally understand. “Oh.”
Paddy caught the slight hitch in your breath, the tiny hint of surprise in your eyes. He realized how his words had come out, how he'd pretty much admitted out loud that he'd been appreciating the view. Paddy let out a bitter laugh, his grip loosening on your wrist. “Yeah, 'oh.' I have eyes, don't I?”
You hesitated. “I…I don’t know if I should, Mr. Mayne. I am still your therapist.”
Paddy's eyes narrowed at your words. Of course, the reminder of the professional walls between you was a splash of cold water. He should walk away, forget about the way your dress hugged your curves, forget he already had half a boner from staring at you.
He should just walk away. But damn it all, he'd never been the best at following rules.
He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze holding yours. “Forget about the therapist thing for a minute.”
You frowned. “It is quite an important fact to consider. I…I do not think that this would be a good idea. You are a good person, Mr. Mayne. But I do not need your pity.”
Paddy's frustration flared at that, his jaw tightening. “Pity?” he repeated incredulously. “You think I'm pityin’ you?”
He pulled you closer, his eyes insistant. “You've got it all wrong, sweetheart. Pity is the last thing on my mind right now.”
Your mouth fell agape before you looked around and closed your mouth. You were considering it…Why were you considering it? You should be at the door by now. Paddy saw the indecision waging in your eyes, the way you bit your lip. He sensed the opportunity, and he pounced, his gaze darkening. He pulled you closer until you were standing between his legs, your wrist still clasped in his grip.
“Stop thinkin’ so much. Stop worrying’ about bein’ proper," he muttered, his thumb tracing along your pulse point.
It was beating wildly.
You looked down at him. “…This could blow in my face. I would be risking my job.”
Paddy let out a scoff. “Screw your job. For one night, just stop thinking like a goddamn therapist. If ye wanna have a chat with me? Maybe have some fun? Stay.”
He pulled you even closer, his other hand coming up to your hip, holding you in place.
You coughed before finally sitting back down opposite him. “Just a chat then. Did you eat yet? I heard they make good fries…”
You wanted to slap yourself so hard.
But you were hungry. And he was still here.
Paddy's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden change of topic. One moment you were protesting, and the next, you were talking about food as if nothing had happened. But he wasn't complaining. If changing the subject meant he could keep you here, he'd talk about anything you wanted.
“I could eat,” he drawled, his thumb still rubbing small circles on your inner wrist.
Your eyes fell to his thumb tracing familiar patterns and you sighed. “I get it. You picked up on my nervous habit…but you don’t need to stroke my inner wrist. I can do that myself.”
Paddy chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich.
“I know you can do it yourself,” he agreed, his thumb pausing in its soothing motion. “Doesn't mean I can't help.”
You blinked in astonishment before staring at the menu…attentively. “Gosh. So many options…”
Your wrist involuntarily twitched at his slow and steady touch…Paddy chuckled again at the innocent look of concentration on your face. You were trying very hard to act normal, but the tension in your wrist betrayed you. He noticed everything—the way your eyes darted down to his thumb on your skin, the small hitch in your breath every time he applied just a little pressure…
“Can't decide?” he teased, his thumb lazily tracing along the delicate veins on the underside of your wrist.
You shivered. “Stop…that. It’s distracting.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Paddy's mouth. He couldn't help but love seeing you react to his touch.
“Distracting?” he repeated, the smirk widening. “Can't handle a lil’ touch, eh?”
He pressed his thumb against the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. “Your pulse is quickenin’. Did I do that? M’flattered.”
You stared into his eyes and slammed the menu closed. “Fine.”
You reached out for his other hand to gently press your thumb to his pulse point in return. Paddy's eyes widened slightly in surprise, not quite expecting your bold move. But he masked his surprise quickly, the smirk still on his face. The air in the room seemed to thicken. His eyes stayed locked with yours, both of your thumbs resting on each other's pulse points, as if keeping time with each other's racing heartbeats.
He could feel the erratic fluttering of your pulse against his thumb, the thump-thump-thump of your heart echoing against his skin. “What exactly do ye think you're doing exactly, sweetheart?”
Your gaze didn't waver, neither did your grasp. “I'm distracting you just like you were distracting me.”
You were being bold now. You increased the pressure on his wrist, a subtle challenge in your eyes. He smirked before suddenly bringing your wrist to his mouth and kissing the abused skin there. It was such a strange and unexpected act—so innocent yet so erotic in its sensuality.
You could feel the soft press of his mouth against your skin, and as he pulled back, he placed a small kiss right on your fingertips.
“Fair enough,” he murmured, his gaze darkening as he held your wrist captive in his grip. His eyes trapped you in place. He was bold and confident…not the same man than in your sessions.
However, a server came by to take your orders and you immediately retreated. “R-Right. A burger and fries for me.”
Paddy's gaze followed your frantic movement, noting the way you withdrew, the moment broken by the server's arrival. There was a brief flicker of annoyance in his eyes, the sudden interruption clearly unwelcome. “I'll have the same.”
As the server left, he turned back to you, a touch of frustration in his voice. “Ye always pull away so quickly when a man tries to woo you—or am I just special?”
You fidgeted under his gaze, your earlier boldness faltering. You knew he was right. You'd always been skilled at withdrawing. It was a pattern you weren't proud of.
You sighed. “I am trying.”
Paddy cocked an eyebrow, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Tryin’, are ye? Well, that's a start, I suppose."
He leaned back against the table, his gaze never leaving your face, observing you closely like a hawk. “But let's be real, sweetheart. You've been tryin’ for how long exactly? ‘Cause that looks like a woman who had many trials and failures.”
You sighed before confessing. “…A year.”
Paddy chuckled lowly, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “A year, eh? And how's that working out for ye so far?”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he studied you skeptically. “Ye know, some men might find it off-putting—the mysterious pulling away.”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. The fact that I didn’t want to hold hands in front of the waiter doesn’t mean I reject everything and everyone.”
Paddy grinned at your eye roll, the corners of his mouth twitching with barely contained amusement. “Don't get all defensive on me now, love. I never said ye rejected everythin’ and everyone. Just pointing out the obvious. Though I do have to admit, your hesitation to hold hands in front of a bloody waiter is quite tellin’ of why the dates didn’t seem to work.”
You frowned. “It is decency.”
Paddy scoffed, his grin widening at your answer. “Decency, she says? Since when did holdin’ someone's hand become indecent, love?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he observed you with an amused expression. “It's just a lil’ bit of touch, not a bloody declaration of eternal love and commitment.”
You sighed in defeat. “Fine! Here.” You took his hand and kissed the back of it. “Satisfied?”
Paddy grinned—like he just won. “Very.”
His gaze flicked down to where your lips had brushed against his skin. He looked back up at you, his gaze suddenly more intense. “Y'know you're not easy to figure out. One minute, you're pulling away and keeping your distance, and the next, you're givin’ me lil’ hand kisses.”
Your jaw twitched. “I’m a therapist. I got half the country knocking at my doorstep everyday to ask me to relieve their pain. You think I don’t know how to act or say things against my nature?”
Paddy's eyebrows raised at your response, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. He hadn't expected you to be so open about your job, let alone admit to acting against your nature.
He leaned forward. “So, you're basically sayin’ you're good at pretendin’?”
You shrugged. “I am of the nervous kind. But I can act like I’m not. Like you pretend almost everyday in my office that you are fine—when clearly the war took its fair share of you.”
Paddy's gaze hardened briefly at your words, a flicker of unease passing through his eyes. But he quickly masked it, returning to a calm and carefree expression.
“Right,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “But we're not here to talk about my issues.” He looked at your interlocked fingers, a small smirk on his face. “Could we focus on the nice time we were havin’, love? I mean…The hand kiss was nice. Could get another.”
You chuckled softly. “You're shameless.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say? I like what I like.”
He brought your hand to his mouth this time around, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before flipping it over and pressing another to your palm. He looked up at you from beneath his lashes, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Am I makin' ye uncomfortable, sweetheart?”
You stared at him and smiled weakly. “As much as I would love to give you the satisfaction…no, Mr. Mayne. You do not make me uncomfortable.”
Paddy's smirk widened at your response, the satisfaction glittering in his gaze. He lifted your hand back to his mouth again, his lips lingering against your skin. “Is that so? 'Cause I'm trying my hardest to make you at least a lil’ bit nervous, love.”
You tilted your head. “Forgive me but I thought you would be glad to have someone in front of you who isn’t uncomfortable in your presence?”
Paddy paused, your words sinking in. It was true. Usually, his intensity and abrasiveness were enough to keep people at bay. But here you were, sitting there, completely unbothered and unafraid. The realization sparked something in him, an unfamiliar feeling of appreciation.
He gave your hand a light squeeze, his voice low. “I suppose I am glad. It's a nice change.”
You smiled and squeezed his hand before your orders came. You smiled as you saw the mountain of fries and the burger. Paddy's gaze flickered to the table, his attention now captured by the mountain of fries and the juicy burger. He grabbed a fry and dunked it into the little cup of ketchup before popping it into his mouth. His gaze never left yours as he chewed, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“You know…I lied to you,” he confessed bluntly.
Your smile faltered slightly and you slowly retrieved your hand. “…about?”
He sighed, his gaze never leaving yours as he popped another fry into his mouth. “About why I started going to your sessions.”
You frowned slightly. “Mr. Mayne. It matters little. I do not need to know why you started attending, all that matters is that you came and made the effort. That proves what I always knew was true about you. You are a brave man.”
Paddy let out a humorless chuckle at your words. Brave? Him? He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flickering away momentarily before coming back to yours. “You haven't seen me at my worst, sweetheart.”
You hesitated before taking his hand again. “I don’t need to. I know that you fought with everything you had. I know that you cared about your fallen camarades. I know that you would have died just to save even one. And I know that if there is someone who deserves recognition? It’s you. For sacrifices unwitnessed, for words unheard and for all deeds unrecorded.”
Paddy's breath hitched as your words sank in, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. No one had ever said something like that to him before, no one had ever acknowledged the things he had done. He swallowed hard.
He lifted your hand to his forehead and closed his eyes—breathing slowly.
You watched in silence as Paddy closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. You could see the turmoil inside him, the way his jaw clenched and how his shoulders tensed. You gave his hand a small, subtle squeeze, a silent gesture of understanding. You knew he was battling demons, demons that even he couldn't name.
After a moment, he let out a breath, his eyes opening slowly and fixing on you. Pain…so much pain. For a few moments, he stayed like that, the silence heavy between you.
Eventually, he slowly let out a long exhale. “…They deserved to come back. All of ‘em. Eoin…Eoin deserved to come back. Not me.”
Your heart ached for him, seeing the pain in his expression. You squeezed his hand gently, your voice gentle as you spoke. “You know that's not how it works, Paddy. You can't blame yourself for surviving.”
Paddy gritted his teeth, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Can't I? I was responsible for ‘em—their lives were in my hands. I was supposed to bring ‘em all home.”
He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair in frustration. “I should've been the one who didn't make it back.”
You stared down at the table before speaking again. “Paddy. As much as it hurts me to tell you, you are no god. They died because it was war. Because war is ugly and violent and deadly.”
Paddy's jaw clenched at your words, his eyes flashing with bitterness. He knew you were right. Of course, he knew, but the guilt he carried was like a heavy weight on his heart.
He let out a long exhale, his voice rough as he spoke. “It still feels like I failed them.”
You shook your head. “It’s only a feeling. There was absolutely nothing you could have done.”
He shook his head. “Aye, maybe you're right. But I can't shake off that damn feeling.”
You gave him a small, sad smile. "It's natural to feel that way. But you need to remember that you did everything you could to protect your friends.” You reached out, lightly touching his hand. “You're too hard on yourself, Paddy.”
Paddy's gaze flickered down to where your hand touched his, the simple gesture oddly comforting. He let out a low, bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Or maybe I'm not hard enough. I keep thinking that if I'd been faster, stronger, smarter…maybe they'd still be here.”
You hummed. “That’s right. But you weren’t. Because—and I feel like I am repeating myself—you are no god, Paddy Mayne.”
He looked at you, the anger in his eyes giving way to an expression of exhaustion and resignation. “Aye. I get it, alright? You don't need to keep repeatin' it.”
You hummed. “It’s just that I feel as if you are not listening to me. Remember that you all took the decision to go to war. And you were young, Paddy. You couldn’t have known better.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe you were right…Maybe he was just torturing himself.
You closed your eyes too and took a deep breath. “I think this was a mistake…” you admitted and stood up. “If you wish for an appointment…come by in the morning, Mr. Mayne.”
Paddy's head snapped up at your words, surprise etched on his face. He hadn't expected you to suddenly stand up and declare the conversation over. “Wait, hold on—” He pushed back his chair, standing up and taking a step towards you. “You're leavin’?”
You nodded. “I…I am sorry, Mr. Mayne. It might sound horrible to you what I am about to say. But I have been drowning with soldiers talking to me about guilt and regrets all week. The reason I came to this bar tonight was to have fun. To separate myself from work and maybe forget the things I heard…”
Paddy's eyes widened slightly at your confession, his heart sinking at the realization that he was just another soldier drowning you in his own problems. He took a step back, feeling like a damn fool for unloading his issues on you. “I…I didn't know,” he muttered, guilt flooding over him once more. “I didn't mean to bother you.”
Your throat tightened and you hesitated. You sighed and sat back down. “I just…it’s hard. It is hard not to react and pretend to be impassive. That is my job. But…I was here, Mr. Mayne. Maybe not on the ground. But I witnessed the war all the same. I was forced to become a nurse for wounded soldiers. I had to watch soldiers die everyday. And now, I am barely back that they tell me I have to take care of the mental health of the ones who survived? I am…I can barely manage what I saw. How am I supposed to help you?”
Paddy's eyes softened at your words, a pang of understanding cutting through the frustration and guilt he'd been feeling. It seemed that you were just as broken as the soldiers you were trying to help. He took in your weary expression, the exhaustion evident on your face. He wanted to reach out to you, to offer something—comfort, reassurance, anything—but he felt like a fool for how he had behaved so far.
He slowly sat back down, his tone quieter now. “Sounds like you're carrying a heavy load yourself.”
You sighed and hung your head down. “Dating is hard when you can barely pull yourself together…”
Paddy couldn't help but give a wry scoff at your words. It seemed you were both struggling in your own ways. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Sounds like you're in need of a distraction, just as much as the blokes you're takin’ care of.”
You huffed. “Why do you think we ended up in the same bar, soldier?”
Paddy's lips curved into a smirk, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still on you. “Funny how life works sometimes, isn't it? Two broken souls ending up in the same bar, looking for a distraction.”
You hummed. “Backfired, didn’t it? We can’t have a normal conversation without bringing up the war. Maybe that’s why my dating attempts all ended in failure so far.”
You took a bite of your meat.
Paddy chuckled dryly. He took a sip of his beer before responding. “Aye, war has a way of followin' us.”
You rubbed your eyes. “Here I am…talking to one of my patients about my problems. Therapist of the year, right?”
Paddy suppressed a smirk. He took another sip of his beer before replying, his voice holding a hint of teasing. “Aye, looks like you're breakin' a whole bunch o' rules there, love. Aren't therapists s'posed to listen, and not talk about their own issues?”
You huffed a humorless laugh and flipped him off.
He was surprised and bit back a laugh. “Oi, mind your manners, woman. Where did ye even learn that from?”
You smirked. “Spend enough time with soldiers, you’ll start learning a thing or two.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Do I need to start watchin' my language around you? Seems like you're picking up some…questionable habits from us soldiers.”
You chuckled and shook your head. “Too late, Mr. Mayne. I’m afraid I’m too far gone. But thank you for your consideration on the matter.”
Paddy smirked, his gaze never leaving yours. He found himself enjoying this side of you, this playful banter. It was a nice distraction from the heaviness that had been hanging between you earlier. He leaned back in his seat, taking a moment to just look at you, his eyes taking in the way the light hit your features. “So, you're tellin' me you're no longer an innocent girl, eh? You've been playin' with the soldiers too long.”
You didn’t answer. You just took another bite of your burger while you thought about it. “I learned from them. Maybe took some bad habits but…it wasn’t all that bad. Learned to stand my ground and go after what I want before it’s too late. It helped me grow in a way.”
You looked up at him. “…Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound like it was a delightful experience. But I…I meant that…”
He shook his head.
“Nah, I get it. Sometimes we gotta go through the worst shite to find the good.” He took a gulp of his beer, his gaze never leaving yours. He couldn't help but admire your resilience, your ability to find the good in the bad. “And none of the soldiers even…you know? Tried their luck?”
You snorted. “Yes. They did. But…” You looked down at your plate. “…I didn’t want to start anything I knew would probably end in heartbreak. The war took many of them. Even now, I am glad I never let myself be swayed. Most of those poor young men ended up shot or blown to smithereens anyway.”
Paddy's expression softened at your words. He understood all too well the toll the war had taken on both soldiers and nurses alike. The casualties had been high, and the chance of loss was always lingering. He took another sip of his beer, his gaze fixed on you, his voice softer now. “Aye, us soldiers were damn lucky to have nurses like ya takin' care of 'em. A bit of kindness and comfort in all that…hell.”
You shrugged. “Did what we could. Which was not much considering…” You then looked at his hand in yours. “But now…I’m the lonely one.”
Paddy followed your gaze down to where your hand was still covering his, a pang of empathy in his chest. He turned his hand palm up, gently grasping yours. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his voice low. “It's a lonely life. Carryin' the ghosts of war and all…it doesn't leave much room for anythin’ else.”
You nodded in agreement. Paddy's thumb instinctively began to gently rub circles on the back of your hand, trying to provide a hint of comfort. “Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever get rid of those damn ghosts…or if we're just doomed to be haunted for the rest of our lives.”
You smiled. “The poet in you resurfaces…”
He chuckled. “Shadows of dead men stand by the wall, watching the fun of the Victory Ball. They do not reproach, because they know, if they’re forgotten it’s better so.”
You hummed. “Pretty. Who is it from?”
Paddy couldn't help but smile at the appreciation in your tone. “Alfred Noyes. One of my new favorites.”
Paddy was silent for a moment, lost in the words of the poem echoing in his mind. But then he looked back at you, taking in your expression. “I was not born for peace, but for the howl of engines, the desert wind burning my face, and the silence after fire."
You listened and hummed. “A personal creation?”
He gave your hand a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "Aye, it's somethin' I wrote meself."
You nodded. “Impressive. I’ve got one for you too.”
Paddy raised an eyebrow, amused. He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his face. “Go on, then. I'm all ears.”
“The men you loved do not weigh you down—
they walk beside you, step for step, and they do not ask for sorrow. Rest is not surrender. Stillness is not defeat. So lay your fury down, if only for a moment—the world will not end,
and you will still remain.”
His grip on your hand tightened at the end. “I see…Won’t ye help me rest then, lass? I’m so tired.”
You found yourself instinctively wanting to help, to soothe him of his exhaustion. You leaned forward, your free hand coming up to touch his arm, gently stroking it. Your voice was tender, heartfelt. “I would take away this weight from you, if I could, Paddy.”
He licked his dry lips and his eyes darted down to your own lips. You noticed the way his gaze lingered on your lips.
You swallowed, your fingers on his arm coming to a stop. “Paddy, that’s not what I—”
Before you could stop him, he reached across the table for the back of your neck and brought your lips together. Your words died on your lips as his touched yours. For a moment, you were frozen, stunned by the sudden kiss. But then you found yourself leaning closer, your hand still on his arm, the other on the table. You closed your eyes, surrendering to his touch.
Paddy pulled you closer, a low groan rumbling in his throat the moment he felt your lips return his kiss. It only made him kiss you harder.
“P-Paddy.” You whispered. “Paddy…Stop.”
Hearing you speak his name in that low, soft whisper only seemed to fuel his desire for you. Instead of stopping, Paddy's hand in your neck pulled you even closer, his tongue teasingly tracing the seam of your lips.
“Don't.” he whispered against your mouth. “Don't ask me to fuckin’ stop. I have been thinkin’ about those lips all night.”
Your breath hitched, heat coiling low in your stomach. You tried to stay collected, to pull back from him, but you couldn’t.
“Paddy, we-we can't,” you managed to protest weakly, your voice barely audible against his mouth.
His grip on you tightened, his hand in your neck tilting your head up, allowing him access to your throat. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the soft skin, biting down lightly on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
“We can,“ he murmured, his tongue tracing the mark he had left. “We're adults, aren't we?”
“I’m your therapist…and we are in a bar…” you reminded him. “A public bar.”
Paddy didn't seem to care about the public nature of your location and certainly couldn't give a damn about your profession. Instead, he only seemed hell-bent on pushing you past your limits, on making you cave in to this undeniable desire between you.
He nipped at your lower lip, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent tingles down your spine. “I don't care. The whole bar could watch.”
You shivered at his words, heat pooling low in your stomach. You should've protested further, but something about the way he was holding you, the way he was looking at you, was making it impossible for you to think straight. And despite yourself, you found yourself responding to his words, your body arching into his touch.
“Someone could see us…” you whispered, your protest losing all its conviction.
“Let 'em.” Paddy's voice was a gravelly rasp, filled with barely-leashed need. He had you right where he wanted you, on the brink of surrendering to him completely. And the thought of anyone witnessing it only fueled his desire. He pulled you even closer, his hand on your neck holding you firmly in place as he took your mouth in a kiss that was demanding, rough, and all-consuming.
You pushed him away. “Paddy. No.”
Paddy groaned, a frustrated sound deep in his throat as you pushed him away.
“Just let me kiss you,” he pleaded, his voice rough with desire. “Just lemme forget ‘bout my shite life for a night…”
You hesitated before sighing in defeat. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
You then put money on the counter.
Paddy felt a rush of triumph in his chest as you gave in to him. He quickly stood up, eager to follow you out of the bar. You kept walking until you stopped in front of an old red brick building. Paddy took in the building with a curious gaze, but he stayed silent, following your lead.
Paddy watched as you unlocked the door to your building.
He followed you inside, his body tensing with anticipation. You went up two flight of stairs before finally arriving to your apartment. The moment the door closed behind him, he had you pressed against the wall, his body pinning you in place, his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck.
You involuntarily hiccuped in surprise.
At the sound, Paddy couldn't help but grin against your neck, his body pressing even closer to yours. He lifted his head and looked down at you, that playful smirk playing on his lips. “Dye really just hiccuped at me?”
You huffed. “You took my by surprise! Who goes inside someone’s apartment and just pins them to the wall?"
Paddy's smirk only grew wider as you called him out, his hands still on your hips, his body still pressing you into the wall. He shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Someone who's been waitin' a long damn time for this moment.”
His lips found your neck again, his voice a low growl against your skin. “Been thinkin' about ye since the first time I walked into your office. Sexiest therapist in the profession.”
You hiccuped again.
Paddy chuckled at the second hiccup, lifting his head to look at you again. He looked utterly amused by your reaction to him. He gave your hip a playful squeeze, keeping you pinned to the wall. “Ye gonna keep doin’ that all night?”
You were about to answer, but another hiccup escaped you before you could speak, causing Paddy to chuckle once again.
You were about to apologise when he kissed you again. The kiss started out gentle at first, a tender brush of lips, but it quickly became more intense. One of his hands slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing the soft skin of your abdomen. You gasped into his mouth at the sensation of his touch, your hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. Paddy's lips moved down to your neck again, his breath hot against your skin. He trailed open mouthed kisses down to the sensitive skin of your collarbone, biting down hard before soothing the sting with his tongue.
You winced and shook your head. “Hey. Why did you do that?”
Paddy smirked against your skin, lifting his head to look up at you. “Had to mark ye somehow, love. Otherwise, nobody'll know I’ve been here.” He gave your hip a playful squeeze, his eyes shining with lust and mischief. “Can't have other lads thinkin' yer a free woman, now can I?”
You blinked and huffed. “But you can walk around and have other women looking? Now, that’s not fair. Bring that juicy neck of yours over here.”
Paddy lifted an eyebrow at the challenge in your voice, but he couldn't help a smirk from spreading across his lips. He leaned closer, his neck within reach of your mouth.
“Go on then, lass,” he dared, his voice low and rough. “Mark me. Let the world know that I'm spoken for.”
You were about to when you hesitated. “Are you though? Spoken for? I mean I don’t want to do anything…if you don’t wanna go more than a one night thing I’d understand.”
Paddy's smirk faded at your words, his body tensing against you. He could hardly believe what you were insinuating. He pulled back slightly, looking down at you. His gaze was serious now, his tone earnest. “You really think I'd just want ye for one night? After chasin' ye all night?”
He didn't give you a chance to reply before he continued, his voice a rough whisper. “No, lass. I want ye for more than just one night. I want you for all the nights you’d let me.”
You stared at him for a moment before nodding. “…Alright then.” You looked at his neck. “Haven’t done this before…the biting bit.”
Paddy's eyes darkened, a thrill running through him at your agreement. He tilted his head back, baring his neck to you.
“It's okay, love. Just bite down, nice and hard.” he encouraged.
That was all the convincing you needed and you kissed a line along his neck before biting down gently. It was just to give him reassurance. If that’s what he needed to know that you were here for the long haul? So be it.
Paddy's breath hitched as you kissed a line down his neck, his body shuddering in response. But when he felt your teeth sinking into his skin, his entire body tightened, a low groan rumbling in his throat. Paddy couldn't help the low moan that escaped him. The mixture of pleasure and pain sent a jolt straight to his cock, causing him to press himself even further against you.
He knew it was just a gentle bite, a gesture of reassurance, but it still sent a jolt of pleasure down his spine. You stopped and nuzzled the spot—kissing it tenderly. “Just a little something to remember me by, right?”
You chuckled. Paddy chuckled as well, his breath still a little ragged from the overwhelming sensation you just gave him. “You'll have a hard time gettin' me to forget you, sweetheart. But I'll take anything I can get.”
You breathed deeply in order to slow your racing heart. “I guess this is the part where I tell you where the bedroom is?”
Paddy gave you a slow, lazy grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Aye, I was startin' to wonder if we'd be doin' it right here against the wall,” he teased, his hand roaming down to the curve of your arse, giving it a playful squeeze. “Lead the way, darlin’.”
You nodded and took his hand before leading him to a small bedroom but with a big bed—taking almost half the space. There was a window next to it and a wooden wardrobe standing against the wall opposite the bed. The moment you led him into the small but cozy bedroom, Paddy's gaze swept over it, taking in the sight in front of him.
He could hardly take in anything else except the bed, his mind already filled with thoughts of you on it, your body beneath him…He felt his pants grow even tighter at the thought, his eyes darkening with need.
He looked over at you, his voice rough with desire. “Bed looks big enough to make some mess, I reckon.”
You chuckled. “I…like having space when I sleep. Didn’t really plan anything out. Wait…I think I got things I gotta get rid off before you get on it. Wait a second.”
You climbed on top of the bed to retrieve a book or two, a notebook and chocolate wrappers. Paddy watched as you climbed on top of the bed, his eyes roaming over your body, his mind already imagining all the ways he was going to have you.
But as you started to gather the items, he couldn't help but let out a teasing laugh. “Is that a chocolate wrapper?”
You flipped him off again. “It’s my guilty pleasure. Piss off.”
Paddy chuckled at your gesture. “I have a different kind of guilty pleasure in mind,” he teased, his eyes darkening with desire, his gaze roving over your body. “And it involves you, me, and this bed.”
You restrained an eye roll. “Alright alright. Hold your horses. Just cleaning up a bit.”
You then got everything on the floor—closest to the window. You patted the bed to look for any other kind of undesirable items.
Then you sat down and cleared your throat. “I…think that was all. You can climb on if you want.” You smoothed your dress.
Paddy couldn't keep the smirk off his face as he watched you fuss around, making sure the bed was just the way you wanted it. But the second you patted the bed and looked at him with a hint of suggestion in your eyes, he climbed onto the bed, crawling over to where you were sitting.
You cupped his face. “Gonna kiss you now…Is that alright?”
Paddy leaned into your touch, his body already humming with anticipation. The way you cupped his face, the tenderness in your eyes…he felt his heart skip a beat.
He nodded, his voice a low, rough whisper. “Aye, kiss me. You don't need to ask for permission, sweetheart. At this point, I doubt ‘no’ will even cross my mind.”
You huffed. “I will ALWAYS ask. You should know the importance of permission, soldier. If you don’t ask, then you could do something dangerous, and I don’t wanna take chances with the first man I will have in my bed since the end of the war.”
Paddy couldn't help but smirk at your words, amused by your sternness. He was used to being the one giving orders, giving commands. But the way you spoke, the way you made it clear that your both needed to ask for permission…he could respect that. Also, he found it incredibly sexy for some reason.
He leaned in closer, his lips hovering over yours. “Aye, I'll make sure to ask politely too then.”
You kissed him softly—gently moving your lips against his. You closed your eyes and held him against you—your hand cradling the back of his neck and with the other running your fingers through his hair. Paddy let out an involuntary groan at the softness of your lips against his, his heart leaping in his chest.
His hands found your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you closer.
Your lips opened and you took a deep breath before kissing him again. You lead him down on top of you and your fingers opened one button of his white shirt. Paddy felt your hands on him and let out a low growl as you undid another button, his body reacting involuntarily, his hips grinding down against yours, seeking friction.
You moaned and pulled away to ask. “Shirt off?”
Paddy's chest heaved with each ragged breath and he nodded. “Aye, lass, shirt off.”
He quickly helped you undo the rest of the buttons, pulling the shirt off his body and tossing it aside. His muscles flexed with the motion, his bare skin now free for you to see, to touch, to run your hands over.
Your hands were first. They mapped his body—his chest, abs, back and his shoulder blades.
He'd been with women before, but no one had ever touched him like this—like he was a goddamn piece of art. He let out a low huff and his head fell forward, his forehead pressing against yours. His own hands were restless, roaming over your body, finding the fabric of your dress.
He wanted to rip it off you like a savage, but knew that would consequentially lower his chances of another time. Instead, his fingers found the hem of your dress, slipping underneath to touch your skin. “Can I take this off? Please, lass.”
You nodded in agreement, your heart racing in your chest. Paddy didn't need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he peeled your dress off your body and his hands roamed over your smooth skin, his touch greedy and desperate. “There’s me fuckin’ prize. She been waiting’ for me. Sorry am late, sweetheart. But s’okay now. Uncle Paddy’s got ye now.”
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his words. Even now, he still was able to take you by surprise. You arched your back and whispered. “Ready to claim your prize?”
His lips curled, his smirk feral as he took a moment to admire this gift beneath him. He moved his hands over the lace of your underwear, fingers tracing the edge of the waistband. “Oh, I'm more than ready. You can bet your lovely little arse m’gonna get that pussy purrin’ for me all night long...she’s a beauty. One that can only be appreciated. Yes, ma’am.”
You wanted to keep a level head. But every touch of his made it difficult. Your words were breathy, your eyes hooded as you seethed. “All words…no action.”
Paddy's eyes darkened with lust as you challenged him. He leaned down, his face only mere inches from yours. “Didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart. Want me to show ye what this Irishman can do with his fingers and his tongue?” He pressed himself against you, his body against yours, his hardness pressing against your thigh. “Feel that? That’s gonna be inside ye real soon. But first…lemme get that free sample.”
Without further ceremony, he got your panties off. You whimpered, your head falling back against the pillows. "Show me what you're worth, soldier…"
Paddy's lips curled into a crooked smile as he heard the needy little noises you made. He was gonna ruin you, make you beg for him—and he was enjoying every minute of it.
Your eyes locked on his hands as he positioned them on your thighs.
Paddy chuckled softly, his fingers tracing the inside of your thighs, his thumbs slowly moving higher, teasingly slow. He could feel your body thrumming with anticipation, could see the desire in your eyes.
“That's a good girl,” he murmured, “Keep those eyes right on me. I want you to see what I'm doin' to ya.”
You bit your lip, your breath coming out in sharp little gasps as you felt his fingers moving higher, closer to where you needed him most. You couldn't look away from him, your eyes fixed on his face, your entire body taut with anticipation. Paddy's lips curled in a slow, satisfied smile as he heard you moan next. “Look at ye…fuckin’ beggin’ for me.”
You were practically whimpering now, your hips arching involuntarily in a desperate attempt to get some sort of friction, some sort of relief. You were beyond caring how wanton you looked, how desperate you sounded. All you wanted was Paddy…
“Please,” you gasped, your voice dripping with need. “Please, Paddy, please…I need you.”
He grinned and his hand went further up between your legs. He chuckled as he felt how wet you already were. “Pussy not only purrin’ now, she slobberin’ all over me fingers.”
You gasped at the sudden touch, your eyes fluttering shut. His words alone could make you come undone, the raw, filthy way he spoke to you, the sheer confidence in his voice. You could hear the smugness in it. He ran his fingers through your folds, his touch light and teasing, just barely touching.
He let out a low, satisfied hum. “Look at this mess. So ready for me…ain’t gonna even have to prep ye. M’gonna slide right inside and m’sure S’gonna feel so feckin’ good…”
You couldn't form any coherent words, your brain reduced to a puddle of need and desire. All you could do was nod, your head falling back on the bed as you tried to push your hips into his touch, desperate for something to ease the ache.
Paddy's grin widened, that smug bastard. He could tell he was driving you absolutely wild. He'd have you a boneless, trembling mess by the time he was done with you.
He kept his fingers on that sensitive bundle of nerves, his touch light and torturous.
Your body was on fire, each touch from him sending another spark through you. His fingers were playing with you, teasing you, driving you insane. You couldn't form any response, nothing but breathy little gasps escaping your lips.
He leaned down, his mouth right by your ear, his hot breath against your skin. “Say it.” He urged, his words barely above a whisper. “I wanna hear you say what you're begging for.”
You were beyond anything else at this point, your mind consumed by pure, primal need. You would say and do anything he asked of you, as long as he kept touching you, as long as you could keep feeling that delicious sensation building inside of you.
You managed to find your voice, though it came out as nothing more than a breathless whisper. “Please…please…make me come. Please, I need you. I need you so bad.”
There it was. Those words he was waiting for. The raw, wanton need in your voice, the pleading tone, it was like music to his ears. He loved having you like this, so desperate and needy, begging him for release. He grinned, his fingers still moving against your sensitive flesh. You were so close, so, so close, but he was just keeping you on the edge, his fingers refusing to give you what you so desperately needed.
"Please," you gasped out, your voice shaking. "I need to come. Please, Paddy."
Paddy increased the pressure on that sweet little spot, circling it faster, harder, giving you what you wanted. But it wasn’t enough. He grinned before finally diving in. His mouth was on you, hot and eager. He knew exactly what to do, what you needed, and he was giving it to you with a determination that only made you want more. You were seeing stars—his mouth on you, his fingers working in tandem, his tongue doing things to you that you never knew were possible.
He was relentless. Your hands found his hair to pull him closer. He chuckled, sending the vibrations right through you. “C’mon. That's it, darlin’,” he murmured.
You let out a low, rough moan as his voice sent shivers through you. You felt the tension building down. You didn't fight it; you embraced it, embracing it head-on, letting the wave wash away all the tension, all the stress, all the worry, leaving nothing but a blissful, content feeling in its place. He felt the moment you came, felt your body trembling as you gave yourself over to the pleasure. With a final, long, lingering lap of his tongue, he slowly pulled back, lifting his head to look at you.
He was grinning, his eyes dark and glittering with lust. “That's a good lass,” he said, his voice rough and raw with desire. “Look so damn lovely when you come apart for me.”
You suddenly leaned forward to kiss him—your arms wrapping around his shoulders.
He let out a low moan as you pulled him up and tasted yourself on his lips. It was a messy and uncoordinated kiss, and yet there was something undeniably sexy about it. He deepened the kiss, his hands coming up to cup your face, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body coming to rest above yours.
Your hand quickly went to his belt as you panted. “Yes? Or no?”
He lifted his head, his gaze locking on yours, a lazy, smug grin spreading across his face. He chuckled, his voice low and rough.
"“Are you seriously askin' that?” He purred, his fingers going to his belt, deftly unbuckling it. “Didn’t eat yer pussy for nothin’. I mean…I would definitely have but…woulda still been a lil’ disappointed without me lil’ buddy havin’ his fun.”
Paddy had a way of saying the filthiest, most outrageous things in that low, Irish voice of his, and it always had a way of making you shiver. He continued to undo his belt, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Now, I do believe it's my turn,” he murmured. “Lie back for me, sweetheart. Get cozy.”
You slowly laid back down onto the bed, your head resting against the soft pillows. Your eyes were locked on his face, watching every little movement and expression, every little twitch and tell, as he finally got his belt undone and threw it on the floor.
He chuckled. “Good girl. Feck. Is that another kinda therapy, doc’? ‘Cause am gonna be honest. Woulda showed up a lot more if I’d known.”
You knew he had a bit of a dirty mouth, but you didn't mind—in fact, you rather loved it. He was a man who lived by his own rules, and right now, those rules were going right out the window. He then undid the button on his pants, his fingers slowly, teasingly pulling down the zipper. He smirked, his voice low and rough. “You better hang on tight, darlin’. We're about to make a mess.”
You opened your arms wide. “Come. You are worth all the laundry in the world.”
You anted to slap yourself. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?! WHO TALKS ABOUT THAT IN THIS SITUATION?!
He stopped, his hand paused halfway down his zipper as he heard your words. For the briefest of moments he was taken aback, his eyes going wide and his breath catching in his throat. But then he broke into the biggest, most wolfish grin ever, his eyes dark and glittering. He let out a rumbling laugh and shook his head. “Oh am gonna wreck your fuckin’ world, darlin’.”
You had no doubt that he was being completely serious, that he was going to follow through on his word. You wanted it, wanted it bad—but there was also a part of you, a small, sensible part, that was telling you to slow down, to be more careful.
You ignored that part.
“It’s not much but if you want it? My world is yours to wreck, soldier.”
He grinned again, his eyes dark with desire and need. He quickly shimmied out of his pants, kicking them off his legs and onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He moved forward, his body coming to rest above yours, his arms coming to prop him up on either side of you, boxing you in.
He kissed you hard before taking his boxers off too and settling between your legs. “Brace yourself. S’been a long time for me. Might involuntarily ‘cause an accident…Perhaps ye got a condom somewhere for me?”
His last words snapped you out your lust-filled haze, bringing you back to reality for a moment. You nodded, your voice breathless. “Yes, there should be some in the drawer on the bedside table.”
He nodded and reached over to the bedside table, opening the drawer and riffling around until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a couple of condoms out and turned back to you, grinning. He tore the condom open with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours, and rolled it onto his hard, throbbing cock.
He moved back over you, his body settling between your legs once again. “Ready?”
You couldn't answer, the sight of him on top of you taking away all your ability to form words. You simply nodded, your body trembling with need, your fingers grabbing at his strong, muscled torso.
He lined himself up with your entrance and groaned as he started to press into you, inch by agonizing inch, his body shaking with the effort. “You're so feckin’ tight, sweethear. I have thought of ye while havin’ meself a lil’ party with me hand before but…this is so much better. Warm and leakin’ everywhere.” He looked down at where his cock was almost buried and his eyes widened as he saw the white creamy substance oozing out of you. “Yeah. I’ll definitely lick that later.”
You couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but feel the delicious stretch of him inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, wanting to feel him so deep inside you that you forget anything else existed in the world.
You felt him still for a moment, and you could tell that he was just as overwhelmed by this as you were with his body shaking above you.
You wanted to comfort him, to make him feel good, to let him know that you were right there with him. You ran your hands through his hair, your touch gentle and soothing. “Please, Paddy…move.”
He started to move at your command, his hips snapping against yours, his body taking over. He needed this. He needed the release. He had been alone for so long, he has almost forgotten how it felt to be with someone from the opposite gender. You rocked your hips up to meet his, wanting to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.
You were both lost in the pleasure, lost in the way your bodies fit together so perfectly, like you were made for each other. You pulled him closer, holding him tight against you. You could feel each other's heartbeats, fast and strong, and you felt like you could stay like this forever.
“Go on, baby. So good for me.” You whispered.
He groaned at your words, his hips snapping harder, his body taking what it wanted, what it needed. He loved the sound of your voice, the way you spoke to him, the way you sounded when you said his name. It made him want to give you everything he had, to worship you and please you and make you feel so damn good that there would be no fucking way you’d forget him…
He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Yeah? Feels good, darlin’? That’s me lass. Gettin’ her nice and stretched, ain’t I? She loves it. Good pussy that one. Look at her. Made for me cock, sucks him in like she was waitin’ for me. Needs that special treatment. Needs that nice lil’ kiss and nice long fuck. Yes—yes, she does.”
The way he was talking made you shiver. You loved the way he was so eager and his eyes lit up. He was like an animal, wild and untamed, and you loved that about him.
“Yeah. So good.” You murmured, your voice breathless. “You're so good, Paddy. So good.”
He groaned again and picked up the pace—one of your legs ending up on his shoulder. He kissed your knee licked a stripe from the middle of your inner thigh to your knee. He was getting closer now, he could feel it building inside him. He leaned down and kissed you hard on the mouth, his tongue seeking yours, and you gave in instantly, just as needy and desperate as he was.
He pulled away from the kiss, his voice rough and breathless. “Can I, sweetheart? Ye close?”
You nodded. “Yeah. You’re okay.”
He groaned, his whole body shuddering as he felt you nod, giving him permission, to let himself have what he wanted, what he needed. You held him as he went faster and he cupped the back of your head to protect it from the headboard as he frantically pounded into you—chasing his release.
The way he was holding your head, protecting you without thinking about it, the way he was so rough and primal but so protective at the same time…it made you feel so safe, so loved.
It was beautiful. It was perfect.
You kissed his neck and whispered. “Good man.”
He had never been called that before, not really, and the words made his heart feel like it might burst. He buried his face in your neck, his hips snapping hard, his body desperate for release. “Yeah? Am a good man?”
And he knew that you meant it, that you really believed it. He tightened his arms around you, holding you close, his movements becoming even more desperate.
“You deserve those words. You deserve a life. You deserve a good rest and to be happy, Paddy.” You whispered.
He felt like he could cry at your words, at the kindness and care in them. You saw the person beneath the soldier, and you wanted to take care of him, you wanted to love him, and it scared the hell out of him…but fuck, if that didn’t make him want to pound into you until your legs were too weak to even stand…
He pulled you closer to him, his body pressed snugly into you, as if he was trying to merge with you, trying to become one with you. You could feel his heart beating fast against you, his breathing heavy and labored.
He groaned, his voice hoarse, “I can't hold on, darlin’. I'm gonna—”
Your heart ached as you heard the desperation in his voice, the way he was struggling to keep it together, to hold on just a little longer. He was so close, but he was waiting for your permission.
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close and nodded. “Yeah. You can. Let go, Paddy. I'm right here. I've got you.”
Your permission was all he needed, and with a deep, guttural moan, he came, his body tensing against you as his release washed over him. He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close as he started to kiss the side of your neck. He panted against your skin, his body heavy and spent on top of you, as if he had given all he had to give.
For a moment, he didn't speak, just held you tightly, trying to catch his breath.
You held him close. “…Thank you, Paddy.”
His heart was still pounding in his chest, his breathing still ragged and labored as he lay there, holding you in his arms. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but he had never felt this good before in his life.
He tightened his arms around you, his words muffled against your skin.
“What you thanking me for, sweetheart?” He murmured, still trying to catch his breath.
You smiled and shrugged. “For fighting, for coming back alive, for tonight, for making me forget for a moment, for…a lot of things.”
He chuckled softly at your words, his body still relaxed and spent against you. He lifted his head and rested his chin on your chest, peering up at you with those dark, intense eyes of his.
“You're one real weird doc’.” He told you, the hint of a teasing smirk on his lips. “Nobody thanks soldiers for fighting and surviving. They just expect it.”
Your smile faltered slightly as you reminded him. “A lot didn’t, Paddy.”
Internally? He knew you were right. So many of his friends and comrades had fallen during the war, and it weighed heavily on his conscience. He was one of the lucky ones, he had survived, but he knew that not everyone had been so fortunate.
He shifted, wrapping his arms around you tighter, pulling you even closer.
“Yeah. A lot didn't.” He agreed quietly.
You kissed his shoulder. “You did though.”
He leaned in and nuzzled his face into your neck, burrowing into your warmth. You smiled and kissed along his neck, his jaw, to finally kiss his lips. “Welcome back, soldier.”
He melted into your touch, his body relaxing as you kissed his neck and jaw, his eyes fluttering shut. When you reached his lips, he let out a soft, almost inaudible groan, his hands tightening on your waist. He had been in hell and back multiple times, had seen horrors that no one should ever have to see, and yet he had made it.
He was still here.
He pulled back after a moment, looking up at you with a crooked, lopsided grin.
“Glad to be back.” He murmured, his voice low and husky.
Your smile widened. “See? You’re getting better already. Damn. I am a pretty good therapist.”
He playfully rolled his eyes at your statement. “Pretty sure therapists don't usually do this with their patients.” He pointed out, gesturing to the two of you, still tangled together on the bed.
You lifted a finger to his lips. “Hush. Do not ruin this for me.”
He shut up instantly, his lips pressed shut against your finger. He couldn't help but let out a soft, amused chuckle. You were absolutely ridiculous, and he secretly loved it.
He reached up and grabbed your wrist, taking your finger between his lips and giving it a gentle, playful bite.
You scoffed and playfully slapped his bicep. “Stop. Bad Paddy.”
He chuckled, his teeth still nibbling gently on your finger before he let go, a cheeky smirk on his face. He snorted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. God, you were something else. Here he was, a trained soldier, a man who had killed men without a second thought, and you were calling him 'bad' like he was your lil’ dog.
“Bad Paddy?” He repeated, pretending to sound offended. “Now now…don’t be harsh. I'm a good Paddy—a very good Paddy even.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes at his protest. God, he was adorable, and he didn't even realize it. You could never tell him that though, it'd go straight to his head.
“Oh? A very good Paddy, hmm?” You teased, reaching up to pinch his chin playfully. “Says who?”
He tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of his lips twitched, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Says you, sweetheart. You called me a good man—if memory serves. Not even five minutes ago.”
You smirked, pretending to tap your chin as if deep in thought.
“Did I call you that?” You pretended trying to recall.
He started kissing your collarbone. “Now now, Miss Therapist. Don’t be playin’ with me now. T’could scar me fer life, ye know? Me bein’ a war veteran and all…”
You chuckled again, your hand moving to his hair, playing with the curls. God, his voice, his accent…it was doing things to you.
“Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?” You teased. “Not after all you've been through. Poor, tortured war hero.”
He hummed appreciatively at you while littering your chest with kisses. “That’s right. Poor me. Now…be a good therapist and gimme some good advice.”
You cleared your throat, trying to sound all professional and therapist-like. “Well, I suppose I could lend my expertise. What seems to be troubling you right now, my dear war veteran?”
He chuckled, his mouth moving down along your chest, placing a particularly biting kiss right above your heart. He was loving every minute of this, the way you were pretending to be all professional, trying to act all prim and proper when just a few minutes ago you'd been moaning his name.
He paused, lifting his head to look up at you, a small, lopsided grin on his face. “Well, there is one thing botherin’ me, doc’. It's drivin’ me mad in fact.”
You raised an eyebrow, pretending to look invested. “Oh? What seems to be this thing that's causing you so much distress?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from tracing your fingers along his bare shoulders.
He felt a shiver run through him as your fingers trailed across his skin, his body reacting automatically to your touch. But he forced himself to focus, trying to stay in the moment—even though all he really wanted to do was push you down onto the bed and have his way with you again.
He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “You see, darlin'…there's this certain itch that I just can't shake…”
You laughed, shaking your head at the suggestive tone in his voice. You knew exactly where he was going with this.
That sly bastard…
“An itch, hmm?” You asked, running your hands over his shoulders, down his arms. “Well, what kind of itch are we talking about here?”
He chuckled, shifting his body so that he was now hovering above you with his hands on either side of your head. He loved seeing the way you were trying to keep a straight face, to seem all professional and serious, while he was clearly thinking about all the naughty, wicked things he wanted to do to you.
He lowered his face closer to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “The kind a certain pretty therapist could scratch, if she'd be so kind…”
You shivered, your body already responding to his closeness. Damn him and his ability to get you all pent up like this with just a few words.
But you weren't going to give in that easily.
You smirked, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Well now, I don't know about that. I have very strict rules about therapist-patient relationships, y'know.”
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is that so?” He asked, licking two of his fingers and lowering them to your entrance. “What a damn shame…”
He started using them to rub circles on your already sensitive nub.
You gasped, your body arching up into his touch. “Y-yes. Very strict. Therapist-patient relationships are very taboo in the field…it's considered highly unethical…”
“S’that so?” He grinned and entered the two fingers inside you and curled them up.
You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as his touch once again made you lightheaded. You tried to keep yourself together, but he was making it very difficult.
You swallowed, your words coming out in a ragged gasp. “Y-yes. Very unethical…it's forbidden…highly discouraged…professional misconduct…” You were losing your ability to form full sentences.
He chuckled, his fingers continuing to move within you, his thumb finding your sensitive nub. “S’it now?” He murmured, his voice low and hoarse. “How unfortunate, darlin'. I suppose I'll just have to find another way to deal with this lil’ itch, then…Perhaps I’ll return to the bar—find meself another woman to satisfy me fuckin’ urges?”
At that, you suddenly grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him down to kiss him. “…Fuckin’ bastard.”
He groaned as you tugged at his hair, the sudden movement taking him by surprise, but quickly returning the kiss, his lips devouring you hungrily. He felt a sudden, intense satisfaction at the fact that your whole pretend-professional therapist act had gone out the window, replaced by your true, more carnal nature.
He broke the kiss to speak, his voice thick and rough. “Y’don’t like that, sweetheart? Y’don't want me lookin' for another woman, I take it.”
You were breathing hard and your voice finally broke. “N-Not tonight…Please. Don’t leave tonight.”
He'd only been kidding, the idea of finding some other woman to satisfy his needs had never even crossed his mind. But even so, hearing the way you'd so suddenly dropped the whole therapist act, hearing you say the words 'please, don't leave', the way that you were begging him—it was his undoing.
He leaned down and pressed his forehead against your own, looking deeply into your eyes. “Now, darlin’. Ssh…M’sorry. I ain't goin' nowhere tonight.”
You stared into his eyes and cupped his face before you frowned and seethed. “You better not…On your back, soldier. Now.”
Normally he'd protest to being bossed around, but for you, he'd willingly get on his back faster than you can say "attention". He did as he was told, rolling onto his back and lying flat.
He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry. “Yes, ma'am.”
You straddled him and bent over to kiss him before whispering—as if to break the tension a little. “Still good, right? This okay?”
He groaned as you straddled his waist, his arms going around you, his hands gripping your hips. He couldn't help but chuckle at your question, amused by how you were still trying to remain polite and respectful after all of this.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Mhm. More'n okay, love. Don't ye worry ‘bout me. I'll let ya know if it ain't alright.”
You nodded and kissed him again for good measure before slowly lowering yourself.
He groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. He was already rock-hard, and the feeling of you taking him in sent a shudder through his entire body.
He broke the kiss to speak, his voice ragged. “That's a good lassie, darlin’. Yeah. Takin’ me so well. Ye real goin’ after that itch, aint’cha? Damn.”
You leaned down and pressed your face against his neck, kissing along the corded muscles. He groaned as you kissed his neck, his hips reflexively rolling up into you, his fingers grabbing your buttocks to set a fast-paced rhythm. He wanted to be gentle, he didn't want to get too carried away in his frenzy, but the way you were touching him…
He let out a ragged gasp, his mouth against your ear. “That’s it. Go for it, sunshine. Show Uncle Paddy how it’s done…”
You couldn't help but shiver as he spoke in that deep, rough-sounding brogue of his. You'd never realized before just how attractive you found an Irish brogue to be, but now that you'd gotten that taste, you were hooked. You rolled your hips, taking more of him, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure.
He groaned again, his eyes going dark, feral, as he looked up at you. “Oh, darlin'. If I wasn't a gentleman, I'd be tossin' ye on the floor and doin' every wicked thing I could think of with you right this minute. But I'm a good boy, so I'm just gonna have to lay here and let ye have your way with me.”
You chuckled and kissed him deeply. “A gentleman, huh? Is that why you followed your therapist home and are now fucking her? Is that what a gentleman does?”
He laughed loudly at that, a real, genuine laugh that rumbled up from deep in his chest. He grinned, his hands running up and down your back. “Ah, you caught me. My plan all along, darlin'. I lured you in with me good behavior, then pounced on ye once I got you alone. I played the long game.”
You huffed a laugh. “Problem is, Paddy. I rarely can tell if you’re being serious or not. So really…You could be telling me the truth that I wouldn’t be able to tell.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, his hips rolling up against yours. He leaned up, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Maybe that's part of me charm, eh? Keepin’ ye guessin' about what I'm really thinkin', what I'm really plannin'.”
You kissed his jawline. “Makes you a good fuck, makes you a terrible patient.”
He groaned, his head tilting back as you ran your lips over his jawline, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. “Can't argue with that. Though to be fair, sweetheart, I reckon you're not bein’ a very good therapist at the moment.”
You bit his neck. “You kissed me first.”
He gasped, the sudden pain of your bite making his hips jerk up into you almost involuntarily. His hand slapped your buttock in retaliation.
You leaned down, your breath hot against his ear. You gasped and he grunted heavily, a deep guttural sound that came from the very back of his chest, his hips jerking up to meet yours as you came. He'd wanted to be patient, he'd wanted to let you have your way with him, like a good boy, he'd wanted to be a gentleman.
But to be honest…neither of you were very good at following the rules. He grabbed your face in his hands, pulling you in for a kiss, rough and desperate.
You gasped, but kissed him back just as passionately—your hand in his now completely disheveled hair. Your arm encircling his waist to push him up against you.
He groaned in response, his arm wrapping around your waist in turn, rolling you over onto your back, his weight coming on top of you. He deepened the kiss and his tongue delved into your mouth. He could feel your body, soft and warm against his, and it was taking every bit of his willpower not to pull back and take you again hard and fast until he'd wrung every last bit of your strength from your body.
You were panting and stroked his shoulders. “Paddy? Are you okay?”
He buried his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, trying to get a hold on himself. His mouth against your neck, nuzzling your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. He didn’t answer—which was answer enough.
He could tell you were getting tired—hell, he was tired too.
You understood and looked up at Paddy. “Do you want me to…help you?” Your hand went down significantly. “I mean I don’t mind if you’re too tired…”
He almost laughed. You could be so damn adorable, so sweet, it made something ache deep in his chest.
But the minute you moved your hand, his eyes darkening, he caught your wrist, trapping it there.
“No.” He murmured. “I've got plenty left in me still. You lay back and relax, yeah?”
Your eyes were uncertain. “You sure? I don’t mind—really.”
He shook his head with a small smile on his face. You really were a sweetheart. You could be so fierce and passionate and filthy one moment, and yet so damn sweet and caring the next, it made his head spin. He knew you were tired, he could tell from the way you were speaking, the way your body was boneless and lax beneath his.
He shifted his body, rolling his hips against you. “I'm sure, darlin'. Am just gonna…”
He didn’t know what he was gonna do. You were clearly exhausted and he was trying to find a way to come without being an asshole…
He groaned as he shifted and slid himself out of you. He rolled to his side, gathering you into his arms. “C’mere, darlin.' I got an idea. Why don’t ye settle your pretty lil’ ass over Uncle Paddy’s face, hmm?”
You gasped at his words, your body still sensitive and over-stimulated. You'd heard about this sort of thing before, but you'd never actually done it. But somehow with him, you wanted to.
You nodded, your voice a little breathless as you responded. “Okay. But are you sure? I do not have a lot of confidence in my legs right this instant…”
He kissed your inner thigh, a gentle, teasing nip. “S'alright, sweetheart. I’ll do all the work. I'll hold ye up. Y’just have to sit pretty on my tongue. Can ye do that for me?”
You nodded and used the headboard to hold yourself up over his face. “Okay. Take a big breath for me Paddy, okay? Don’t wanna explain why my patient was found dead from suffocation in my apartment…”
He let out a strangled, choked laugh, his chest shaking with suppressed mirth. He gave a small, sharp nod, looking up at you with eyes darkened with desire. “Aye, darlin'. Big breath it is.”
You nodded before slowly getting down. He groaned, his eyes closing involuntarily, as he felt his tongue make contact with your puffy folds. He brought his hands up to hold your thighs, his fingers gripping your skin. He didn't want you falling. He didn't want to do anything to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.
His grip was firm, strong, and he started to do as he promised. He went to work while stroking himself…
His tongue darted forward, swirling around the sensitive bud at your center. He flicked his tongue gently. He wasn't going to last long, but he wanted to make damn sure to get you there you. He wanted to feel your sweet nectar on his tongue, wanted to feel you trembling and hear you moaning his name…
You panted heavily, your hands moving to cling onto the headboard, holding on for dear life. But you knew he was just as close as you, and you weren't going to last much longer, not with the way he was licking and sucking like a parched man.
He was thorough, he was dedicated, and he was driving you absolutely insane. It was all you could do not to collapse on top of him, not to break the rhythm of his tongue.
“P-Paddy—I’m…shit.” You tried to warn him.
He hummed, the sound muffled by your body, the vibration sending little jolts through you. He was getting desperate now, his hands gripping your thighs harder, his body tensing up.
You shuddered as you came with a cry.
You were so beautiful, the way you shook and the sound of you saying his name in a broken cry. He went over the edge with you and then gently tugged you down, pulling you to lie down next to him.
He wrapped an arm around you and held you close.
You were still panting yourself and caressed his cheek. “Good?”
He huffed, his head nuzzling into your hand. “Good? Good ain't a strong enough word for what that was…”
He was exhausted, more tired than he could remember being in a long time, but also so very satisfied…he really couldn’t complain. You smiled and satisfied by his confirmation, pressed your cheek to his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He sighed, holding you close, his fingers running lazily through your hair. It felt like he was wrapped up in a comfortable cocoon, with nothing in the world to worry about except the beautiful woman in his arms.
And for the first in…years, he wasn't thinking about war. He wasn’t thinking about bullets, fire and dead me.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and murmured to himself—a thought that escaped him. “I reckon I'll be ruined for anyone else…”
You looked up at him with tired eyes. “What did you say?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing, darlin'. M’just thinkin' out loud s’all.”
He continued to stroke your hair as his eyes slowly closed.
You hummed and kissed his chest before closing your eyes too. “Good night, Paddy.”
He sighed and pressed another tender kiss to the top of your head in response. “Night, darlin'.” He murmured, his arms wrapping a little tighter around you as his mind began to blank out, his consciousness slipping into that sweet, blissful state of sleep, the warm weight of you in his arms, the scent of you filling his senses…
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he managed to peacefully fall asleep.
Ngl I love your Sinners fanfics since they're the only ones that are closer to getting Cornbread content. I do have one request in mind right now: Since you did one on the reader getting jealous how would the vampires react to being jealous themselves?
Cornbread
Cornbread sees it and sighs like you’re giving him extra work. “Oh hell no…don’t make me get up.”
He tries ignoring it for a minute. He wants to avoid the effort. But when the flirting continues? He stands, cracks his neck, and strolls over with the slow confidence of a man who knows everyone should be scared of him.
“Move along,” he says simply.
If they don’t? He steps closer. Too close. “I said: move along. Champ.”
Then he puts an arm around your shoulders and grumbles: “Why people always gotta go after what’s mine…? Should I tattoo my name on your forehead for ‘em to get the fuckin’ point?” Proceeds to kiss said forehead and you both walk away.
Stack
Stack acts amused. That’s how you know he’s jealous. Some guy at the bar buys you a drink? Stack starts grinning like he’s watching a comedy special.
“Oh this is adorable,” he says, leaning back. “Lil’ man thinks he has a chance.”
The stranger gets cocky and touches your arm. Stack’s smile disappears instantly. He stands slowly, walks over, takes your drink from your hand, downs it in one go, then wraps an arm around your waist.
“Lemme help ya out, buddy,” he says pleasantly. “That one’s taken.”
The guy scoffs. Big mistake. Stack leans in close enough for his eyes to flash red. “Now walk away before I stop using manners.”
Afterward he’s all smug—pulling you into his lap, kissing your shoulder, muttering: “People got real bad survival instincts around you, baby.”
Mary
Mary gets real mad real quick. You’ll be chatting happily with someone and suddenly realize Mary’s gone quiet beside you. Very quiet. Then she smiles politely at the person flirting with you.
And somehow that’s worse.
“Oh sweetheart,” she says softly, “I think you’ve misunderstood the situation.”
The room suddenly feels ten degrees colder. The flirt nervously laughs. Mary doesn’t. She steps beside you, smooth as silk, and gently fixes your collar like she owns you.
Because she does.
“You’re wasting your time,” she says sweetly. “They’re already spoken for.”
Then she takes your hand and leads you away with perfect elegance while the poor soul behind you reconsiders every life choice they’ve ever made.
Bo
Bo gets OFFENDED. “Are you kiddin’ me right now?”
You’re just standing there while some stranger flirts. “Nah, nah, hold on. I leave ya unattended for FIVE minutes and suddenly folks think there’s applications open?”
He marches over, grabs your waist possessively, and points at himself. “Do I look dead to you? ‘Cause I’m standin’ right here.”
The stranger awkwardly apologizes. Bo just laughs humorlessly.
“Damn right.” Then he turns to you with narrowed eyes. “And you. Smilin’ all pretty at people. D’ya enjoy seein’ me suffer or somethin’?”
Meanwhile his hand never leaves your hip the rest of the night. Not once.
Bert
Bert gets jealous in the funniest possible way.“OH this motherfucker’s flirting.”
You almost choke laughing because he says it with genuine betrayal. The stranger tries to introduce themselves and Bert shakes their hand aggressively.
“Hi. Husband. Existing husband. Current husband. Permanent husband.”
The person leaves almost immediately.
Bert turns to you, offended. “Did you SEE that? Right in front of me! The nerve!”
You’re laughing too hard to answer. He grabs your face dramatically. “Baby. How dare ya?! I’m sensitive. Delicate. Frail. I demand kisses! Now!” Proceeds to kiss you all over your face.
Five minutes later he’s over it and asking if you wanna get fries.
Joan
Joan’s jealousy is terrifying because she remains perfectly composed. Someone flirts with you at a bookstore café and Joan simply watches from across the room.
Calm. Elegant. Deadly.
Then she closes her book, stands, and glides over.
“Darling,” she says to you warmly, completely ignoring the stranger at first. “There you are.”
She kisses your hand. Only then does she acknowledge the other person with a small glance. “…Still here?”
The flirt stammers something awkward.
Joan smiles faintly. “How persistent.”
You can practically hear the person’s survival instincts activating. Joan loops her arm through yours and walks away without another word, entirely confident you’ll follow.
You do. Obviously.
Annie
Annie gets clingy when jealous. Someone compliments you and suddenly Annie is attached to your arm like glue.
“Oh wow,” she says brightly. “That’s so sweet! They are beautiful, aren’t they?”
You can already hear the danger underneath the cheerfulness. The stranger nods nervously. Annie smiles wider. Then she kisses your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your temple.
One after another until you’re laughing.
“Annie—”
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m just loving my partner.”
The stranger excuses themselves almost immediately.
Annie waits until they’re gone before hugging you tightly. Then she asks for cuddles as compensation for her suffering.
Remmick
Remmick notices immediately.
Doesn’t matter if someone just smiled at you for too long or touched your shoulder in conversation…his head snaps towards it. At first he tries to behave. He stands there with his arms crossed, jaw flexing, eyes narrowed into slits while he watches some idiot laugh at your jokes a little too eagerly.
Then you smile back. Oh, now he’s suffering.
He lets out the most wounded sigh imaginable and mutters to himself:
“…Aye. Fine. Cool. Great. Love that.”
You don’t even realize he’s crossed the room until suddenly he’s behind you, chest against your back, chin dropping heavily onto your shoulder.
“Hi,” he says loudly with a large fanged grin.
The poor soul flirting with you goes pale immediately because Remmick is staring at them like he’s mentally measuring their coffin.
You try not to laugh. “Remmick—”
“No, no, continue,” he says sweetly, smile stretched too wide. “Don’t let me interrupt ye flirtin’ with me beloved.”
The person says. “I wasn’t flirting.”
“Mmhm.” He does not believe them. One arm snakes around your waist possessively.
“…D’ye mind?” he finally asks them. “Yer seconds away from becomin’ dinner.”
They leave QUICK. The second they’re gone, Remmick turns to you with narrowed eyes.“Did ye enjoy that?”
You grin. “Maybe a little.”
“A little?! Oh, that’s cruel. Yer cruel.” He clutches his chest dramatically. “Flirted with another man right in front o’ me beautiful giant eyes.”
“I smiled at him once.” You tried to justify yourself.
“TWICE.” Then he proceeds to drag you away by the hand so he can sulk in private. Except his sulking mostly consists of him wrapped around you like an overgrown bat while grumbling into your neck. “Should bite people who look at ye too long. Would solve a lotta problems.”
You laugh and kiss his cheek.
He immediately softens.
“…Alright,” he mumbles. “Maybe not bite. Maybe just hiss at ‘em. Very loudly.”
If you’re still doing request, I wonder if you can do the Hannibal family, but they do a wife swap how would that reactions be if their wife got a temporarily horrible husband?
If you’re not doing request, please ignore this and have a blessed day
😊
The rules are simple: For one full day, each wife is paired with a different Hannibal husband.
Hannibal Lecter Sr.
Sr. acts above it all. He agrees with a calm smile and a glass of wine in hand, amused by the experiment. “How enlightening. A temporary change in perspective.”
He behaves as though jealousy is beneath him. Spoiled alert. It is not. The moment he sees his wife laugh too warmly at another family member, something dark settles behind his eyes. Especially if she looks relaxed, lets another Hannibal touch her casually, or seems emotionally comfortable without him. That bothers him immensely. Not because he thinks she’ll leave. Ah. That’s laughable. But because he dislikes proof that anyone else can provide for her.
You got paired with Kevin.
This is his least favorite pairing. Kevin is too tactile, too emotionally open and naturally sweet. Like a particular toothache. Seeing Kevin sling an arm around your shoulders, make you laugh, casually making you art or pull you into an easy hug…would make him want to kill his own son.
Later that night, when he gets you back, he becomes intensely overbearing: guiding you by the waist, kissing your knuckles, keeping physical contact constant.
He’d softly ask: “Did you enjoy yourself?” And somehow it sounds like both a loving question and an interrogation. But if you said yes?
…
He would pretend that it doesn’t bother him, but he would then make sure that you remember who you truly belong to. And not in the fun way I’m afraid.
Hannibal Lecter Jr.
Jr. treats the event like a psychological study. He’s curious and finds the idea entertaining. He watches dynamics carefully: who becomes jealous, who gets attached and who starts…changing feelings during the day.
He’s calmer than Sr., but more manipulative.
If his wife seems especially happy with another Hannibal, he does not react immediately. Instead, he quietly begins reclaiming emotional territory. He’ll suddenly become: more attentive, more physically affectionate and more intellectually engaging.
He wants her to choose him again.
You were paired with Morgan. Morgan is composed, protective, intelligent—the closest thing Jr. has to an equal…but he is also younger—less experienced. Jr. wouldn’t exactly see him as a threat. If he catches Morgan holding your hand however or listening too carefully to your feelings, Jr. becomes very still.
That night: he cooks your favorite meal, slow dances with you in the kitchen, keeps touching your neck and waist absentmindedly…He wouldn’t admit being jealous. But you would feel it.
Morgan Hannibal
Morgan initially thinks the entire exercise is ridiculous. But he participates because the family insists.
Morgan is hit harder than expected. He discovers very quickly that he hates: seeing another man stand too close to his wife, hearing her laugh at someone else’s jokes, or watching another Hannibal comfort her.
He becomes quietly territorial. His movements are meant to separate you from your new partner and making sure to walk between you regularly.
If you were paired with Sr., Morgan is deeply unsettled by this. Sr. has authority, refinement, confidence. He knows exactly how to make someone feel cherished.
Morgan notices every detail: Sr. pulling out your chair, touching the small of your back and speaking softly to you with a charming smile.
Morgan spirals internally.
By the end of the day, he’s holding his wife’s hand with unusual firmness and asks you with intensity. “Did he make you uncomfortable?”
He knows Sr. is dangerous and would be worried about your safety more than anything.
Kevin Hannibal
Kevin is the WORST at pretending he’s okay. He starts cocky: “Yeah, nah, this’ll be funny.”
Three hours later he’s emotionally imploding. Kevin gets jealous immediately and visibly.
If another Hannibal: makes his wife laugh, touches her waist, compliments her, or spends too much time alone with her…
Kevin starts pacing and glaring daggers at them. He becomes: clingy, loud, competitive, and passive-aggressive.
You were paired with Jr.
Kevin absolutely hates this pairing. Jr. is elegant and emotionally smooth in ways Kevin isn’t. Watching Jr. calmly understand his wife’s emotions without effort makes Kevin feel insecure.
When he finally gets you back: he bear hugs you instantly, buries his face in your neck, talks over everyone else, and refuses to let you go. He flips them all off. “Okay, nope. Swap’s over. Fuck all of you. My wife. Mine.”
The others mock him relentlessly. He does not care.
Peter Hannibal
Peter agrees because he wants everyone happy. Five minutes later he regrets everything. Peter is HEARTBROKEN seeing his wife with another husband. Even if nothing romantic happens, he feels emotionally replaced very easily.
If another Hannibal: makes you smile, comforts you or receives your affection—
Peter looks devastated. He tries not to cry.
Fails.
You were paired with Kevin. Oddly, this is the pairing Peter tolerates best. Kevin is openly affectionate and emotionally reassuring, which comforts Peter somewhat because he trusts Kevin not to manipulate you emotionally.
Still—seeing Kevin cuddle you or make you laugh causes Peter visible emotional damage. By nighttime, Peter is curled around his wife like a frightened cat, whispering: “You still love me most, right?”
And if you reassure him, he might genuinely cry from relief.
…
Each Hannibal loves differently. Sr. loves through possession and reverence. Jr. loves through understanding and seduction. Morgan loves through protection and reliability. Kevin loves through raw emotional devotion. Peter loves through desperate tenderness.
And after the swap? Every single Hannibal becomes more affectionate afterward because the experience reminded them how deeply attached they really are.
Which means: more touching, more gifts, more hovering, more jealousy, more “accidental” interruptions whenever another family member gets too close to their wife again.
The experiment is never repeated.
Mostly because Kevin threatens to fight someone by the end of it, Peter cries himself sick, Morgan develops stress headaches, Jr. starts psychologically profiling everyone, and Sr. quietly decides the entire concept was “an error in judgment.”
