Knowing it will be a difficult journey for him, Christine and Erik follow Raoul to America. But Christine is keeping a secret of her own, one she dare not tell Erik about until they are far enough away that they can't turn around.
The thing about going to outpatient treatment, or group as we call it...is we get to deal with a lot of uncomfortable feelings that lead us to getting high or drunk, or whatever the case maybe, in the first place.
Today brought up so many feelings. Resentment and anger at my parents for the shitty coping skills they gave me. Even more resentment for never being important to anyone, which in turn lead me to giving myself even less importance in the whole overview of things. Like...I never had a birthday party. Never. My birthday is on the 3rd of July. As a kid that was prep day for the biggest drinking day of the air force family that i was raised in. My birthday wasn't really even all that special at all. I remember spending my 16th birthday on the road moving from Albuquerque to b.f.e kansas. I hated my parents for that. I couldn't even have a sweet 16.
As an adult struggling with an abusive relationship and money problems and his substance abuse issues and the overall unhealthy denial of my own self (it wasn't important enough to ruin lives), my birthday was a last thought. My 21st birthday I got a box of wine and he got his first trip with a hypodermic needle. Yeah...man real memorable.
I can't remember a time when I felt like my day was really special that people went out of their way to spend with me, or like someone was celebrating me. I don't really think that presents do that. Its more about the effort in actually being present in my life.
So anyway...in group we did this cognitive behavioral therapy dealing with behavioral chains and replacement thinking. Since my highest risk situations involve celebrations, I tend to let loose and have a self serving lets get tore up from the floor up kind of mentality.
I was forced to think of other ways..healthier ways to deal with celebrating that did not involve absolute debauchery. Guess what. I was stumped. I couldn't think of anything because I didn't know anything. I was absolutely stuck thinking about the fact that it didnt matter. No one would be spending my birthday with me if there were no substances to fuel their arrival. I have no friends in my immediate surroundings as it is. I can't even imagine how i would celebrate at all without involving drinking or drugs of some sort. I've always resorted to the status quo. That was the only way it was justified to spend money on anything before. And my current relationship is completely set aside so its not like there is any picnics on the beach or romantic getaways to take my mind off of the shit hole life I have.
Its digging up old graves that I've long ago put to rest. Its picking open scars just to see them bleed again. Its uncomfortable and lonely and I hate everything about it. And no matter what...I'm as close to empty in every way dumping out all these emotions and feelings and all they wanna focus on is "well, you got high".
Yeah. Dude. I got high. For 2 years of my 38 years of life, I got fucked up to a degree of not ok. But for the 5 years before that when I drank 3 bottles of wine a night no one cared. And for 15 years on top of that smoking weed from sun up to sun down wasn't a fucking issue. I got fucked up in some bullshit and invited legalities into my world and now I got the whole planet dissecting my motives and reasoning. And I'm about fucking over all of that. I'm sick of hearing about the little mess I made when 99.9% of the people in my group have spent MULTIPLE times in prison. I made a mistake. And these fuckers made a replica of mt. Everest where the little dirt clod should have been.
This too shall pass. And I'm stronger than all this. I'm just exhausted trying to do what they ask me to and have them all come back and tell me that's not the feelings I should have ...I didn't realize there was a manual on which feelings I was allowed to have. Obviously honest ones aren't acceptable.
notes: Special thanks to @yespolkadotkitty for the beta <3
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Chapter 6 - AO3
You woke up the next morning with the scent of agent Whiskey tickling your nose and it made you smile even before you opened your eyes. You were still wearing his t-shirt, which was also the source of the scent, and you grabbed more of the fabric and pulled it up to your nose.
The memory of last night's goodbye played vividly in your mind and you could feel your pulse quickening just at the thought of that kiss. Whiskey liked you, properly liked you. You thought maybe you liked him too, knew that you liked the idea of him liking you, at least. Maybe you could ask Tonic about it - or would that be considered wildly unprofessional? You might have to ask him about that first.
Whiskey had said he wanted to kiss you again. But when? Was it your turn to make him dinner now? You were a lousy cook but maybe you could find something simple to make? You frowned.
The pleasant feeling you had woken up with was slowly but surely simmering away as the what now s came creeping in. The nervous feeling that replaced it stayed with you for the better part of the day and you felt a bit off-kilter, in a way you weren't used to.
When someone knocked at your door later that afternoon you jumped from your seat and stared wide-eyed at the door for a couple of seconds before calling out for whoever was on the other side of the door to come inside.
The door opened and your shoulders slumped in both disappointment and relief when it wasn't Whiskey that entered, but Agent Sherry's considerably larger frame.
“Hiya, Doc,” he said in his dark and rumbly voice. When he spoke you always half-expected the deep bass of his voice to make the water in the glass on your desk to ripple. Glancing at the glass in question you noted that it hadn't quite, this time either.
Agent Sherry was a tall and sizeable gentleman whose calm was infectious. Ginger had told you that he'd been a horse wrangler before joining the Statesmen and if there was anyone you believed capable of calming down those giant animals, it was Agent Sherry.
“Are office hours still open?” he asked and you nodded, motioning for him to step inside and take a seat.
“Are you hurt?” you asked, as your eyes began scanning him for any apparent injuries. He seemed to be walking just fine, didn't look particularly sick either.
“Just a minor incident with a car door,” he explained and held up his hand. You immediately noticed the swelling and when you stepped closer to gently take his hand you also saw that three of his fingers had ugly-looking bruises on them. You turned his hand over and saw the bruises bloomed on the underside of his fingers as well.
“Can you bend them?” you asked and flexed your own fingers in demonstration. Sherry nodded.
“I can, but it hurts... like a word I'd rather not say in front of a lady.” Slowly he bent his fingers and you saw the slight twitch of pain on his face.
“Let's give them an x-ray, just to be on the safe side,” you told him and motioned for him to follow you, “From experience, I know that it's easier to get you agents to take it a bit easier if there's an actual fracture I can point out to you.”
Sherry chuckled and this time you swore you could feel the sound vibrate in your chest.
You made quick work of x-raying agent Sherry's hand and studied the images closely for any damage. Fortunately, none of the bones were fractured but you still requested that agent Sherry take it a little bit easy until the bruising had faded.
He smiled, thanked you, and assured you that he would follow the doctor's orders. Then he tipped his hat in your direction before stepping out of the office. You had barely put the x-ray images away before he knocked on the door again.
“Did you forget something?” you asked, looking around the room, as you walked over to open the door.
Instead of Agent Sherry, you suddenly found yourself face to face with Whiskey, and your heart did some sort of skip-beat that could hardly be healthy for it.
“Whiskey...” you breathed.
“Moonshine,” he countered, flashing his teeth in a smile, “May I come in?”
You nodded and took a step to the side so he could hop past you further into the office. However, Whiskey stopped just inside the office and leaned his crutches against the wall as you closed the door around you. Then he stepped close, almost caging you in against the flat metal surface.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, low enough that it was almost a whisper, and reached up to touch your face. You thought that, if the look Whiskey was currently giving you was anything to go by, then you probably didn't need to cook him a meal to get to kiss him again. In fact, he was watching you like you were the meal.
“Hello,” you said, smiling back and tentatively reached up to touch the button of his breast pocket, mostly to have something to do with your hands. You wanted to touch him but you were unsure how or where would be appropriate after a first kiss.
Whiskey seemed to read the intent behind your awkward touch just fine, though, and he leaned in so that your noses bumped together gently. He waited for you to bridge the final inch, which you did, tilting your head so that your mouths could slot together.
It was just as soft as it had been yesterday when Whiskey's lips moved against yours this time. You wondered if all kissing was like this and, if so, why on Earth you had waited so long to experience it?
Your lips turned slick with your mixed saliva and you briefly wondered if Whiskey had laced his lips with morphine because you couldn't get enough of kissing him. You didn't even care about the possible health hazard of exchanging bodily fluids like this.
Every time it felt like Whiskey was about to pull away, you leaned forward to chase his mouth with yours, and before his lips could even part from yours, he leaned back in, and you swore that you could hear him chuckle into the kiss. His hand was splayed across your hip, whether to steady you or him, you weren't sure. Your hands were pressed hard against the metal of the door on either side of you. You didn't quite dare to touch him. With the way his kisses made you feel, it was like you didn't quite have control over your body. Your mind was screaming for you to grab him and pull him impossibly close, but Whiskey was still hurt, and you couldn't do that.
Whiskey reached up and gently pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. Slowly and carefully he pulled down, making your mouth open just a fraction. Just as you wondered what he was doing, you suddenly felt the tip of his tongue glide between your lips and into your mouth, coaxing your tongue to meet his. Tentatively, you copied his movement, licking into his mouth. He tasted faintly of mint and something that you thought was purely Whiskey. It should have been strange, having your tongue in someone else's mouth, but somehow it wasn't, and much like with the close-mouthed kissing, Whiskey was an excellent teacher and you quickly figured out how to do it.
The two of you kissed until it felt like all the oxygen had run out in the room and your lips almost felt sore. It was Whiskey that pulled away first, but he was smiling so you weren't too worried that you'd done something wrong.
“I really liked that,” you commented when he didn't immediately say something. His smile widened and he stroked his thumb across your bottom lip.
“I could tell. I really did too, darlin'.”
Your stomach did a pleasant flip at his words and you found yourself returning his smile, feeling almost a bit giddy.
Whiskey took a small and slightly unsteady step back and you helped him reach for his crutches.
“I went home last night, fearing that I'd just passed out and dreamt the whole thing,” Whiskey confessed as he adjusted his grip on the crutches, “But if these kisses weren't real then surely I'd have skipped past unconsciousness and gone straight to Heaven.”
“Are you insinuating that I would actually let you die in my care?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest but keeping the smile on your face so he would know you were joking.
“I'm not sure if let is the word I'd use, but there are many dangerous things in this world. If dying was the only way to experience having you in my arms...” Whiskey said with a shrug.
“Don't be ridiculous, Whiskey!” you protested, rolling your eyes at his dramatics, “Besides, I am a very good doctor, and as long as I'm around, I'm not gonna let you die. Okay?”
Whiskey looked at you for a second before a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.
“Seal that promise with a kiss?” he asked and even though you knew you shouldn't encourage his antics, you were hopeless to resist when he reached for you again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kissing Whiskey was quickly becoming your favorite past time. He showed up at your office every day, sometimes just for a few minutes but other times he stayed long enough that it was you that had to break the kiss and kick him out of the office in order for you to get any work done.
It was just kissing. Logically, you knew there were probably other things on Whiskey's mind too – you were both adults after all – but he seemed perfectly content with just kissing you and never pushed for more. It was very nice of him and part of you really appreciated that he wasn't rushing you, but there was also a part of you that found it a little bit frustrating. Primarily because you were pretty sure that you wanted more, but didn't quite know how to go about asking. Every time Whiskey kissed you, there was a burning in your gut that had nothing to do with any bodily malfunctions. It felt hot and warm and pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. It made you want...something more. Made you want him closer even when his arms were already wrapped tightly around you and his mouth already on yours.
You thought about how to go about asking for that something more , as you made your way to the cell where Harry was being held. Maybe you could just outright ask for it? Whiskey would probably understand what you meant.
You opened the door to the office next to Harry's cell and found Tequila snoring softly in the chair by the desk. You cleared your throat and he started awake, looking around in confusion.
“Mornin' Moonshine,” he greeted you, before his eyes quickly darted to the one-way mirror, through which you both could see Harry lying on his bed, reading a book.
“Have you been here all night?” you asked, taking in Tequila’s rumpled shirt and the empty dinner plate next to him on the desk. A slight flush stained the agent's cheeks and he mumbled something about dozing off. You didn't listen too closely to the excuses. Whatever Tequila chose to do with his own time, really wasn't any of your business.
“Would you mind coming with us for the EEG?” you asked, interrupting his string of explanations.
Even though Harry had been with you for quite some time now, and had shown no signs of being anything besides a very sweet man, you still weren't allowed to be alone with him. It would have been endlessly annoying if it weren't for the fact that Tequila had taken it upon himself to act as some sort of guardian for the Brit and therefore was almost always close by for whenever you needed to see Harry. Like today. You weren't completely convinced that Whiskey didn't have something to do with it as well, considering how he always made sure to ask about Tequila whenever Harry's name was mentioned.
Tequila got up from the chair, adjusted his hat, and smoothed out the wrinkles of his shirt.
“Alright, let's get this E...G...something over with.”
“EEG,” you corrected him, as you went to fetch Harry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Those things, they ain't gonna hurt him, right?” Tequila was sitting on the edge of the desk and watched with slight apprehension as you fastened the little electrodes on Harry's scalp. There was a slight note of worry to the agent's voice, which in turn made Harry look up at you as if it was only now that the thought had struck him. You shook your head to assure them both and fastened another electrode.
“It won't hurt,” you said when Tequila didn't look convinced.
“Moonshine, I'm sorry but it's just...when they show this on TV it looks like it would hurt.”
“I would rather avoid pain, if it is in any way possible,” Harry chipped in, a slight tremor to his normally eerily calm voice.
“Yeah,” Tequila agreed, “Isn't there something you could give him to, y'know make it hurt less?”
“They show this on TV?” you asked, having gotten stuck on that detail in particular. Surely there must be more exciting medical procedures to show to the masses for entertainment. You frowned and attached the last electrode to Harry's temple. Then it suddenly dawned on you.
“Tequila, you're thinking of electroshock therapy! Which is occasionally also wildly inaccurately portrayed in the movies, but that's not what we're gonna do, okay?” you explained and looked down at Harry to calm him too. “This isn't the same thing.”
They didn't look convinced. So you pulled up a chair and sat down where you could see them both.
“Harry, when you first came here, there was severe damage to parts of your brain. Now, we fixed that but you still haven't regained any of your memories and so what I wanna do is check and make sure everything is alright in there. These little electrodes measure brain activity and yes, it sorta has to do with electricity but it's because we measure the electrical impulses already in the brain. There will be no shocking and you won't feel any pain, I promise.”
Harry nodded slowly and his shoulders visibly relaxed as you finished your explanation. Tequila also looked reassured. And Tonic said you didn't have good bedside manners. You had to try hard not to look too smug.
“Alright, great,” you said, standing back up again. “Let's get started. Tequila, I'm gonna need for you to leave the room for this.”
“What?” he asked, immediately tensing up again.
“I want you out of the room,” you repeated as if the problem was that he hadn't heard you.
“But we have our instructions...” he said, but the worried look was aimed at Harry, which made you wonder whether it was really your well-being he was trying to insure.
“And I have my job to do,” you argued, walking towards him with a shooing motion, “ I need as few distractions as possible for this. You are a distraction. You can stand outside the door and wait. Everyone's gonna be fine.”
“We'll be okay, Tequila. I promise. I don't want to hurt anyone,” Harry told him and his soft comment proved more effective than your brash assurances in calming the agent down.
“Fine. But if any of y'all make a noise that sounds suspicious, I'm comin' right back in!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It turned out that, just as you had suspected, there had been no reason for a bodyguard in the room. For either of you. Harry was being the most cooperative patient, as usual, and you even tried to make some polite small-talk in order to make him feel even more at ease. Most of the time was spent in silence, though, as Harry had his eyes closed and just breathed slowly, as you scanned the output data from the electrodes on your screen. You were nearing the end of the session. Just had a couple of more things to check left.
Suddenly the door burst open and both you and Harry screamed loud. The data on the screen went bananas and your initial fear was instantly replaced by anger. Spinning your chair around to demand Tequila explained just what the fuck he was playing at, you were instead met with the scowling face of agent Whiskey. His eyes were red-rimmed like they had been running and his jaw was clenched so tight that you wouldn't be surprised if you heard teeth cracking. His right hand was resting firmly on the gun in its holster.
“Whiskey?” you said, surprised and slightly worried by his appearance, “What are you...”
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Whiskey interrupted in a harsh tone, “Champ gave us all very specific orders regarding the guest. Always an agent present!”
You stared back at him, feeling heat of a different kind than the usual one churn in your belly. Kissing him was the last thing you wanted to do when Whiskey was talking to you like a disobedient child.
“And if you hadn't barged in here like a...gorilla, you might have noticed Tequila just outside the door!” You pointed aggressively at the door, “Agent present! The regulations said nothing about the agent having to sit on my stupid lap while I worked!”
Whiskey took a deep breath, his nostrils flared.
“Come on, let's go,” he said, waving you over. You crossed your arms over your chest and jutted your chin out.
“No,” you told him.
“Moonshine, just...”
“I said No . You've just ruined my work and scared my patient. Get out of my office, Whiskey!”
Whiskey looked like he was about to continue arguing but before he could say anything, Tequila cleared his throat from the doorway.
“Doc's right, Jack. We had it all under control. She's a sharp one and I wouldn't have let anything happen.”
Whiskey looked between the two of you, something like sadness flashing across his expression before he nodded sharply.
“Fine,” was all he said before angrily walking out of the room.
You turned back to the computer and busied yourself with shutting down the monitoring program. In actuality, you didn't want Tequila or Harry to see your face as your lip trembled and you blinked back the unwelcome tears that had begun welling up. You felt confused and hurt but what had just happened. Whiskey's anger had been uncalled for, for so many reasons. The lack of faith in your abilities to look out for yourself was also insulting. And, even though that wasn't highest on the list of priorities, you were genuinely upset that the monitoring data had been ruined.
As if reading your mind, Harry spoke from behind you.
“I'm sorry, Moonshine. If it helps, we can start over again.”
Collecting yourself, you nodded and turned.
“Thank you. Let's get some lunch first, though.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You had a difficult time completely focusing on your work for the rest of the day. Part of you wanted Whiskey to come back and explain himself, but when he called you as you and Tequila had just escorted Harry back to his cell after the second session with the EEG, you just stared at the screen until the call went to voicemail. Tequila saw it but didn't say anything.
“I'm heading back to my room,” you told him and he nodded.
“Imma...stick around here for a bit,” he replied.
“Say goodnight to Harry from me,” you told him, with a small smile, and he averted his gaze. You hung the lab coat on a hook on the wall and waved at Tequila before heading out into the corridor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were on your way up the stairs when someone called your name from behind. You turned and saw Tonic heading towards you. His long legs made taking the stairs two steps at the time look unfairly easy.
“On your way home for the night?” he asked cheerfully, shaking a strand of hair from his face. You nodded and continued walking, with him falling into step beside you.
“Have you had a good day?” you asked, knowing how Tonic was partial to small-talk. He gave you a knowing smile as if he knew exactly what you were doing but he still answered your question.
“I have, thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't come with you for Harry's EEG but Ginger and I were working on the trauma folders all day. Got Jack's done today, by the way. Thought you might want to know.”
You halted in your step and swiveled your head around to face him.
“Whiskey had his trauma interview today?” you asked. Whiskey hadn't told you that was today. You had thought he would, considering you had been pestering him about getting it done ever since he was well enough after the accident. “Did...did it go okay?” you asked.
“As well as can be expected when we ask people to bring up painful memories,” Tonic replied, “We got through the interview and gave him the day off after that.”
You didn't immediately reply and Tonic, of course, noticed.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“He showed up when we were doing the EEG...Whiskey, I mean. He was angry and he yelled,” you explained and started walking again.
“Oh,” Tonic replied, “Sounds like you think the reaction was uncalled for.”
“It was,” you told him, “And I didn't get why he would yell at me like that but...
“But maybe it was my fault?” Tonic supplied, with a small smile.
“No, it's still his fault,” you protested, “He's a grown man. You don't treat people like that. But maybe he was extra sensitive or something because of the interview. He always worries that I'll get injured or that Harry will somehow end up hurting me, he just doesn't usually yell at me about it.”
“Ah...,” Tonic said, chewing his lip, “You know, after the afternoon he's had, I think a slightly over-protective streak is to be expected. I'm not saying that you should let him get away with behaving badly but...let's just say there's a bit of a reason for it that has nothing to do with you.”
“Are you saying I should talk to him?” you asked.
“Well, I am a bit partial to the talking,” Tonic joked, and opened the door to your corridor, “But I'm not telling you to do anything. Both Whiskey and you are adults and I am off the clock.”
You gave him a skeptical look.
“Neither of us is ever off the clock,” you said. He shrugged.
“Alright, fine! But I don't want to meddle in other people's relationships if I can avoid it. It tends to come back and bite me in the ass. And now I'm heading back to my apartment. Goodnight, Moonshine!“
“See you tomorrow, Tonic!” you said with a small wave. It was only after he'd left and the door behind him had closed when you realized that he'd insinuated that you and Whiskey were in a relationship. Were you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You'd already gone to bed when the phone rang again. It was Whiskey's name on the display. Tonic's words echoed in your head and on the next ring, you decided to pick up.
“Hello?” you said, a little hesitantly. You heard a loud sigh on the other end.
“Moonshine,” Whiskey said, relief evident in his voice.
“Hey...”
“Darlin', I'm a fool!” Whiskey stated and the softness with which he called you darlin' made your lip tremble slightly again. You closed your eyes and pressed the phone closer to your ear. “I shouldn't have yelled like that. Not at you.”
“No, you shouldn't have,” you agreed, speaking slowly to keep your voice steady.
Whiskey was silent for a couple of seconds before he spoke.
“Moonshine, I'm sorry.”
“I knew what I was doing...”
“I know you did.” You could hear the pleading in his voice. “You're the best damn doctor there is!”
“And I wasn't in any danger.”
“I know. I just...” You heard him swallow and let out a shaky breath. You sighed, feeling your annoyance drain away slightly.
“Tonic told me that you had your trauma interview today.
There was silence again before he slowly answered.
“I did.”
You cupped the phone with both your hands, suddenly wishing that he was here so you could see him and touch him.
“And are you okay?” you asked softly.
There was no reply. You pressed the phone closer to your ear and you could hear Whiskey's breathing. His breaths were sharp, uneven intakes of air. It was like a stab to your chest as well when you realized that Whiskey was crying.
“Whiskey...” you whispered, unsure what else to say.
“I'm okay, sweetheart,” he tried to assure you but you didn't feel very convinced. “Today's just been a day and a half as far as emotions go. Please ignore this, sugar. I was fixin' to apologize to you properly for bein' a shit earlier.”
“Well, you already called me the best damn doctor there is. I mean, I don't see how you're gonna top that, as far as apologies go,” you said, only half-joking. You heard Whiskey chuckle a little.
“I was thinkin’ dinner and dessert. Maybe a massage.”
“I've never gotten a massage,” you said, thoughtfully.
“Well, I'm quite good at them...” Whiskey drawled, nose sounding a little stuffed still but you could practically hear the smirk too.
“I could come over tomorrow,” you suggested.
“That would be perfect,” Whiskey agreed, “And Moonshine...I really am sorry.”
“I know.”
“And I realize that I'm in no position to bargain here but... you think I can ask you for a favor?”
“What favor?” you asked, but you were pretty sure you were gonna say yes, regardless.
“I think, as soon as I lay down, I'm gonna be minutes away from sleeping. Would you stay with me on the phone?” he asked and you almost suggested that you just come over instead, but Whiskey actually sounded as tired as he told you he was, and even if you left your room now, he'd probably be sleeping before you got there.
“Okay, I'll stay with you.”
“Tell me about your day,” he requested, “What did you do before I barged in?”
And so you did. You told him about breakfast and finding Tequila asleep in the office. Then you told him about Harry's EEG, explaining what it was and what you might find out from the data. Slowly but surely, you heard Whiskey's breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep.
“Goodnight, Whiskey,” you whispered quietly when you were sure he wouldn't miss you if you hung up. On impulse, you lifted the phone to your lips and pressed a kiss to the screen before you hung up.
Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespasta @beccaplaying @ohpedromypedro @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @knittingqueen13 @pedropascallion @scarlettvonsass @heatherbel @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @larakasser @fromthedeskoftheraven (as always, let me know if you wanna be added or released from the tag list)
notes: Special thanks to @yespolkadotkitty for being the best cheerleader and for helping me find the Whiskey voice when Ezra was a little too keen on coming out to play <3
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Chapter 5 - AO3
Over the next few weeks, the staff of the medical department slowly but surely began coming back to the HQ as more and more civilians recovered from the injuries they had sustained during what Whiskey had begun referring to as the Worldwide Freak Out. That meant things were picking up speed in the department and there was more and more admin work for you to do. You didn't really mind. It was nice to have more stuff to do again. But there was a small part of you that was a bit disappointed by the fact that more work meant less time spent with Whiskey.
The agent in question had, as soon as the cast on his leg had come off, been given a rigorously crafted schedule for physical exercise to get him back on track and back to working again as soon as possible. He took his training sessions very seriously and you suspected it was mostly in a desperate attempt to stay one step ahead of the boredom. There was an old (and faulty myth) that all sharks had to keep swimming or else they would die. If that statement had been true, Whiskey would have been one of those sharks. He didn't do stationary life very well.
After a while, you had started to keep him company on his training sessions, bringing a book to read while he excercised. He never asked you to work out with him, seemed perfectly content with just having you sit crosslegged in your scrubs on the mat closeby and read. However, most days, you didn't get as much reading done as you would have liked. There was something too fascinating about the cowboy agent stretching his body into various yoga poses while still wearing his Stetson. At least he was wearing actual workout pants and not his usual blue jeans, you had thought to yourself more than once.
Even though Whiskey was recovering remarkably well, the workouts took their toll on him and by the time the 20 minute mark rolled around, he was always a little paler than when he'd started and his hands trembled slightly as he accepted the water bottle that he always kept next to you.
The first time you'd told him that you wouldn't be able to keep him company for that day's training session because of other work, he'd looked so disappointed that you had immediately changed your mind, figuring that tomorrow was just as good for writing, if not better even. It took three more tries before you could actually hold your ground against his pleading eyes, though you suspected that a visit from Vermouth might also have made Whiskey dial down the wounded puppy look a bit. After that, you only joined him on Tuesdays and Fridays.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a little past lunch time. Your stomach had been complaining about the lack of food for the better part of an hour but you stubbornly ignored it in favor of finishing up your work.
You made a low but frustrated growl as you were interrupted by a knock on the door to your office.
“Come in!” you snapped, loud enough for the interruptor to hear through the door, but you continued typing on your keyboard. The door creaked as it opened.
“Whoa there, darlin', your mouth said enter but that tone of yours says maybe I shouldn't...” came the soft and slightly amused voice of Agent Whiskey. You quickly spun around in your chair to greet him.
“Whiskey!” you said, feeling something warm stir in your belly. Probably hunger. You smiled and a mirroring smile spread across his lips. He was leaning on his crutches and the slight slump to his shoulders told you that he was already tired, despite it only being mid day.
“Hiya, sugar. Am I interrupting something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, no. I was just finishing up,” you lied and waved him inside. As he hopped over to your desk, his eyes landed on the open document on the your screen, which was obviously nowhere near done. You quickly shut off the monitor. Whiskey didn't say anything, but the small smile on his lips looked smug.
“How are you feeling?” you asked, before he could comment on anything.
“Better now that I'm here,” he answered with a smarmy smile. You rolled your eyes at him.
“You do know that being in close proximity to a doctor isn't enough to heal you, right?” you teased.
“It's an hypothesis I'm willing to try,” he said in a dangerously low voice and leaned in. Your heart suddenly felt like it was beating in your throat, fast as a rabbit's. You knew that was physically impossible but swore that was what it felt like. Whiskey stopped, with a few inches to spare between your noses. “Hmm, as I suspected. Significantly better,” he said, with a grin.
“At what p-value?” you asked, voice barely more than a shrill whisper. Whiskey frowned.
“What?” he asked, his flirty smile giving way for confusion. You swallowed.
“You have to specify at what p-value the results are significant,” you explained.
“Oh, as high as it gets, honey,” Whiskey said, the flirty grin coming back with full force. You opened your mouth to protest but before you have a chance to, Whiskey pulled back and you could breathe again.
“I actually had a reason for coming over here, besides to interrupt your work,” Whiskey went on and leaned his hip against your desk.
Your voice still wasn't quite back to normal so you just raised your eyebrows as a response. Whiskey lowered his gaze, picked a little the handle of his crutch before looking up at you again.
“See I was hopin' that maybe you would let me make you dinner tomorrow night...”
You blinked. “Why?”
“Why?” he echoed.
“I mean, yes. That would be nice...Thank you.”
Whiskey beamed before chuckling.
“Well aren't you polite.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall, “I should get going, I have a meeting with Champ soon and it's gonna take me at least 15 minutes to hobble over there. But tomorrow it is!”
You nodded.
“Oh, and Moonshine?” he added.
“Yes?” you asked.
“No scrubs tomorrow, alright. This ain't a work-meeting.”
And with that, he left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You stood outside of Whiskey's door the next evening and you didn't think you had ever felt this uncomfortable in your life. You had told Ginger about the dinner plans, the day before. She had offered to help you with the clothes and had then dragged you off to the Statesmen warderobe, where they held all the clothes that had been bought and used for various previous missions. You had told Ginger that you had perfectly good clothes in your room but she had just looked you up and down before simply stating that “Not for this occasion, you don't”. She hadn't specified what kind of occasion that was. And, standing outside of Whiskey's apartment in a pair of blue jeans that were so tight they might as well have been painted on and wearing a gray top with a neckline that plunged so low that open heart surgery could probably have been performed on you without having to remove the top, you still weren't sure just what kind of occasion you had been dressed for.
Your sternum felt cold. You didn't think you had ever worn a shirt that made your sternum cold. You pulled a little on the fabric, feeling awkward, before reaching up to knock on the door.
Whiskey could be heard hopping on his crutches on the other side of the door.
“Moonshine, you're just in t...” Whiskey began as he pushed the door open but then he just stopped. His mouth fell open slightly and he just stared. You felt like turning around to run. Whiskey was wearing a clean white buttondown shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with his usual pair of jeans. He looked nice but he still looked like himself. Unlike you.
You waited patiently for the rest of Whiskey's sentence but it never came. You were a little tempted to wave your hand in front of him, just to make sure time hadn't stopped. But you could hear the radio playing somewhere in his apartment so it must just be you that were giving him pause.
“Hi,” you said, trying to help him back to the present, and it worked. Whiskey closed his mouth and gave you a warm smile.
“Sorry, darlin'. It just caught this ol' cowboy by surprise seeing you in clothes other than those scrubs of yours.”
“You told me I wasn't allowed to wear them,” you reminded him.
“I did. And knowing you, I figured there was about a 50% chance that you would listen,” Whiskey laughed and took a small hop forward to give you a swift kiss of the cheek. His cheek was clean-shaven and smooth against yours and he was wearing cologne. “Welcome, sugar, I'm glad you could make it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Is something the matter, darlin'?”
You stilled in your seat and stopped fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt as you were trying to make sure that is was still covering all the bits it was supposed to cover, even after you had reached for another piece of the truly amazing chicken that Whiskey had cooked for you.
You didn't immidiately answer. Didn't want to complain. Whiskey had prepared a fantastic meal, and had even brought out candles and a tablecloth for the occasion. He'd entertained you with stories from his travels and if there was anything agent Whiskey was good at, it was telling a good story. Normally, you would have been completely entralled, but tonight you couldn't quite focus. And Whiskey had noticed.
“You've been pulling at that shirt of yours for the better part of the evening,” he continued when you didn't answer him, “And while that would usually be enough to drive any man crazy, I feel like I should ask... would you be more comfortable in a different shirt? I'd be more than happy to lend you something.”
You only hesitated for a second before nodding, feeling a little bit like a child by the fact that you apparently couldn't even dress yourself for one night out of your scrubs. Whiskey only seemed pleased by your answer, however, and he stood from the table and gestured for you to follow him into the bedroom.
You had never been in Whiskey's bedroom last time you were here so now you seized the opportinity to look around. The better part of the room was taken up by a huge bed, with a wooden bedframe that almost looked homemade. The sheets were dark blue and the bed was meticulously made. Atop of one of the bedposts hung his lasso. There was wooden closet pushed up against one of the walls and it matched the material of the bedframe. A pair of brown cowboy boots hade been kicked off into one of the corners and on a hook on the wall hung a bathrobe with the pattern of the american flag. It looked soft. The whole room was so Whiskey it was almost hilarious. The only things missing would have been a small bar and a hat rack full of Stetsons.
Whiskey emerged from the closet with a simple white t-shirt that he held up for your inspection.
“Will this fit the lady's preferences?” he asked and you nodded without really looking. Any shirt would be better than the uncomfortable mess you were currently wearing. Whiskey handed you the shirt with a teasing grin.
“I suppose sticking around to make sure is out of the question?”
You snatched the shirt from his hand and held it to your chest as you slapped his arm with your other hand. Whiskey just laughed.
“I'll be out in the kitchen then. Just holler if you need me,” he said with a wink before disappearing from the room and closing the door behind him. You waited for a few seconds, not entirely trusting that he wouldn't conveniently remember something that he just had to tell you now, before you changed.
The t-shirt was about a 100 times more comfortable than your own top and you no longer had to worry about any bodyparts escaping whe you moved. The shirt also smelled of Whiskey, which you had to admit, was an added bonus, even if you weren't sure exactly why.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After dinner, you helped Whiskey clean up. Not because he asked you but because you had noticed his shoulders beginning to slump from overexertion by the end of the meal, even though he put on a brave face trying to cover it up.
He protested when you told him you'd do the dishes, but you could hear that he only half meant it and when you began filling up the sink with water, he just picked up a towel and told you that he'd help dry the things you cleaned.
You didn't talk much while you worked and it was quite nice. You caught Whiskey watching you out of the corner of his eye more than once and every time you assured him that it's fine and that you didn't mind doing the dishes.
“That's not...” he began but he didn't finish the sentence and you didn't push.
When the dishes were done, Whiskey told you that he'd be walking you back to your room. This time it was your turn to protest, telling him that it was fine, that you could find your way home on your own and that he should rest instead.
“I'm walking you back to your room,” Whiskey told you again, in a voice that left zero room for discussion. You knew a lost cause when you saw one and so you just sighed.
“Fine, but don't complain to me when you're tired and sore tomorrow.”
“Don't make promises you can't keep, sugar,” was Whiskey's only reply and you frowned, not quite understanding what he meant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It took twice as long for you to walk back to your room with Whiskey, as it had taken to walk over to his place without him. Whiskey's jaw was tightly clenched as he slowly limped forward with his crutches. You stopped and pretended that you had to retie your shoelaces, twice, to give him short breaks that you knew he would refuse to ask for.
When you reached the door to your room, his lips were almost worryingly pale, but when he saw your frown he gave you a warm smile.
“Don't start working just yet, darlin'. You're still off the clock,” he said.
“Your lips are very pale,” you told him.
“Maybe they're just cold?” he countered, with a pout. You rolled your eyes and shook your head with a smile.
“Goodnight, Whiskey. This was really nice,” you said instead, and you meant it. This had been a really great evening and you were glad that he had invited you over, even if the doctor part of your brain wished that he hadn't made such a fuzz and instead had opted for something simpler that required less energy from him. Whiskey smiled softly at you.
“It was, wasn't it...” He trailed off, looking like he wanted to say something more.
“What?” you prompted him and he looked up and met your gaze. His impossibly soft brown eyes held your eyes for a moment before he looked down with an almost shy smile.
“Oh darlin', I'm just debating whether or not to push my luck this evening,” he said but you were still confused. This wasn't quite following the usual script for saying goodnight.
“Moonshine,” Whiskey said, his voice unusually serious as he leaned forward slightly on his crutches, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the plastic of the handles, “Tonight has been magical and I'm fully aware I should pull in my horns before I get greedy... but Honey...Darlin...you know I'm sweet on ya and... a better man than me would wish you sweet dreams and walk away. But I'm not that better man and I can't help but hope for just a little more...”
“Oh?” you said, blinking. You know I'm sweet on ya... You know I'm sweet on ya... You knew Whiskey was fond of you, that he cared for you. He'd shown that in a hundred different ways. But that kind of fondness wasn't what he was confessing to now, if his whole body language and the hestitation behind every word was anything to go by. No, this was something else, something more, and he thought you already knew. You felt a little lightheaded.
“A little more of what?” you asked, just to be sure, and Whiskey let out a breath you hadn't noticed he'd been holding. A hopeful smile began spreading across his lips.
“Well, with lips like those, maybe a kiss would be a good place to start?” he suggested and your stomach did a flip.
“I've never kissed anyone before,” you said and it came out sounding almost a bit hostile, like you were daring Whiskey to make the wrong comment in response. You'd seen other people's reactions when you'd previously mentioned your lack of experience and while you weren't entirely sure exactly what response you did want from him, you knew that pity wasn't it.
Whiskey looked surprised for a moment but then he quickly recovered.
“I'd be thrilled as any man can be to be your first, if you'd let me,” he said.
You nodded and stepped forward, figuring that since he was the injured one, he should get to remain stationary for this. Besides, you knew... in theory, how this was done. Whiskey made a surprised laugh when you gripped the front of his shirt with both hands to pull him in those last couple of inches. The laugh was cut short when your mouth pressed against his.
His lips were soft as velvet and the mustache tickled your upper lip. There was a deafening clatter in the empty corridor as one of Whiskey's crutches fell to the floor. A second later, his hand curved around the back of your neck and his lips began moving against yours. An unfamiliar heat pooled low in your belly and you gripped Whiskey's shirt a little tighter to steady yourself.
When you both finally pulled back, an eternity and at the same time not long enough later, Whiskey looked at you as if you'd hung the Moon.
“How was that?” he asked and, despite the cocksure smile on his face, there was a faint note of genuine worry to his tone of voice.
“I would like to do that again sometime,” you told him. Whiskey beamed and the smile was bright enough that it could probably have lit up all of Kentucky. He leaned in for another, and to your disappointment, much quicker kiss.
“I'd be happy to help with that,” he said when he pulled back. Your cheeks felt warm and somehow you knew that if you didn't go inside your room now, you'd ask Whiskey to come with you and he was not well enough for that.
So you blurted out a quick goodnight and before Whiskey could get a reply in, you hurried into your room and closed the door. With your ear pressed against the metal, you thought you could hear a faint chuckle before Whiskey left.
You reached up to touch your lips. You just kissed Whiskey.
