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You agreed to let Dottore take a vial of your blood on the strict condition that he wasn’t going to do any weird experiments with it. You would not budge until he gave his explicit promise that he wasn’t going to do anything with it other than study it for health reasons. If you were going to give up the precious life liquid that flowed in your veins that should be inside of your body instead of out, you wanted his verbal guarantee. Which he gave surprisingly easy. You surmised that he must have been in a good mood today to play Doctor to you.
“Does it surprise you that I studied medicine for a few years?”
Dottore’s question derailed your train of thought and briefly shook you from your stupor. You settled in the cold, metal chair as best as you could, not approving of the way the metal arms dug into your pudgy sides and gave you little room to wriggle. A soft hum stirred in the back of your throat, plush lips pursed in thought as you peered up at him beneath the hood of your dark lashes.
“A little” you admitted. “Didn’t think practicing medicine would interest someone like you.”
He scoffed a little at your response as he placed his tools on the small, wooden table beside your chair. You dare not take a peek at what was in the bag, lest the sight make you feel a little queasy. Dottore placed a hand over his chest, the beak of his mask tipped down in a motion that you knew indicated that he was looking directly at you.
“You wound me” he said, voice feigning a hint of hurt. “There are many things that interest me.”
As much as you appreciated the small talk, you would prefer that he would get on with it and stop drawing out this encounter. Your palms were starting to sweat and your heart felt like it was about to leap up into your throat any minute now. You always disliked medical exams, even if it was just a routine check up. You realise how dumb it sounded, especially since you were the one that requested he draw a sample of your blood in the first place. You just couldn’t help it. Your nerves always prickled to attention at the smell of disinfectant and the sight of a sharp needle.
When Dottore raised his hand you complied immediately by offering your arm. The slide of his leather glove against your warm skin made the hairs on the nape of your neck stand up, the cold touch making shivers run down the notches of your spine. You squirmed in your seat but stopped quickly when Dottore produced a tourniquet. You kept your arm straight as he wrapped the strap around your bicep, fastening the buckle until it felt like the material was biting into your skin. You did your best to keep still and not show your discomfort. It was difficult when the nerves in your arm felt like they were being constricted by an angry snake and being suffocated. A pinch formed between your brow when Dottore used two fingers to touch the inside of your elbow to find a suitable vein to draw blood from. After a few taps of his fingers, he frowned. A small noise stirred in his throat, one bordering on displeasure as he unfastened the tourniquet.
You spared yourself a sigh of relief and visibly deflated, the back of your thick thighs digging into the lip of the chair as you sank further down, relieved that the pressure was gone. It was short lived as Dottore switched arms, tourniquet wrapped tight around your bicep as he tried again to locate a suitable vein. After a long moment of his fingers poking and prodding, a long sigh blew from his nose in a slow heave.
“Are your veins notoriously difficult to find?” he asked.
You gave him a wobbly smile, eye twitching when he pressed his fingers on the inside of your elbow and made you want to jump out of the chair. All this prodding had made your skin feel hypersensitive. You managed a small chuckle despite the tourniquet cutting off your circulation.
“Maybe they’re just hiding from you” you joked.
Your humour managed to get a faint smile to touch his lips that vanished as quick as it had appeared. A thoughtful hum stirred in his throat as he loosened the buckle and allowed you to relax once more. He tipped his head and you could feel his stare roving up and down you.
“Have you eaten today? Drunk any water?”
You take a few seconds to ponder the question. You reply with a nonchalant shrug and a small wave of your hand. Your response made his frown deepen.
“That is not helpful.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, the flutter of his coat catching your eye as you followed the subtle movement. He tapped his fingers against his arm, the noise awfully loud in his otherwise deathly quiet lab.
“It would be better if you ate something and hydrated before we try again.”
His suggestion made knots form between your shoulder blades. The thought of having to come back only prolonged your anxiety. You just wanted to get it over and done with now, rather than having to stew on it for any longer. You shifted your weight in your chair, the legs creaking softly in protest. You chewed on your lip, the dry and flaky skin trapped between the pinch of your teeth as the tip of your tongue wet the seam of your plush lips.
“Can’t we just do it now? I really don’t want to come back later” you explained.
“I can” Dottore replied with a nod. “But I’d have to take the blood from your wrist.”
Your eyes widened a fraction. From your wrist? You had never had blood drawn from there before. You had heard about the back of the hand, sure, but your wrist? You were given time to think about how to respond, Dottore’s patience seemingly abundant whenever it came to matters concerning you. You had yet to realise this exception. He certainly didn’t have this much patience with other people. With a deep breath in and a sharp nod, you decided.
“Okay. Do it.”
“As you wish.”
Dottore pulled the nearest chair closer to you and took a seat. The tourniquet was back and this time it was secured to your forearm. The pinch was still uncomfortable, just as uncomfortable as Dottore prodding your skin to find a vein. He was satisfied when he finally found one. He turned to the small table beside your chair, opening up the small bag to fetch what you assumed was a syringe and vial. You weren’t all too focused on it, eyes looking at anywhere but at the pointy end of the needle. Dottore passed a cursory glance in your direction.
“Are you afraid of needles?”
He asked without really thinking. He’d prefer it if you didn’t pass out in your chair and thus he had asked out of courtesy. Dottore has recently found that he is quite courteous towards you. A truly remarkable phenomenon that he didn’t particularly want to explore anytime soon. That truth can stay buried a little longer, he thinks. You shook your head, eyes only flickering back to his face for a brief second before flitting away.
“Not particularly” you replied, before quickly continuing. “I’m not gonna pass out at the sight of blood but I’d still prefer to not watch you stick a needle in me. Gives me the ick.”
“I appreciate your honesty” Dottore responded as he continued to prepare the needle. “This will sting.”
“I appreciate your honesty” you mimicked with a soft smile.
The second you see him lower the needle toward your wrist, you look away, turning your head completely. He was right, it did sting. It was an odd sensation. Definitely not pleasant but not particularly painful. You tried to not linger on the thought for too long. You tried thinking happy thoughts, somewhere warm and far away from the cold tundra of Snezhnaya. Certainly far away from this bitingly frostbitten laboratory.
The clip of the tourniquet was slowly released when your blood started to fill the small vial. Dottore kept a steady hand on your forearm, fingers curled around your arm just in case you suddenly pulled back. Though he highly doubted you would. You were quiet now, almost deathly silent. He didn’t think he heard your breath stir. The thought made something itch at the back of his skull.
“You’ve gone awfully quiet” Dottore commented. “You'd been chatty only a few moments prior. Are you even breathing?”
When you didn’t respond, he looked up. You looked like you were about to collapse from how long you had been holding your breath.
“Breathe” Dottore said, almost ordering you to let go of your breath that you were so valiantly holding.
You exhaled loudly and the sound made your ears itch. The tension between your shoulders refused to unwind just yet as you bit the inside of your chubby cheek, focusing on the feeling of your canine carving a small divot in your mouth. The stinging stopped when Dottore removed the needle, placing a cotton bud over the small prick to stem the bleeding and prompting you to finally turn your head back around. You placed your hand on the cotton bud, pressing down until Dottore replaced it with a bandaid. Your lashes fluttered over the bashful swell of your cheeks as you awkwardly cleared your throat.
“Sorry about the fuss” you mumbled.
There was the sound of rustling as Dottore put his tools away. “Don’t be. You’re one of the better patients I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with.”
A small smile played on your lips. You let the relief of it all being over finally settle over you. It was done and you didn’t have to think about being poked with another needle for a while. You attempted to stand. You got about halfway before feeling a little woozy, knees wobbling and head light as your vision went askew for the briefest of seconds. If Dottore hadn't reached out and caught you by the elbows to steady you, you would have fallen on your arse and possibly gotten a nasty bruise in the process. You don’t know why laughter bubbled up your throat. It was a nervous little sound that rattled your ribcage and did little to help you feel better. A scowl briefly passed over Dottore’s face before his expression fell flat.
“This is why you should have eaten before I drew a vial of your blood” he said, tone bordering on scolding. “You need to eat. Now.”
You opened your mouth to respond before Dottore cut you off, raising his hand and pointing a finger at you. Your eyes threatened to cross as you stared at the tip of his finger.
“No, Sandrone’s tea time snacks do not count. You need proper food.”
A small pout tugged at your plush lips. “Am I that easy to read?”
A chuckle stirred in Dottore’s chest as a smile played on his lips. His hand slipped from your elbow to your wrist before he took your hand. Your hand felt small compared to his.
“Come with me. I’ll make sure you get a proper meal.”