Work Text:
John sits down at the office chair that Mr. Krieg had convinced Dr. Harlow to buy. He should thank him the next time he sees him.
His can of Cola sweats in his hoof. He uses one point to flip the tab, and a slow fizzing sound follows. He takes a sip and the bubbles simmer on his tongue before setting in and the liquid slides down his throat.
Blond steps in and closes the door behind him. His ears hang by his head instead of up. His ears only do that when he's tired.
John watches him trudge to the coffee machine and pour himself a cup. He picks up his mug and then proceeds to sit on the floor next to, and almost in front of John's chair.
Blond doesn't allow anyone to watch him drink. So, John looks away, to the ceiling, and pushes his suspicions to the back of his brain. What he's heard from everyone else who has been on shift with him, and from what he's seen, Blond turns to the corner or to the end of the hallway to eat or drink or whatever he does that involves his mouth. No one has ever even seen his mouth move.
The deer ignores the sound of plaster being moved, and the agonizingly quiet crackle of a mouth opening wide. But he can't. He knows something is so fucking wrong with the new hire and questions if Dr. Harlow is just blind or pretending to be.
But he can't think about it. If he thinks about it, he will spiral. He can't let himself get to that point anymore. He promised himself he wouldn't, if not to promise anybody else.
He hears the pour of something hot rush down a throat, and that crackle repeats. The plaster moves again. When he hears the soft click of the coffee mug being set down on the registry table, he knows it's safe to look back to him.
Blond is lying down on the green carpet floor. Legs curled upwards and hands rested on his knees; head folded in and to his chest. His ears are pinned to the back of his head. He's so close to the chair that the hooves of his legs might brush his fur or tap the fabric of his hood.
God, the intern is so fucking weird.
John reclines and takes another sip of his Cola before setting it down next to Blond's mug. The carbonation lingers in his mouth. The sweet spice burning his tongue doesn't distract him from the feeling that has suddenly crept back up on him.
It's been such a long night, especially with an ambulance arriving with two hours before shift-end. They'd only just finished with their last patient. His cigarette box is in his vest, the metal piece of his stethoscope flat on the surface of fabric in front of it. He could just excuse himself. That's what he does.
John stands and narrowly avoids knocking his feet into the intern as walks past him. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he mutters, maybe to no one, as he opens the door and then walks to the front.
The second the double door slide open and wind breezes into John's face, he feels himself relax. He stands off to the side behind the entrance doors and chooses to lean against the hospital's grimy wall. It's still wet from the rain that had started in the middle of the night, but it had lessened into a drizzle when they'd gotten the word that of the emergency anomaly attack. John had half-hoped the rain would pour heavier and the driver would slip and the truck would crash and everyone and everything in it would die. It didn't happen, unfortunately, and five out of the six of the patients were anomalies. What a drag.
John pulled out his cigarette box and pried one from the line it was in. He'd been cutting down on how often he smoked. Good. He didn't need more health problems. But, with how tonight went, he really wished he still left edibles in his work bag, which wasn't the best way to think.
He fished his highlighter out of his pants pocket and lit the cigar's end. The sweet smell of burn tickled his nose as he put it to his lips.
As the nicotine sunk from his teeth and lungs into his system, he felt himself noticeably relax. The familiar feeling enveloped his body and curled around him like the smoke he breathed when he exhaled. When the antsy feeling returned, he put the cigar back to his lips and let the chemicals hug him again.
Now everything was too quiet, but quiet in the way it was peaceful. The sky was lighting and turning sherbet orange shy of the horizon. John's eyes flicked to the watch on his wrist and relaxed more voluntarily when he saw the time. 6:51 AM. The day shift would be arriving soon, and John could finally go home and sleep.
He jumped at the sound of the door opening. Blond was suddenly in front of him, ears pinned back and shrinking in his large zip-up.
"What the fuck, man?" John lowered his hand and pushed off the wall, staring down at the new hire. Blond shrunk further under his eyes.
John looked to the side. The last thing he needed was for the new hire to be scared of him. His reputation was already shit because of how seemingly standoffish he was with his coworkers.
He never meant to be that way. He just wanted to work. It was his only escape besides the drugs he used to be so dependent on, not so much now, which was why he took more shifts. Worked longer. It wasn't healthy. He knew that like he knew a lot of things he didn't want to know about himself. But what else was there?
"Don't startle me again," John said, leaning against the wall once more and regretting his words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He could have worded that better.
Blond was quiet, then took a spot to his right, fiddling with his large, cuffed sleeves. The white of his clothes blended in with the white of the wall.
"Sorry," Blond started, sounding something sheepish. "I hadn't meant to."
John thought about his response for a short while. "It's fine."
"I just didn't know where you were and I panicked."
John thought about his response longer then. The intern was seriously panicked over him? Finally, he settled on, "I told you I would be back in a few minutes before I left."
Blond deflated. "I didn't hear you."
It went silent after that. Carefully, John continued to smoke, sure to blow his smoke off to the left. Blond watched. Unease slowly pricked at his mind, but he shoved it back.
"I didn't know you smoked," Blond commented. John took the opportunity to drop his cigar to the pavement and crush the dying flame under his shoe.
"Yes," John replied simply. He asked something small. "Do you?"
Blond didn't answer until John had picked up the remains of his cigarette. "Um, I use a bong."
John nodded. Not a word else was passed between them, as the sound of a vehicle rolling up slowly filtered into the haze of the early morning.
He recognized the sleek, dark car. Ronnie stepped out after he parked, his rich black ears flopped by the sides of his head. His crisp dress shirt wrinkled as he walked to them.
"Morning," he greeted, more to the intern than the paramedic. "How was your shift?"
"...Busy," Blond replied.
"Just you two?"
"Yeah," John answered.
Ronnie nodded, but he didn't look at him. "Hm. It's just me and Nora today, too."
As if his words were a cue, another car pulled into the lot. It was a small, busted-up pink van. Nora stretched her way out of the door. She pulled her green scrubs up as she yawned and stood beside Ronnie.
"Good morning," she greeted, and the rasp from her voice faded into cheer. She always managed to find energy even with her longer shifts and temporary stay into the next shift. "How was your night?"
Blond seemed happier to answer her than Ronnie. "It was good. We were busy, but the crowd was gone eventually."
She gave him a woozy, comforting smile. She looked past John as Ronnie walked past him to step inside, seemingly done with conversation, but her eyes finally settled on his. Unease pricked at him again as her smile thinned.
Not unkindly, Nora gently placed a hand on John's arm and pat gently. She pulled away when he tensed.
"Have a good rest of the day," she said, voice softer than it had last been. She had learned she had done something wrong, touching him. "See you around."
"Bye," Blond said, too quiet for her to hear as Nora had already made her way inside and was pawing at Ronnie's shoulder for his attention.
John didn't relax when she left. If anything, his muscles felt tighter in his body, and his mind more scrambled. He itched for another cigarette, but he realized the intern was still beside him.
Quietly, he pushed off the wall and walked inside. He walked to the receptionist's desk, where Ronnie pointedly ignored his presence and Nora waved at him, and reached over the counter to snatch his not-so-cold Cola. It was probably flat by now, he thought, as he walked to his locker in the middle of the wings hall. He stripped himself of his vest and shoved it into his duffel, before throwing the bag over his shoulder.
John's surroundings blurred as he walked back into the fresh, open air. The sounds fizzled and simmered to a low, hushing hum as he opened his car door. Cool blanketed him as he sat in the driver's seat.
His back ached. He had lidocaine patches somewhere in his apartment bathroom. All he needed was to get home.
John lifted his head. Through the window, he could see the distant outline of Nora speaking to Blond as he gathered his own belongings. He didn't have much.
Curiosity and an odd, uncomfortable craving budded in his stomach. It made his skin crawl, like a thousand spiders had burrowed under his skin and were attempting to break away from him. The thought made John cringe and he started his car.
He just needed sleep. That's all.