Work Text:
Sol leaves through the emergency room. He likes to sneak through that way, see if he can catch any trauma that might make him feel better about himself, maybe one of those suburban dads who’s cut his hand open slicing a bagel. “They slice ‘em for you at the deli,” Sol mutters to himself as he clips down the stairs toward the ER. “All you’ve gotta do is ask, you great moth.”
Disappointment: The ER’s quiet as the tomb. Not a soul in sight except the roving personnel. In one corner, the seats are moved to make way for the floor buffer. This whole city, and no one could be bothered to cheer Sol up by taking a header off a homemade skate ramp? Fucking rude.
“Mr. Tozer?”
Sol blinks and finds himself addressed by Dr. Goodsir, who cocks his head askew and adds, “I hope I’m not mistaken.”
“No,” Sol tells him. “No, it’s me. Nice to see you.”
“Were you leaving?”
“Huh. Sure.” He gestures to the empty waiting area. “Never seen it this quiet.”
Dr. Goodsir smiles his appealing little smile. Sol’s never been one to crush on a figure of authority, but he’d very much like to show Dr. G a good time and see what else gets him smiling like that. The doctor says to him, “It gets this way sometimes. There’ll be a rush before long. I was about to get some air before that happens. Will you join me?”
Sol answers, “I wouldn’t put you out,” but he’s already following Dr. Goodsir out the large sliding doors. It’s windy outside, and Sol puts his hood up but Dr. G seems unruffled as he nestles his hands into the pockets of his scrub top and thumps his head back against the brick wall, the image of relief and relaxation. He says to Sol, “I hope you’re not here for anything serious.”
“Not’t all. The usual, a check-in. All well.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” He examines Sol with a keen eye from his distance away. His gaze rakes him from hairline to navel. “Have you had any other procedures?”
“Not a one.”
“No? Nothing cosmetic? Abdominal sculpting, shoulder implants?”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Good.”
“You made that second one up.”
“I wish I were that clever.”
“No,” Sol reassures him. “I’m organic.”
Again, Dr. Goodsir says, “Let’s keep it that way.” They lapse into companionable silence before Dr. Goodsir asks, “What do you do for a job these days then, Mr. Tozer? You look as though you could rake gravel.”
“Aye,” Sol laughs, “I have done, at that. But no, these days, Dr. Goodsir, I make pornography.”
“Jesus.” Dr. G flinches as though he’s been zapped. “Really? Seems awfully high-risk.”
Sol rankles at that and corrects him, “Well, I’m not in any of it, like. I own the company. I’m behind the camera, you know?”
This time, the silence is more contemplative. Sol finds himself missing a cigarette something terrible. He’d love to be moving his hands. “Do you know, I’ve never thought about that?” Dr. Goodsir confesses at last. He holds his own hands up and mimes snapping a photograph. “Of course someone must be operating the camera. Imagine.” He turns his puzzled gaze back to Sol. “Do you enjoy it?”
“I do.” If he’s honest, Sol’s never given it a second thought. What else was he ever going to do? He hasn’t the constitution for activism, not like Sophia or Bill Heather; stepping foot in a university would open a portal to hell; offices won’t hire him on account of his unbridled sexual magnetism. It had to be porn. Porn or the rodeo circuit. He reaffirms, “I like it. Rather have these people working for me than someone else. I know what they’re worth, and I didn’t pilfer any of them out of shipping crates.” He and Dr. Goodsir wince together at that. Poor taste. “Anyway,” Sol adds, “I couldn’t have done it without you, doctor. Like it or not, you made me legitimate. Nobody trusts a man on the stop.”
“Do they not?”
“Truly.”
“Then I’m pleased to have helped, Solomon.”
“You can call me Sol, if you like.”
“And you can call me Harry.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Sol extends his hand, and Harry grasps it and returns the pleasantry. Distantly, an ambulance siren wails, headed their direction. “You know,” Sol tacks on, “my door’s always open. You’re quite fit, doctor. Handsome, too.”
Dr. Goodsir scoffs and shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, Mr. Tozer, that’s just what I’ll do,” he says as he pushes himself away from the wall. “In between procedures, when I’m finished pulling six bullets or the like out of whoever it is being brought here on that bus, I’ll be sure to pop by and make some pornography with you.”
“Perfect,” Sol grins. “Heavenly. Divine.” Sol zips his hoodie up. “Lovely seeing you again, doc. Don’t be a stranger.”
“No,” says Dr. Goodsir. “Please know the same applies to you.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Sol feels as though he should take Harry’s hand and kiss it. Anything to show his affection, his appreciation. Instead he fishes his car keys out of his pocket and adds, “It’s Fagin Productions. My company. In case you’re ever tempted.”
Harry makes a noncommittal noise and then scuttles back into the building. Sol watches him go, feeling quite accomplished.