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"Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great."
- Roger de Bussy-Rasbutin
i.
He knows who he is, knows what he stands for. Knows all too well the world isn’t black and white, oceans of tumultuous grey stretch out in between. More often than not, he finds himself caught in that grey, desperately keeping his head above water long enough to swim back to the white. He knows he will always strive to be good, knows it in his heart that he’ll always try to do right.
And yet, here he stands, heart beating heavy against his chest, eyes tracing the empty space where his boss (and former girlfriend) stood a few moments ago. Her words hang in the air, his empty office offering nothing to brush them away.
A favouritism complaint. The words feel sour and flagrant on his tongue.
It is only now, with Audrey’s absence, he is able to process. Betrayal washes over him first, clinging onto his heart and snaking its way into his mind. It’s quickly replaced by shock, a confused sort of shock, his mind a few steps behind the ongoing predicament he now finds himself in.
“We need to deal with this Neil.” Her words echo around him.
The shock is driven away by bewilderment. Deal with what? There is no issue and the notion of his professionalism being questioned jerks his whole world from beneath him. He perches on the edge of his desk to steady himself, his office spinning around him.
Guilt ebbs at his mind, not because he’s done anything wrong (he hasn’t) but he knows that a rumoured romance with a superior is not going to look good for her. The thought twists his stomach. His friendship with Claire is so good, the idea of outsiders speculating on it feels wholly wrong.
Lifting his head, he grasps at something to calm his whirling thoughts. Through the glass between his office and the resident’s lounge, he sees his team. Their most recent patient’s information is pinned on the whiteboard and he knows that they are already trying to find a solution. Park is stood with papers in his hands, shifting between the scans that had been taken this morning. Morgan paces up and down, her mouth moving rapidly, verbally expressing her thoughts as usual. Murphy is leafing through a medical book, withdrawn like he usually is, but working just as hard as the rest of them.
And then there’s Claire.
She fiddles with her hands in her lap as she sits back on the sofa, quietly observing. He supposes most doctors would see her calm demeanour as lack of care but he knows. Knows she is good, knows she never falls into the grey. Knows of the fiery passion that flows through her veins, knows her heart is pure. Knows she will go further than any of them to do right.
Stumbling over his thoughts, he abruptly gets up from the edge of his desk and sits back down in his chair, his eyes scanning over the same patient information his residents are already so diligently discussing.
His eyes flicker back up; he sees her curls, the furrow of her brow, can practically feel her frustration as she thinks.
His heart skips a beat.
ii.
It is during an operation as she challenges him on some debate or other, her surgical mask covering half her face, that he realises how bright her eyes are. It catches him off guard and he almost stumbles over his words.
Almost. But he is used to her defiance by now; he sees the press of her lips and is already preparing his argument. He secretly revels in their dance; she is all fire and his life needs a little spice.
A quip is ready on the tip of his tongue and he watches as her eyes light up. She retorts and he is ready to give in, to admit that her point of view is correct, when he is suddenly aware of Park at his side.
A favouritism complaint. Audrey’s words ring clear and crisp in his mind.
He agrees with Park instead. The colours in her eyes go dim, her confusion is visible. Her argument is strong, his change of heart is sudden. He sees her deciding whether to push further or not but eventually elects to keep quiet.
Later, when the day ends and he’s walking to his car, he sees her. Their gaze meets and he can’t help but try and pinpoint the exact shade of her eyes. It’s a hopeless task, he realises. They’re a million different hues, fragments of her soul overlapping to form a beauty nobody could reduce into a simple word.
She utters goodnight and he is pulled back into reality. There is tension between them, she knows he is trying to keep his distance. He nods in return and watches as she walks away. He wants to stop her, he wants to close this chasm that has formed between them. (there is a pain in his chest and she is his cure)
Instead, he gets in his car and drives home. It is a struggle to fall asleep that night, hours of tossing and turning before he eventually drifts off.
He dreams of the ocean.
iii.
There’s a serenity in the early hours that doesn’t come at any other time of day. It’s still busy, of course, it always is. There’s never a quiet moment but that’s what he loves about his job. It keeps him occupied, he doesn’t have time to be complacent.
But as he hovers at the door of his patient’s room, watching Claire entertain the nine year old girl, he wonders what it would be like if he slowed down once in a while. Neither of them have noticed him yet, both are too busy laughing to pay attention to anything except each other.
He wants to politely interrupt, smile kindly at the girl and explain that she has a few scans later today. The words get caught in his throat.
Claire brushes a few curls out her face and makes a joke (an awful, awful joke that still somehow has him smiling), another laugh tumbling out of her mouth. He thinks of daisies, bright and beautiful, swaying in a summer breeze, blooming exquisitely in the golden glow of the sun.
He thinks about before, when his jokes was directed at her. Every time they engaged in conversation, he had made it his own personal mission to coax a laugh out of her (he loved the honey sweet taste of her happiness).
The girl catches sight of him first and shoots him a toothy grin, wrapping his heart in warmth. Claire turns, her smile fading fast as they make eye contact. She stands to attention, a little awkwardly, shifting to one side so he has room to address the patient.
He clears his throat and delivers the information. Claire chimes in every now and then and he can’t help but notice her gentle smile as she talks. He wishes it was directed at him but he knows she is still hurt, knows it because he is hurting too. Guilt tugs at his gut.
It isn’t his fault, he reminds himself. He is doing this for them, for her. He needs to prove that he is capable of being impartial, that he doesn’t have favourites, that there isn’t an issue (there isn’t).
Claire finishes talking and shimmies out the room before he can process. The sudden absence of her is a blow so strong, he is still reeling.
After saying goodbye to the little girl, he leaves the room and heads for his office. He hears her laughter down the corridor, mingling with the voices of his team.
He doesn’t have an issue (he really doesn’t) but in this moment, it feels as though the whole world is crumbling at his feet, a direct result of his mistakes.
The rest of the day is a blur. He is heading out when he receives news that the little girl (her name, he learns, was Olivia) passed away mere minutes ago. More updates are shot his way and he barely remembers to acknowledge them before the nurse continues with her shift. The loss hits him harder than most. He feels like throwing up but instead, he finds an empty storage cupboard and cries until his eyes are red and his head is dizzy.
iv.
He all but collapses into himself as he slows, erupting into a coughing fit. Hands on knees, head hanging low, bent forwards, deep shaky breaths. His heart races.
Moments pass and his breathing eases. He draws the cold night air into his lungs, the oxygen whizzing through his blood. It does nothing to calm his beating heart. He wonders for a moment how much of that is due to his running, wonders how much is due to Claire.
He has been struggling to find his usual rhythm as of late; he is always a step out of time, his movements feel awkward. For a brief moment, he wishes he hadn’t introduced her into his routine because now, he can’t feel settled without her.
The thought vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared. Things might be complex right now but he feels no regret. Those moments with her were worth it.
He just needs to figure out how to shake her off without leaving himself hollow inside.
v.
Of course it is her that solves the problem, that steers him right when he is hopelessly lost. She pushes into his space with no hesitation, with no higher motive. With anyone else, that level of intimacy would be frightening but with her - it fits just right.
“It’s not who you are. At least, it’s not who I thought you were.” Her words overpower Lim’s, overpower his own. The universe realigns itself and he feels a peace that only seems to appear with her presence.
Two menus. He knows without a doubt that he’s doing the right thing.
And it is only then, with her by his side, his mind clear and his plan concise, that he realises it. Realises with such a start, his heart stumbles. He lets himself look at her, drags his dark eyes over her figure, her curls, the scrunch of her nose as she deliberates between the salmon and the steak. Feels his heart start up again, feels it thunder traitorously against his tattooed chest.
Perhaps there is an issue.
Her focus swivels onto him and she throws out some witty remark, her lips scrunched up into a smirk, knowing just how to draw out his smile.
And maybe, he thinks, a rumble of happiness bubbling from deep within him, his laugh loud and warm, having an issue about Claire Browne is not such a bad thing.