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When Hannah woke, it was with a start, and the terrible feeling, from deep inside her bones, that something was terribly wrong.
This wasn't her bed.
Her bed was a perfectly normal size queen, cosy with a lilac comforter, extra throw pillows to make a comfortable den for reading or just to make her smile after a long day at work. This bed, on the other hand, was enormous, a California king if she didn't miss her guess, thin white coverlet, brown plush headboard. Comfortable looking blue chair off to her right, what looked like her clothes spread across it. White bookshelves against the wall on either side of the bed, chest of drawers and wardrobes against the far wall.
This was not her bedroom, not her apartment.
She shook her head, pushed her hair back from her face, took a deep steadying breath in the hopes that it would calm her racing heart. No such luck, but sitting up had made her realise that she was, at the very least, clothed. A t-shirt, she saw looking down, plain black, soft and well worn. Absolutely swimming on her. Not hers, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered. Not a woman's t-shirt. But whose?
Dimly, she became aware of noises beyond the room. Music. And a smell, almost like eggs. No, not almost. Definitely eggs. And fainter, beyond that, coffee.
Someone was making breakfast?
Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet sinking into plush carpet. Wiggling her toes to ground herself, she stood up slowly, surprised to find herself steady on her feet. Nor, she realised, was there any pounding in her head, any tell tale signs that last night she'd fallen off the wagon and gone home with someone. She felt completely fine, completely sober.
She just had no memory of where she was or how she got here.
Slowly, carefully, she made her way towards the door, down the hallway to the top of the stairs. The walls, the pictures hanging there, gave her no clues as to who might live here... plenty of landscapes and seascapes, no ornaments or knickknacks on side tables that might help out either. Walking down the stairs, she held the banister in a death grip, finally able to place the music as classic 80s rock, Bon Jovi singing about giving love a bad name.
Well, whoever it was, at least they had good taste in music.
Then she got to the end of the stairs, looked around the corner and the man she saw at the stove had her throat seizing up from shock.
Tall and thin, rangy even. Wearing a navy blue t-shirt, creased and crumpled like it had just been picked up from the floor, with loose, plaid pyjama pants and bare feet. Hair tousled and rumpled, like someone had been running their fingers through it. And when he turned to look at her, blue eyes lit up in a smile that curled his lips through his beard.
"Hey, sleepyhead." Dean greeted her like there was no mystery about her being in his house at this hour of the morning, like it was completely usual for her to be there, for him to be making her breakfast. "I thought you were angling for breakfast in bed..." His voice shut off, the light disappearing from his eyes, replaced with a look of alarm. "Hannah? Hannah!"
That last was probably something to do with the look that was on Hannah's face, because she was pretty sure she could feel the blood draining from it. When she managed to choke out his name, her voice, even to her own ears, sounded strained and hoarse. Or maybe that was because of the sudden buzzing that she could hear, growing louder as darkness danced at the edges of her vision. She put her hand out to steady herself, the wall cool underneath her palm and she was dimly aware of a beeping noise, then the clatter of cookware and then there was a pair of strong hands curling around her biceps, a muttered oath and then one arm was around her back, the other under her knees and she was weightless, head lolling against Dean's shoulder, his heartbeat rapid near her ear.
"I've got you." His voice, firm and familiar from the ED, was soft in a way she'd never heard before. "You're okay." She tried to take a deep breath and it came out as a shallow whoop. Which was a little alarming, reminding her of the last time she'd ODed, back before she'd left Chicago, back when things were falling apart with Will. But she still didn't feel like she'd taken anything, and besides, amnesia had never been a side effect before. "You're okay," he told her again and then she was being lowered onto something soft and comfortable, and Dean's arm was still around her shoulders as she felt him sit down beside her. "Breathe," he instructed, gentle fingers brushing her hair back behind her ears, then moving down to loosely circle her wrist. He was taking her pulse, she realised, and from the way he growled, she figured it was almost as rapid as his heartbeat. "You need to breathe for me, Hannah... in through the nose, out through the mouth, all right? Come on..."
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on slowing her breathing, counting to four and holding just like she'd mastered in so many hours of therapy. Eventually it worked and when she opened her eyes, Dean was still there, she was still in his house and his arm was still around her shoulders. "Hey." He recovered his voice first, a curl to his lips but a dozen questions in that one syllable. "You back with me?"
She sucked in a shaking breath. "What am I doing here?"
If he'd looked alarmed when she'd come down the stairs, it was nothing compared to the look on his face when he heard those words. "What are you..." His brow furrowed. "Sweetheart, you live here."
Once again, there was a faint buzzing in Hannah's ears, whether from the statement or the epithet she wasn't sure. Sitting or not, the world seemed to tilt around her and she fought with everything she had to stay upright. "You don't even like me most of the time." She spoke without thinking and the words made Dean look at her like she'd lost her mind. Which, honestly? Would explain a lot.
Then his frown deepened and she saw it happen, saw him change personas in an instant, from Dean to Doctor Archer. "What date is it?" he asked and when she told him, he swallowed hard. Before she could ask, though, he answered her question. "Hannah, that was four years ago."
An icy shiver made its way down Hannah's spine. "What?" Her eyes flooded with tears and Dean looked dismayed.
"We're going to get to the bottom of this." He shifted on the couch, took both her hands in his and squeezed. "Okay?" Much to her surprise, she found herself nodding. This was the Dean Archer his patients saw, the confident, assured doctor who had the answers to all their questions. She could definitely see the appeal right now. "We're going to get dressed... head into Med. Get a full work up. Go from there."
"Okay." Her voice only shook a little. "Okay."
"Good." Another squeeze of her hands and then he was standing, pulling her up with him, inclining his head in the direction of the stairs. She went willingly, blindly, and she didn't miss how he didn't drop her hand until they got to the bottom of the stairs, gesturing to her to go up first.
Dean was right behind her until they were in the bedroom, then he moved to the closets, wrenching one open and pulling out a shirt and jeans. Hannah was struck forcefully by the realisation that she didn't have a clue where any of her clothes were and Dean must have come to the same conclusion because he paused when he closed the closet door. "Ah... your clothes are all in here." He pointed to the next closet over, slightly bigger than the one he was standing in front of. He gestured to a dresser on the other side of the room. "And your underwear is in the top drawer there." Hannah's gaze swung around and she couldn't help it, she felt her cheeks turning brick red at the idea of discussing her underwear with Dean Archer. Something uncertain flickered across his face and he cleared his throat. "I'll change in the spare bedroom."
He stopped at the dresser he'd just pointed out to her and, guessing what he was going to get, Hannah started to make her way across the room to the closet. Sure enough, when she opened it up, she saw a mix of pieces she recognised and some which were brand new. Everything was her style though, undeniably hers. She didn't put too much thought into it, selecting a pair of blue jeans, fingers closing over the first sweater she came to, a light knit in a pale camel colour. Dropping them on the bed, making sure she was alone, she next pulled open the top drawer of the dresser. What she found there made her blink in surprise. Oh, there were the kind of sports bras and plain bras and panties that she habitually wore. The fancy, lacy sets though? The kind that were worn specifically to be taken off? They were new.
New to her, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. Not to Dean.
She had to sit down for a moment to catch her breath.
Somehow, she'd forgotten four years of her life. Four years where she'd apparently fallen in love with Dean Archer. A man who, as far as she remembered, barely tolerated her. How? And why? And, dear God, how?
Well, she told herself firmly, sitting here shaking wasn't going to get her any answers. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she stood, dressing quickly, finding toiletries and her hairbrush in the master bath. The simple act of brushing her hair and splashing water on her face made her feel marginally more human as she made her way down the stairs, finding Dean waiting for her. He was already wearing his coat, had hers over one arm, a purse resting on the hall table beside him which he waved to when he saw her looking. "This is yours," he said, a trifle unnecessarily as far as Hannah was concerned. "I peeked, your wallet and cell are still inside from yesterday." She blinked and he must have thought she meant something she didn't because he added quickly, "You usually don't mind when I do that... I probably shouldn't-"
"It's fine." Hannah didn't have to try too hard to muster a smile. "I mean, I am always losing my keys..."
Dean actually snickered, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, trust me, I know." Hannah's jaw dropped a little at that, either from the familiarity of the knowledge or the teasing way he said it, she wasn't sure. Before she could think about it any more, he was already turning away, grabbing a set of keys from the dish on the hall table beside him. Another set of keys lay there and Hannah realised with a start that they must be hers. "You ready?" Dean asked her, his voice sounding very far away, and Hannah blinked, dragging her eyes back to him.
"Let's go."
Once they were in the car, Hannah settled back on the seat and closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths. This was okay, she told herself. She was on her way to Med. They knew her there. Liked her even. Someone would be able to help her, to figure out what was going on with her. They might even be able to fill in a few gaps, answer some of the many questions that she had. This was good. Another deep breath and she opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the car's touchscreen, the GPS map taking up most of the display, on the top right the little icon to show that a cell phone was connected. And above that, two words that made her freeze. Again.
Hannah's Phone
“My phone automatically connects to your car?”
“Well, mine's not going to.” Dean didn’t take his eyes off the road but she could hear laughter in his voice, just like when he'd teased her about losing her keys, but more so. Almost like this was a conversation that they'd had before. And even if she couldn't remember those conversations, his words did remind her of something else.
"So you're still using that antique brick you had when we first met?"
"Hey, I can take calls and send messages, what more do I need?" He waved his right hand in the direction of the console. "Besides, you like playing your music when we drive. It’s part of your ongoing mission to indoctrinate me into the Cult of the Holy Church of the Swifties.”
To her surprise, Hannah found herself laughing at that. Less than an hour ago, it had felt like she’d never laugh again, but the idea of her introducing Dean Archer, of all people, to the wonders of Taylor Swift certainly qualified for a laugh of amazement, if not downright shock. “And how is that going for me?”
Dean shrugged the shoulder nearest to her. “I will concede that some of her songs may not be terrible.” While the expression “damning with faint praise” came immediately to mind, knowing Dean, Hannah decided to take that as a win. “However, I did manage to get you to enjoy a Stevie Nicks concert last year, so I think it’s honours even there.”
Slowly, Hannah reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, startled at the wallpaper that she saw there. It was a picture of her and Dean, her tucked into his side, his arm slung around her shoulders, her arms around his waist. They were both in short sleeved shirts, Hannah in a pair of shorts and the Hollywood sign gleamed white in the background against the blue sky. What really struck Hannah, though, was the look on both their faces. Smiling for the camera, wide grins like they’d both been caught mid laugh.
They looked happy.
“That was a good day.” Dean’s voice broke through her thoughts. Her head snapped in his direction and she realised he was looking down at the phone screen as the car idled at a stoplight. “Your friend Katie was getting married… we went for a week, did the wedding, you showed me all the places you loved when you lived out there.” He chuckled as his gaze moved back to the road. “You insisted you were going to get me to do one touristy thing when we were there; Griffith Observatory was the least worst option.”
Hannah nodded, but couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, a crazy mixture of emotion and confusion as this strange reality crashed over her again. How could she have forgotten four whole years of her life? And how the hell could she be involved with Dean Archer, of all people? He’d made her life miserable when she’d first started at Med, undercutting her at every turn, to say nothing of the weekly drug tests he insisted upon. Yet, she had to admit that his calm, take charge attitude was actually helpful here - left to her own devices, she was pretty sure she’d be spiralling badly right now.
Angling her phone to get a better look at the picture initialised the face recognition and, wallpaper aside, it didn’t look that different to the phone that she remembered using. Scrolling through, she found her Spotify app and opened it up and sure enough, there were playlists there that she’d never seen before, one of them with the title of “Stevie Nicks.” Clicking into it, the music shifted into a song that was vaguely familiar, full of 80s drum beats and Dean hummed, a sound that was vaguely approving. “Edge of Seventeen” he said, correctly identifying the song before adding, “That’s my favourite.”
“Really?” It was the first one on the playlist so she’d evidently gone to that one first when building the playlist. So she must have known it was his favourite, picked it on purpose. She’d made this playlist with him in mind.
“Your preference is for Rooms on Fire,” he told her and, sure enough, that was the second song on the list. The third made her blink, even as he continued, “And she does a cover version of Crash into Me that you’ve been known to warble along to once or twice.”
She lifted one eyebrow at the tone of his voice, light and teasing. A glance over at him showed that his lips were curling up, his eyes almost dancing. “Are you making fun of my singing?”
“Of course not.” The reply was too quick, too facile. Then, a beat. “Singing implies a tune.”
Her jaw dropping, Hannah nonetheless didn't miss that he looked highly amused, delighted in fact. It was a side to Dean Archer that she never remembered seeing before, one that was so at odds with the curmudgeonly hard-ass that she was familiar with. She'd be lying if she said she didn't like it though. In fact, she rather thought she could like this Dean Archer very much indeed.
That thought had her leaning back in her seat, chewing her lip thoughtfully until they arrived at Med.
"What brings you two in here?" Maggie's voice is faintly amused, if not a little curious. "You're both supposed to be off today."
Dean made a noise deep in his throat that Hannah was very familiar with, something akin to a growl. "That was before Hannah woke up unable to remember the last four years."
It wasn't often that Maggie Lockwood was stopped in her tracks. That did it. Her eyes flitted between Dean and Hannah, concern and curiosity warring within. "Wait... seriously?"
There was that growl again. "I'm not inclined to joke about something like this."
Before Hannah could turn to Dean and admonish him, Maggie was already in charge nurse mode. "Okay, you take trauma three, I'll be in with someone." She looked around. "Doctor Ripley, we need you over here."
As Dean's hand on her back guided her to the treatment room, Hannah's gaze scanned the busy ED, looking for familiar faces. There were plenty of nurses there that she remembered, Doris and Trini and Nancy, X-Ray Mike was moving around too. But as for the doctors... she couldn't see any that she recognised. Her stomach flipped.
It flipped again when she was lying on the bed and the doctor who was going to treat her arrived in, Maggie at his side. "Hannah." He looked concerned, sounded it too, his eyes dark. He was young, about Hannah's own age, tall and good looking with dark blonde hair and a frown that deepened when she showed no recognition. "You want to tell me what happened?"
Something about his tone told Hannah that they knew each other. Or at least, he knew her. He was looking at her with more worry than a doctor should look at a patient and she was suddenly very aware of Dean, not at her side, but standing at the end of the bed opposite Maggie and the doctor. He was glowering, never a good sign. All of which would explain why her first question was, "Who are you?" Followed closely by, "Where's Will? And Ethan?"
"They don't work here anymore." Maggie's hand was warm in hers, her voice equally calm and warm, though Hannah could see the concern in her eyes too. "But they're good... Ethan is running a service called Docs on Wheels with April... they got married. And Will is in Seattle. With Natalie."
Hannah closed her eyes for a second, almost dizzy with relief. "They got a happy ending," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else but Maggie heard her, tightened her grip on her hand.
"You all did." When Hannah looked up at her friend though, Maggie wasn't looking down at her. Instead, she was looking across the cubicle at Dean. Dean, who was now standing at the curtain, his eyes fixed on Hannah, one arm across his stomach, finger clenched in a knuckle white fist, his other hand pulling at his lip. "This is Mitch Ripley, one of our attendings. You can trust him."
"Hannah, I'm just going to look into your eyes, okay?"
Ripley already had his pen light in his hand and if she hadn't been half expecting it, Hannah might have missed Dean's huff. Ripley didn't miss it though, she could tell by the way his jaw tightened. She didn't say anything, just stared straight ahead, twisting her fingers together as he flashed the light into her eyes and when he put it away, pronouncing her reflexes and pupils as normal, Dean's quiet "Obviously," was good for Ripley's jaw to tighten even further, for him to glance in Dean's direction, his eyes narrowing.
He didn't say anything as his fingers probed over Hannah's head, no doubt searching for any bumps or contusions, something else that made Dean look up to heaven. "No obvious signs of injury." Ripley shot another look at Dean. "Maybe you want to step outside for a moment?"
The question sounded perfectly neutral but there was something in Ripley's tone, in his eyes, that made Hannah's stomach twist. Something that made her think that there was more to the tension between Dean and Ripley than Ripley asking questions, searching for answers, that Dean already had. The suspicion only grew when Dean chuckled, a sound devoid of humour, one that was purely sarcastic, familiar to her from the hard-ass Dean Archer that she'd first encountered at Med. "Not likely," he said, his tone brooking no argument.
Except Ripley tried. "It's standard procedure that when someone comes in with a head injury, we ask their partner to wait outside..."
They all knew it wasn't and Dean's glare could have bored holes through concrete. "If you think for one second-"
Hannah got Ripley's implication the same time Dean did. "Wait a minute," she said. "Dean didn't do this."
Ripley's eyes met hers, made her shiver. "You said you can't remember, Hannah." There was nothing gentle in his tone and Hannah's stomach twisted. Fine, maybe she couldn't remember. But the Dean Archer she remembered could be caustic, sarcastic, an enormous pain in the ass. But never violent. And she'd never, even when he was reaming her out, half crazy from pain and lack of meds, felt like she was in danger from him. Besides, the way he'd acted that morning, how gentle he'd been when they were on the couch, how considerate he'd been in his bedroom... she might not remember the last four years of her life but she'd had plenty of experience of sketchy men who didn't particularly care about her feelings, or her body.
That was not Dean Archer. No way.
"He wouldn't," she said firmly, her eyes moving from Ripley to Dean, still standing in the doorway, his lips curling up in the slightest smile, head dipping in a the barest nod of acknowledgement.
It was Ripley's turn to huff then. "Maggie, let's get a head CT, MRI, blood and urine tests." He paused for a second, looking hard at Hannah, his eyes roaming over her from top to toe. Hannah could feel Dean’s impatience. "Have you taken anything in the last twenty four hours?"
Ripley's question made Hannah's jaw drop but it made Dean explode. "Oh, come on!" Ripley's head turned, shocked, in his direction and Hannah followed suit. It didn’t stop Dean though, who kept right on talking though not, thankfully as far as Hannah was concerned, bellowing. "No, she hasn't taken anything, she's been clean for years now. Don't you think I'd know if she was using again?"
Hannah opened her mouth to reply but there had been a vein that had been pulsing in Dean's forehead ever since they'd arrived at Med and Ripley's, "Not necessarily," threatened to make it explode. So instead, she acted on instinct.
"Dean." She reached out a hand in his direction, intending it to be a conciliatory gesture, if not a warning. Dean interpreted it differently however, taking a step towards her and folding both his hands around hers. He looked down into her eyes and whatever he saw there had his face softening. "He's just doing his job," she reminded him. His huff of breath still sounded impatient, but he didn't otherwise react even when she looked up at Ripley. "I don't feel like I've taken anything. But if you have to run a drug test, that's fine. Do what you need to do."
Ripley nodded, seeming to decide that keeping his eyes on her, well away from Dean, was the way to go. She couldn't exactly disagree with him on that score. "And have you eaten anything unusual? Anything that you wouldn't usually eat?"
Knowing her memories to be unreliable, Hannah looked back at Dean. "She ate poached salmon and seasonal greens for dinner last night. Just like I did, because, as usual, I cooked while she looked at some godawful reality tv show." Ripley's lips twitched, his countenance lightening for a moment. "It's a good job too, because she has the culinary leanings of a nineteen year old frat boy."
Hannah opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Hey!" was all she could manage, indignant, but Dean was totally calm as he looked down at her.
"Hannah, ramen is not one of the major food groups."
"There's nothing wrong with ramen," she heard herself protest but she stopped when she noticed Maggie at the end of the bed, literally pressing her lips together so that she wouldn't laugh. Her gaze swung back up to Dean, just in time to see his face rearrange itself in that impassive mask he usually wore around the corridors of Med. Before that happened though, there was a smile on his lips that transformed his face, made it gentler, kinder. Hannah's stomach flipped. "You're teasing me."
"Nothing new there." Maggie arched an eyebrow while Ripley’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Dean's hands tightened on hers, bringing her attention back to him. "It's not my fault you make it so easy."
"Aren't you worried about the effect you'll have on my blood pressure?" she shot back and the smirk that appeared on his face was both familiar and unexpected as he jerked his chin in the direction of the monitors.
"Perfectly normal," he said and Maggie actually snickered.
"That's what happens when you build up a tolerance," she muttered and, miracle of all miracles, Dean actually shot her a smile. Quick, yes, but undeniably there, and another change that had evidently been wrought over the last four years, because the Dean Archer Hannah once knew wouldn't have joked like that with Maggie, or anyone else. Well, maybe Ethan.
"I have no idea what you mean," he said mildly, making Maggie roll her eyes while Doctor Ripley cleared his throat.
"Maggie, those tests?" There was a faint hint of asperity in his tone. Maggie heard it too, steel glinting in her eyes as she glanced his way. She didn't say anything, just nodded and left the cubicle. Dean's hand tightened on Hannah's and Ripley didn't miss that if the way his eyes locked on it, the way his jaw tightened was anything to go by. "I'll check back when we have some results."
Turning on his heel, he walked away without giving them a chance to say anything else, leaving Dean and Hannah alone. He was still holding her hand and as if he realised that at the same time as she did, he laid their hands down on the bed before lifting his from hers. "I probably should have told you about Will and Ethan." He sounded almost apologetic.
Hannah took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "You've had a lot to think about this morning," she reminded him. "I guess a lot has changed in the last four years." Dean inclined his head in agreement. "I have to ask... you and me..." She moved her index finger between the two of them. "How did we…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out how to ask what she really wanted to know. It was hard to find the words though - coming straight out with it seemed a little too blunt somehow, like it might hurt him.
But of course, it was Dean Archer she was talking to. “How did we get here?” His lips twitched, just a little, as he settled himself down on the end of her bed. Biting her lip, Hannah nodded. “Okay… what’s the last interaction you remember with me?”
That Hannah could answer. Being on the receiving end of a Dean Archer tirade was not something that one could ever forget. “You were beaten up by a patient on PCP laced cocaine. I had to reduce your jaw.” She didn't mention the dosage of medicine she’d prescribed him. Or how he'd yelled at her, half out of his mind with pain. Frowning, Dean’s eyes narrowed, then his mouth opened in a silent “Ah,” as he remembered too.
“Well… it turns out as well as a dislocated jaw, I also had rib and kidney injuries. I took too many NSAIDs for the pain… screwed up my kidneys pretty good.”
Hannah tilted her head. The fact that he was saying that much told her pretty clearly how bad things had been. Still, she asked anyway. “How bad?”
“Bad enough I ended up needing a kidney transplant.” Her jaw dropped and he held up one hand. “You were the one who noticed there was something going on with me. Wouldn’t take no for an answer when I tried to stonewall you.” That was said with a teasing lilt and a half grin, like he’d said it before, many times. “At the same time, my son, Sean, he came back into my life. He’s had… issues. With addiction. You helped him out, got him a valet job here… told him about my kidneys when I didn’t want you to…”
She was horrified that she’d break his confidence like that. Why would she do that? “Dean, I’m…”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He made a move like he was going to reach out to touch her but stopped himself, bringing his hand to the blanket and scrunching his fingers up in it. “It all worked out. Sean donated a kidney, I got better. No hard feelings.”
Hannah looked at him for a long moment. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more you’re not telling me?”
Dean actually laughed. “Because even with four years of memories missing, you can apparently still read me like a book.” He shook his head. “The rest is just details.”
“But that’s how we got together? Because you were sick?”
“No. Well, I suppose that’s how it started. But there was a bit of a gap while we figured stuff out… we both saw other people for a while there. Mine fell apart first, I’m sure you’re shocked…” That was said with a wry smile and a shake of the head. “And that was around the time I figured out that the main reason things didn’t work with Margo was that… she wasn’t you.” He shrugged as he said that, completely helpless. Hannah didn’t know whether the lump in her throat was emotion or shock. That was happening a lot today.
As she held his gaze, something clicked for her, something she’d wondered about as she was being examined. Something that would explain the animosity she'd witnessed. “Did I date Doctor Ripley?”
Dean’s eyes widened. “You remember that?” He actually sounded insulted, like he was mad that she would remember someone else but not him. She quickly shook her head, regretting it when the world spun around her. She braced her hands on the mattress to steady herself and Dean’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist. “You okay?”
Hannah took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like he’d told her earlier. “I’m fine,” she said, although she could hear how shaky she sounded. “And I don’t. Remember. But you were…” She paused as she considered the best phrasing. “A little abrasive with each other.”
“Abrasive,” he scoffed. “That’s one word for it.” He huffed out an impatient breath. “Yes. You dated Mitch Ripley. You two broke up and shortly after that, things between us just… clicked.” Another one of those helpless little shrugs. This time, something twinged in Hannah’s chest, something warm, something tender. "We've been together ever since." His hand was still around her wrist, something she only noticed when he began to move his thumb up and down, stroking across her pulse point. He was still looking at her, his eyes locked on hers, and she didn't think that he was even aware he was doing it.
She was aware of it though. She could feel goosebumps rising on her arms. How long had it been, she thought, since someone touched her like this?
Just then the curtains swished open and Doctor Ripley appeared, his face twisting as he took in the sight of Dean holding her hand. "They're ready to bring you upstairs," he said before leaving again.
"Quite the bedside manner," Dean muttered and Hannah gave him a look. He instantly raised his free hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, play nice."
"I know it's not your strong suit." Hannah just about managed not to roll her eyes but it was a close run thing.
"Not even a little." Dean stood up as the orderlies entered the treatment room. "I'll be right here." He seemed reluctant to drop her hand, squeezed it once more before she was wheeled down the hallway, trying not to feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the ED trying not to look at her.
Countless blood draws and scans later, Hannah was back in the ED, Dean once more at her side. This time, he had a bottle of water in his hand and an apologetic smile on his face. "I know you must be hungry," he said. "But I can't give you anything until we get the results of your scans."
"I get that." Hannah hadn't expected anything else, leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. "I'm actually not even hungry." She tended to lose her appetite when she was stressed.
"That's no surprise." The bed shifted slightly and when she opened her eyes, Dean was sitting on the edge, reaching out to take her hand. When he saw her looking in that direction, he frowned. "Is this okay?"
Much to Hannah's surprise, it was. Dean's hand was strong, warm in hers and, on a day where so much of her life seemed to be built on shifting sands, it was proving to be an anchor, physically and emotionally. She moved her hand slightly under his, only so she could curl her fingers around his palm too, the way his were curling around hers. "Yeah," she said, her throat constricting at the soft smile that came to his face. "It's fine."
That soft smile lingered for a moment, faltering only when his gaze dropped once more to their joined hands. "Sam Abrams dropped by when you were getting the MRI," he said. Hannah couldn't help the spike of alarm that ran through her.
"The neurosurgeon? He thinks I might need surgery?" She was well aware of his reputation was one of the top neurosurgeons in the country. That didn't mean she wanted him poking around in her brain.
"Nothing like that," Dean was quick to reassure her. "He'd just heard you were brought in and why, he wanted to offer to consult on your films, see if he spotted anything."
Hannah frowned. "Why would he do that?" The Sam Abrams she knew preferred to keep himself out of consults, only appearing when he was invited, when he could swoop in and save the day.
Dean's lips twitched. "Sam's quite fond of you."
She wasn't taking that. "Sam Abrams isn't fond of anyone."
"You were the one who told his wife that she was pregnant. Put in a circlage to help her carry to term." Hannah's jaw dropped. "Little Mason's turning three any time now, Michelle swears he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." He grinned. "You obviously have a way of winning over grumpy old surgeons."
Was that flirting? His hand tightened in hers as he said it, a certain tilt to his head and a light to his eyes that certainly looked that way. And if he hadn't meant it that way, then Hannah's body didn't seem to know the difference because her heart rate sped up, her cheeks warming, her stomach flipping in a way that was far from unpleasant.
She was spared from further thoughts in that direction as the curtain swished aside and Sam Abrams strode in, Ripley behind him. Ripley was holding a pad close to his chest, his two arms crossed over it. In contrast, Sam looked almost relaxed. Kind. "Well, Hannah," he said, and even his voice was missing some of its usual impatience, "We have the results of your scans-"
"Already?" Hannah couldn't help but interrupt him. That was much quicker than she'd anticipated.
Sam's lips quirked. "Let's just say rank may have been pulled to get you to the top of the queue." He swiped at a tablet of his own, showing her and Dean the screen. "Tox screen is clear, and as you can see, there are no signs of any brain injury, no bleeding, which is good." Hannah nodded. "However, there is a slight area of swelling here-" Sam pointed at an area that looked fine to Hannah, but that was why he was the expert and she wasn't. "My best guess is that's what's causing your amnesia, based purely on its location. And based on some of your blood markers, it's looking like it's the result of some kind of viral infection."
Hannah closed her eyes as she let that settle over her. Along with it came a sense of relief - she'd been a little worried that her past was coming back to haunt her. This just seemed like bad luck.
Dean's hand squeezed hers. "So what's the plan?"
When Hannah opened her eyes, Sam's gaze was steady on hers. "We're going to start you on some IV antiobiotics here, then discharge you. Hopefully you'll see some improvements in the next forty eight hours, though I would like to see you in here again tomorrow, have another scan just to make keep an eye on things. Otherwise take it easy, keep things as normal as possible, and call me if things change.
He didn't wait for them to say anything else, just gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, Ripley leaving the room with him. Hannah watched them go, her gaze turning back to Dean when he dropped her hand. "I'll... ah... I'll go get you some food while they hook you up."
As he left, Maggie swept in with handfuls of medical equipment and Hannah settled back to let herself be poked and prodded. Once Dean came back with food - one of her favourites from the cafe downstairs - all she could do was wait to be discharged and it was a long, boring afternoon where she tried not to pepper Dean, and anyone else, with the million and one questions she had in her mind.
Once she was discharged, Dean drove her home and, since he'd ordered takeout before they left the hospital, it arrived not long after they got home. Once again, it was all of Hannah's favourite dishes and she barely tasted the food, the reality of the day and her condition catching up with her. The meal passed in silence and Hannah's plate was still half full when she pushed it away with a heavy sigh. She heard the clink of a knife and fork against china, the slide of a second plate across the table. When she looked up, Dean was staring at her, worry writ large on his face. "I'd ask how you're doing," he said dryly, "but I think I already know."
A wan smile curled up Hannah's lips. "You know," she said slowly, an idea taking form, a small scrap of normality that she could grab on to, "I think I might try to catch a meeting.”
“That’s a good idea.” To her surprise, Dean stood up, picking up the plates and bringing them over to the kitchen sink, placing them inside. “I’ll drive you.”
Hannah shook her head. “You don’t have to-”
“Hannah.” He turned to face her, bracing his hands behind him on the counter. His posture was military, ramrod straight, but there was something in his tone, that gentle cadence that she’d never heard before this morning, that stopped her cold. “I get that your head is all over the place. I get that you need space, okay? But you woke up this morning missing four years of your life, and we don’t know how long your medication will take to work.” He swallowed hard, hands braced on his hips. He hadn't said "if" the medication would work, a small distinction that Hannah heard anyway. “If something were to happen when you’re behind the wheel…” His voice trailed off, like the idea was too much, too terrible for him to contemplate. “I would ask to drive you even if you weren’t… everything you are to me.”
He was so obviously sincere, so obviously terrified for her that Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “Okay.” She took a deep breath, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Thank you."
“Okay.” Dean rubbed one hand over his face. “There’s a coffee shop down the block from your regular meeting… I sometimes wait there with a book, you come find me when you’re finished… or call me, if you need me, okay?” Hannah nodded. “Hannah… promise me.”
Once again, Hannah nodded. “I promise.”
The drive to the meeting was a silent one, save for the music from Hannah's phone that once again automatically connected to the speakers. It wasn't uncomfortable though, Hannah even feeling relaxed enough to lean her head back and let the silence wash over her, her heartbeat slowing as they drove through the streets she recognised, coming to a stop outside a very familiar stone building.
"The coffee place is down there." Dean pointed towards a red and green neon sign jutting out into the street. "I'll park up... see you in a little bit, okay?"
Nodding, Hannah slipped out of the car and up the steps, pausing before pushing the door open, turning back towards the street. Dean's car was still there, Dean's gaze steady on her, evidently waiting for her to go inside.
Something tugged in her chest at the sight, did it again as he lifted his hand in a small wave. Only when she smiled at him, only when she stepped inside did she see the car move away.
It turned out that the meeting was exactly what she needed and she walked back out into the fresh night air feeling, if not exactly better, then certainly more on an even keel. It was a pleasant night, the air dry and crisp, so she took her time walking to the coffee shop, a smile coming to her lips as she walked in. The first thing she saw was Dean, at a table for two facing the door, a book closed on the table in front of him, an empty coffee mug beside it, his eyes on her as if he was waiting for her to walk in.
He stood up as she approached him, one hand reaching towards her as if he was going to slide an arm around her waist. The hand fell as she got closer and he crossed his arms over his chest, cleared his throat. "How'd it go?" Then he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, I know you can't tell me anything."
"It's okay." Hannah slid into the seat across from him. "It was good. What I needed, I think."
Dean nodded as he sat down, leaning back in his chair and stretching out an arm, fingers beating a tattoo against the cover of the novel. "You look better. Lighter."
Saying those words, she thought he seemed lighter too, a little of the worry lifting from his shoulders, from around his eyes. "So do you."
If he was surprised at her words, he didn't show it, tilting his head, lips curling up in a faint half smile. "Yeah, well..." One shoulder rose in a shrug. "I don't like seeing you upset." Hannah's cheeks warmed at the look in his eyes and she had to look down, unable to hold his gaze. "Would you like some tea? I didn't want to order anything until you got here..."
"That would be lovely. Thank you." She looked around. "Do they have a menu, or..."
"It's okay." Dean stood. "I know your favourite."
When he returned, tea for her, coffee for him, one sip proved his point. "That's good."
"I'm not finished." He made his way back to the counter and this time when he returned, he was holding a small plate with a slice of what looked to be a moist, decadent chocolate cake. The sight of it made her mouth water. "This is your other favourite." He placed the plate in front of her then sat down. "You didn't eat much dinner... but I've never seen you refuse this."
A few minutes later, he was safely able to say that her record was unbroken, the plate scraped clean, every crumb eaten. "Wow." His grin could have been seen from space. "I think there was a pattern on the plate when they gave it to me..."
"Stop it!" she giggled. Then a comment from Maggie earlier on in the day came back to her. "Is this what Maggie meant when she said I built up a tolerance to you teasing me?"
Dean waggled his head from side to side. "I can neither confirm nor deny such speculation."
"So that's a yes." He looked delighted, at least until an enormous yawn overtook her.
"Come on," he said, standing. "Let's get you home."
A simple four words but when they got home, they both realised that it was anything but simple.
The bed was huge, a California King, but as Hannah stood at the bottom of it, Dean beside her, it looked impossibly small. Because Hannah knew, on an intellectual level, that this was the bed that she shared with Dean every night, knew that there was more than enough space there for the two of them. Yet the idea of the two of them lying there together... for some reason, Hannah couldn't make her brain make sense of it.
Dean cleared his throat, the noise loud in the silence, making her jump. "I'll... I'll sleep in the spare room."
He was already heading for the dresser before she registered the words. "Dean, no," she said. "I'm not taking your bed."
"It's your bed too." The answer came quickly, with force. Hannah couldn't help but flinch, regretted it when Dean's face fell. "It's your bed too," he said again, quieter this time. "And you heard what Sam said... keep things as normal as possible."
"Normal." The fact that Dean would be sleeping beside her if things were normal went unspoken between them. "Nothing about today is normal." Hearing how waspish she sounded, she covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"It's been a long day." Dean's voice was closer now and Hannah opened her eyes when his hand closed over her shoulder. The touch was warm and strong and Hannah reacted without thinking, swaying into him. With a sigh, Dean moved too, his arms going around her, a loose hold, one she could easily break away from. She didn't though, instead leaning in to his body, her head falling onto his shoulder. At first Dean was perfectly still but then he sighed, his arms tightening on hers, one of his hands moving to cup the back of her head. His cheek rested on the top of her head, his fingers gently playing with her hair. Hannah took a deep breath, inhaling his scent and a plume of warmth spread slowly through her body, starting low in her stomach, swirling pleasantly. Her body pressed against his, her arms going around his waist and she felt safe, completely safe and secure, for the first time since she'd woken up that morning.
And then just like that it was over.
Dean stepped away from her, a dark flush high on his cheekbones. "I'll... ah... I'll leave you to it."
Before Hannah could say anything else, he was gone, leaving her looking after him.
It took her a long time to fall asleep that night and when she did, it was fitful, waking up from dreams that she couldn't fully remember but dreams that had her heart racing, her pulse pounding with a sense of dread. Waking up the next morning, her head felt like it was full of cotton wool and she had to take several deep breaths before she was able to stand up, make her way downstairs to the kitchen.
Slowly, carefully, with an odd sense of deja vu, she made her way to the top of the stairs, pausing to listen before taking the first step. Unlike yesterday, she didn't hear music playing. Instead, she could hear Dean's voice, then another voice, this one unfamiliar to her. Frowning, she took a step closer, straining to hear.
"-going to be okay," the strange voice - a man's voice - was saying. "You and Hannah have been through way worse than this."
Dean chuckled but there was no hint of humour in it. "I'm not so sure about that." A sigh. "This... it's bad."
"She's there with you. She's alive, she's talking, she's clean." There was a pointed pause. Whoever this person was, he obviously knew her, knew her history. "That's not nothing, Dad."
So this was Sean, Dean's son, she realised. She hadn't actually met him four years ago, only knew what he looked like from some judicious staring at photographs lining the mantel last night. Glancing down at herself - the oversized t-shirt that she now knew to be Dean's, a pair of pajama pants that she'd found at the back of her underwear drawer - she didn't particularly want her first meeting with him to be in this state of half dress, so she stayed where she was.
"You're right." Dean's voice was soft.
"Don't think I don't know that it's killing you to say that." Hannah could hear the smirk on his face, even if she couldn't see it.
"I just hate seeing her like this."
"Because you doctors always want to fix everything." Hannah couldn't argue with that. "You have to give her time. Hannah loves you. That doesn't just vanish overnight."
"Okay. Look, I gotta go... I'll keep you up to date."
"Tell Hannah to hang in there. Love you guys."
"Love you too, son." Then silence, followed by the clatter of a phone skittering across the kitchen island.
Steeling herself, Hannah made her way down the rest of the stairs, keeping her voice light as she said, "Good morning."
When he turned to her, there was a smile on Dean's face, even if his eyes flickered up and down over her body. "Hey." He took a step towards her, started to take another and then faltered. "How are you feeling?"
Deciding to chance a joke, she quipped, "Well, I'm not going to faint on you this morning, so I think we're already one up on yesterday." Dean inclined his head, which she took as agreement. "Did I hear you talking to someone?"
"My son. Sean." Dean moved away from her, heading towards the stove. There was a carton of eggs already beside it, a mixing bowl beside that. Hannah's stomach growled. She hoped Dean hadn't heard it but when he asked, "Scrambled eggs okay?" she knew she hadn't been that lucky. Before she could answer, he was already opening the carton, cracking the first egg on the rim of the bowl. "He called to check in... knew when he saw my face that something wasn't right." He glanced over at her, rolled his eyes. "He actually asked me what I'd done this time."
Hannah arched an eyebrow. "I'm curious to know what you've done other times that would make him ask that."
"Oh no." Dean reached for a whisk. "Not going there."
Hannah watched him beating the eggs, the t-shirt he was wearing emphasising the muscles in his arm as they worked. "You said I helped him get a job... so, we're friends then?"
"Who take great delight in ganging up on me every chance you get." His voice was dry but he was smiling. "He's in Florida at the moment, moved there a couple years back. His mom still lives there, so..." He shrugged. "Leanne and I... we do not get along." The way he said it, there was a story there, one that Hannah didn't want to touch, not right then. Call her selfish but she was far more interested in learning about her own role in Dean's life.
"And you and Sean? You're good?"
"We have our ups and downs." The eggs sizzled as he poured them onto a pan. "Mostly ups right now... one of the benefits of living a thousand miles away from each other." He poked at the eggs, moving them around gently. "After fifteen years of not talking, I'll take that." He stopped, looked at her sharply suddenly. "I never thought yesterday... do you want to call your family? Your dad, your sister?"
Hannah's stomach dropped, but not for the reasons she might have thought. The way he said that, so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world... "My sister?" Her voice came out as a croak. "You've met Lizzie?"
Dean closed his eyes for a second as he nodded, looking like he wanted to bite off his tongue. Hannah's throat stung with tears. "You guys reconnected about a year and a half ago. It's not always easy... but it's good." Hannah raised a shaking hand to her lips, swallowed hard to push down the lump in her throat. "I shouldn't have told you like that... I didn't think..."
"Dean, it's okay." Just like in the treatment room yesterday, Hannah reached out without thinking, one hand closing over his forearm. His skin was warm under hers, her fingers closing around solid muscle and bone, the contact making her shiver. His eyes flared, then darkened and she dropped her hand as if she'd been burned. "I mean, I need to know these things."
Nodding, Dean looked away from her, turning off the heat and reaching for two plates on the other side of the stove. "So... will you call them?"
Hannah didn't need to think about that for too long. "No... not right now. Not until we know more." Bad enough that she and Dean were worrying about this, along with the whole ED at Med. There was no sense in putting that burden on her family as well, not with their history, not after everything she'd put them through already.
"Okay." Dean plated up the eggs, putting them down on the island and pointing to the one he set in front of her, a wordless command to eat.
Of all the surprises that the last twenty four hours had wrought, Hannah thought that discovering that Dean Archer was a pretty good cook was one of the largest. So too was the fact that the overbearing hard ass she remembered had a gentle side, one that made sure her tea was warm, helped her put on her coat, opened the car door for her and rested his hand on the small of her back as he walked into Med beside her.
But the biggest surprise of all, she was starting to realise, was that this, whatever it was between her and Dean? Didn't seem scary or wrong. Didn't make her feel like she was living someone else's life.
It made her feel safe.
The day passed much the same as the previous one, more tests and scans and blood draws, albeit this time without Dean at her side. He was working his shift, busy as usual, a full slate of patients taking up his time although he still managed to pop in every now and then. He drove her home, cooked her dinner while she had a shower and tried not to worry about the pain in her head, putting it down to stress. Who wouldn't have a headache after the last twenty four hours?
She went to bed early and it was another fitful night of sleep, dreams she couldn't remember, that awful feeling like she was constantly halfway between sleeping and waking. She must have made some noise in her sleep or cried out because the bed dipped, a warm hand landing on her back as the bedside lamp clicked on. "Hannah... Hannah... it's me... wake up, you're having a nightmare..."
"Dean..." She pried her eyes open slowly, her hands coming up between them, landing on his chest. She was crying, she realised, tears rolling down her cheeks and Dean reached up, cupping her face in his hands, wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs.
"It's okay... it's okay, sweetheart, I'm here..." Dean's eyes were steady, the palms of his hands warm against her skin. "I've got you. You're okay. Just breathe for me."
Hannah's breath caught on a hiccup. "You said that to me yesterday morning too."
"Guess it's becoming a habit." Dean's smile was slightly lopsided but his eyes were still dark and worried. "Did you have bad dreams last night too?" When Hannah nodded, he frowned, dark furrows appearing in his brow. "You didn't mention that."
He had her there. But her sleep had been so disjointed and then she'd come downstairs to find him talking to Sean and she'd got distracted by what he'd been saying and by breakfast and everything else that day. Besides, with everything she'd been through in the last twenty four hours, wouldn't it be more unusual if she wasn't having bad dreams? Before she could point that out, Dean twisted his lips. "Of course, it's not like I asked either."
"My stupid brain." Hannah dipped her head and Dean dropped his hands, pulling her into his embrace instead.
"Hey, I'm fond of that brain," she heard him murmur into her hair. "And the rest of you." The addendum made her giggle. One of his hands moved down her spine, a sigh escaping her lips at the sensation. She felt his lips brush the top of her head, then his grip loosened and he moved back, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Better now."
"Okay." Dean dropped his hands, ran his palms along his thighs. "Okay... I guess I'll see you in the morning."
He didn't look very enthused about moving, any more than Hannah was enthused about being alone with just her dreams and whirling thoughts. "Will you stay?"
The moment the words were out, she wanted to bite her tongue. Dean's eyes flickered with surprise but he didn't otherwise react, simply stood and moving around to the other side of the bed, lifting the covers and sliding into the other side of the bed. He kept a generous tract of space between them, rolling on to his side so that he was facing her. "This okay?"
Hannah shifted so that she was lying on her side too, looking right into his eyes. "Thank you."
Dean's smile was gentle, genuine. "Any time."
Closing her eyes, Hannah concentrated on matching her breathing with his, finding a strange comfort in the synchronicity. It wasn't long before she felt herself drifting off to sleep and while it only seemed like moments before she felt herself waking again, she recognised that it must be morning both from the brightness and the fact that she actually felt rested, like she'd had the best sleep she could remember having in a very long time. Wanting to hold onto that, she fought wakefulness, instead concentrating on the sensations she felt: the warmth of the blankets surrounding her, as well as a different, heavier weight against her body, pressing against her left side, in particular across her midsection and on her shoulder. Something tickled her collarbone too, an intermittent sensation that made her shiver and, still deep inside her sleepy cocoon, Hannah opened her eyes and felt a smile come to her lips.
Dean had shifted in his sleep, closing any distance between them, the heavy weight she was feeling that of his body half draped over hers like a blanket, his head resting against her shoulder and his arm slung over her waist. Face down as he was, her intermittent shivers were caused as his breath tickled the skin at her collarbone where her t-shirt had been pulled down by the weight of his body and she could faintly feel the scratch of his beard through the thin material. Closing her eyes again, Hannah reached up her right hand, brought it to the nape of his neck and let her fingers run over the hair she found there. Even asleep, he responded to her, his body pressing closer to hers, his beard burning her skin as he turned his head. A groan that might have been her name escaped his throat and she flexed her fingers, nails lightly scratching against his skin.
The resulting sound was definitely her name, was accompanied by another and altogether new sensation, that of his lips moving along her exposed collarbone, small slow kisses that sent shivers careening up and down her spine, had her grip tightening on him as her body arched against him and she whispered his name…
And then the sensations and the warm weight of his body vanished with a hastily stifled oath.
Feeling like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her, Hannah’s eyes flew open and what she saw only intensified the feeling. Dean was staring down at her, his arms braced on either side of her, his eyes wide and his face pale, an expression that could only be described as aghast on his face.
“Hannah…” He blinked, shook his head, then rolled off her, standing up. “I’m sorry.”
“Dean…” But he didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. He was already gone, the bathroom door closing behind him and the shower coming on straight away.
After a moment, Hannah sat up, pushed her hair back with hands that were none too steady and took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Knowing it was pointless to try to go back to sleep, she got up and headed to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee, intending to have it ready for the talk they needed to have.
But when Dean appeared, he was fully dressed, his bag on his shoulder, his coat over his arm. “I’m needed in the ED,” he said, his eyes never meeting hers. “I’ll see you later.”
By the time Hannah processed the words, the echo of the front door closing was echoing through the house.
Alone with her thoughts, Hannah knew that the best thing to do was keep herself busy, try to keep her thoughts occupied. But showering, making the bed and eating breakfast could only keep her busy for so long which was how she found herself sitting on the couch, legs folded underneath her, scrolling through the photos on her phone. There were plenty of the usual things she expected to find there - she was a sucker for a nice skyline, to say nothing of cat memes - but what surprised her were the photos of her and Dean together. Not the amount of them, because she'd always been a little snap happy. But Dean's expression in them. Smiling. Happy. Both posing for her and in selfies beside her, her arm slung around his neck, both of them grinning into the camera. And other ones, ones where she was looking at the camera but he wasn't. Instead, he was looking at her, a light in his eyes and a smile on his face that she couldn't stop staring at.
A knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. Surprised, because who would be coming to see her, she smiled as she saw Maggie waiting outside. "Hey." She stepped back to let her friend in. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I'd check up on you." When Maggie took her coat off, she was still wearing her scrubs, something that made Hannah tilt her head.
"Did Dean ask you to come here?"
"No." Only when Maggie said the word did Hannah realise how much she'd wanted the answer to be yes. Maggie must have seen that in her face because she held up both hands. "Full disclosure, Dean does not know that I'm here. But he's walking around like a bear with a sore paw which he hasn't done in, oh, at least four years, so I got worried." Hannah pressed her lips together, covered her face with her hands. "Hannah, is everything okay?"
"Well, I woke up two days ago with no memory of the last four years, I'm apparently living with a man who I remember barely tolerating my presence... I have all these photos and videos of us looking like the happiest couple ever except this morning he couldn't get out of here fast enough..." Somewhere in that rant, Hannah had started pacing around the room, once she was finished it was like all the air went from her body and she dropped back down on the couch, tears springing into her eyes.
"Hannah..." Maggie approached her slowly, like she was a skittish animal. "Did something happen?"
Hannah took a deep breath. "I had a bad dream last night. Dean was in the guest room but he heard me... I asked him to stay, just to sleep, just so I wasn't alone..." Maggie sat down beside her, her face screwed up in sympathy. That made Hannah feel worse. "When I woke up, I was in his arms... and we ended up kissing."
"Which is a bad thing?"
"It is when he ran out of here this morning like his ass was on fire." Hannah sighed, ran her hands over her face, through her hair. "He couldn't get away from me fast enough." A horrible thought started to take form. "What if this whole thing is too much for him... what if what we have isn't strong enough to survive this?" She was surprised to discover that the thought was accompanied by a rather unpleasant swoop of her stomach, one that told her loud and clear that she didn’t like that idea at all.
"First of all, I don't think you can make that assumption after forty eight hours." Maggie was shaking her head, an almost amused smile to her lips. “But trust me, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”
That was easy for her to say, Hannah thought. Maggie hadn’t seen the look on Dean’s face as he tore himself away from her, hadn’t witnessed him race out of the apartment to escape from her. “You don’t know that-”
“What I know,” Maggie interrupted, leaning across and gripping Hannah’s wrist, “is that Dean Archer thinks that the sun rises and sets on you. I’ve watched the two of you together for the last three years, I’ve seen the chemistry…” A sly smile crossed her lips. “And I’ve seen a first year resident hightail it out of a storage closet because he interrupted the two of you in there.” Hannah couldn’t help it, her jaw dropped. It was hard to say whether it was her expression or the memory that made Maggie chuckle. “He still can’t look Dean in the face.”
Hannah covered her face again but this time not in despair, the heat from her cheeks scorching her hands. The mere idea of being caught in a compromising position at work was something she simply couldn’t comprehend. For her, certainly, but even more so for Dean. “Oh my god.”
“Yep, apparently you said that then too.” Maggie’s smirk was positively wicked when Hannah dropped her hands and stared, wide eyed, at her. “Listen to me, Hannah.” Maggie laid a hand over Hannah’s. “I know what I see. And I know what you’ve told me. So even though I really, really do not want to think of Dean Archer as a sexual being-” She shuddered. Hannah didn’t think it was entirely done for effect. “- I can tell you that you are a very satisfied woman.” She patted Hannah’s arm. “Now, if we can please change the subject because I was not kidding.”
Hannah closed her eyes, half stunned, half hopeful. “Okay.”
Maggie stayed for a while, a visit filled with funny stories of what had been going on in the hospital over the last couple of days. Hannah felt better after it, better enough that she took a walk in the neighbourhood, picked up some food for lunch and prepared it, even that simple task setting her more at ease. It helped that Dean's kitchen was set up perfectly logically, each utensil exactly where she would have thought that it should be, easy to locate and precisely laid out.
It was late when the door opened again and Dean blinked when he saw her sitting on the couch. "You're still up," he said, hanging his coat in the hall closet. "You get dinner? Because I ate in work but we can figure out something-"
"I'm not hungry." Hannah followed him into the kitchen. "Can we talk?"
"Isn't that what we're doing?" Dean pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator, wrenched it open and took a long swallow.
"You know what I mean." The plastic bottle met the counter top with more than a little force. Dean didn't turn around to look at her. "Why did you leave here so quickly this morning?"
"You really have to ask?" Dean's impatience was written all over his face, in the furrows of his brow, the narrowing of his eyes, the pinch of his lips. His whole body language, in fact, screamed discomfort, from his straight backed military posture to the tension of his shoulders, the way his arms were braced on the counter behind him, elbows locked tight. From where she was standing, Hannah could see his white knuckles, like his grip on the counter top was the only thing keeping him in the room.
"Yes, I really do." She crossed her arms over her chest, willed herself not to give in to the tears that were rising up in her throat. "We were both half asleep-"
"Exactly." Dean's interruption only confused her more. It must have been obvious because he sighed, shook his head in obvious frustration. "Usually when we... when I wake up like that... your consent is... well, expected isn't the right word, it's never expected but it's..." His voice trailed off and he released one arm from the counter to rub at his forehead.
Thinking back to her conversation with Maggie, Hannah took a stab at the word he was searching for. "Assumed."
"Yes. Thank you." Dean waved his hand in illustration before dropping it back to the countertop and its tight grip. "But now, I can't assume that. Not after the last couple of days. And I would never want to put you in that position, where I was doing something you didn't want me to do, and yet that's exactly what I did." He sighed again, a long slow exhalation of breath that ended with his shoulders slumping, his eyes dark. "I'm sorry, Hannah."
For a long moment, all Hannah could do was stare at him, letting the words sink in. So it wasn't that he didn't want to be with her, more that he didn't want to be with her without being sure of how she felt about it. He was afraid that she didn't know what she wanted but as she thought back on it, in that moment, she had known exactly what she wanted. Her body started to tremble at the implications and she took a tiny step towards him on wobbly knees. "Dean." Her voice was no steadier than her limbs and she made a real effort to sound strong when she spoke again. "Dean, I pulled you closer."
He blinked, like that hadn't registered with him before now. "What?"
"I was half asleep, just like you were. But when you kissed me... when you touched me... it was like my body remembered that feeling... that wanting." His adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed hard, his eyes wide and fixed on her. She took another step towards him, keeping her eyes on his, as if any break in contact would break the spell. "Dean, I wanted you."
She was in front of him by now, her hands on his chest. His heart was beating wildly underneath her palm, his own hands shaking as they went to her shoulders, the touch so light, so gentle, that she could break it in a moment if she wanted to.
She didn't want to.
Instead she moved her hands to his cheeks, the prickles of his beard against her skin making her shiver. He leaned into her touch, increasing the friction and an image shot into her mind unbidden of that motion repeated against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She couldn't tell if it was a memory or a fantasy and the confusion made her dizzy so she did the only thing that she could think of to anchor herself: she raised herself on her tiptoes and brought her lips to his.
That simple touch was like the spark to a flame because Dean's arms wrapped around her body, pulling her to him, opening his mouth to hers and deepening the kiss. She gasped at the sensation of his tongue against her lips and the next thing she knew, her feet were no longer on the ground because he'd scooped her up, bridal style, and was carrying her up the stairs towards the bedroom.
It seemed like a very long time later that she came back to herself, lying in Dean's arm, her head on his chest, her ear directly over his heart. His left hand moved up and down her spine, lazy careless patterns that scattered goosebumps along her skin. "So..." she said, concentrating on her index finger drawing patterns across his chest. “Maggie told me something about you and me and a storage closet…”
Dean’s laugh interrupted her question and his right hand reached up to trap her left, stilling the circular motion of her index finger. “I’m tempted to ask which time but if Maggie knows about it, I’m thinking there can be only one.”
Well, didn't that sound interesting? “There was a resident involved who still can’t look you in the face?”
“Well that’s to be expected.” She didn’t quite get what he meant, frowned as she tilted her head back so that she could see his face. His lips were curved in a smile, his eyes dancing. “Let’s just say it wasn’t my face he got an eyeful of.” It took a second for the penny to drop, her jaw with it and she laughed in sheer amazement. Then she yelped as Dean’s left hand, the one that had been draped around her shoulder, moving up and down her spine, slipped down to the dip of her hip where she was ticklish, squeezing her there. “Oh that’s nice, considering I was trying to save your virtue. And your blushes.”
“You’re a gentleman.” She grinned up at him, pressed her body a little closer against his and, as she did so, something happened to his smile. It became less amused, less teasing. Softer, altogether more tender, as his right hand dropped her left and came up instead to cup her cheek. His thumb traced over her lips and he shook his head.
“I have missed that smile.” His tone was hushed, almost reverent, one that she'd never heard him use before but one that she felt like she could get very used to. Or maybe, she thought, she already had, if she could just remember it. Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face because his eyes narrowed slightly. She knew that look. It was his suspicious look. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"That's a good question." One that landed a little too close to home, given their circumstances. She didn't have a good answer to it, nor even any answer, but the confusion of stress of the last few days, to say nothing of the last few hours, rose up in her throat, threatening to choke her. She ducked her head into his chest and his grip on her tightened as she trembled.
"Yeah, bad choice of words." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "C'mon. Talk to me here."
When she spoke, her voice was a bare whisper and she had to force herself to lift her head, to meet his gaze. "What if my memories don't come back? What if I never remember you? Us?"
"Hannah..." He slid his index finger under her chin, tilting her face up so that she had to hold his gaze. His touch was so gentle, his voice so soft, that it made tears come to her eyes. "You and I have got through a whole lot worse than this. And if your memories don't come back, well, so what?" His eyes were bright. "You fell in love with me once without either of us trying. Can you imagine how much easier it'll be when I turn on the Archer charm?"
She was laughing by the time he finished his speech. "Oh, the Archer charm, is that what we're calling it now?"
"We are." Leaning in, he brushed his lips across hers, brief at first before he moved his hand, sliding it into her hair, his fingers tangling in the roots as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue across her lips, seeking entrance. She ran her hand up his chest as she responded, sighing into the kiss as she let him roll her onto her back. "How's that working out for you?" he whispered in between kisses that moved from her lips to her neck, to the spot that made her shiver. He lingered over that and she felt his lips curve into a smile as she gasped.
"Pretty good," she managed to stutter as she realised he was waiting for an answer to his question, and the grin she got in response could only be described as wolfish.
"Only pretty good?" He actually tsked. "Let's see what we can do about that."
She hadn't told him what Maggie had said about their sex life. He proved the point anyway.