Desmond
It was hours later, well past the worst of the surge, when I found her.
Something was drawing me to her. Something had lodged inside me and refused to move along.
What I was about to do wasn’t just unethical. It was immoral, and it was downright wrong. If she hadn’t wedged so deeply into the recesses of my mind, I might have been able to make a clearer choice.
But I wasn’t.
And she was.
So I sought her out.
Not cornered — never that — but intercepted, a quiet inevitability rather than an ambush. She was charting in an alcove off the main hall, shoulders loose now, hair escaping its tie. The sight of her like that — unguarded — hit me harder than it should have.
“Anya,”
She looked up immediately. Too immediately.
Like she'd been listening for my voice without meaning to.
I didn't miss the way her lips ticked up, just a touch. Her first name rolled off my tongue like a song. It wasn’t something I was in the habit of — referring to my fellow doctors by their first name.
But hers was delicious. And… if her reaction — the slight gasp, the faintest blush on her cheeks — was any consolation, she wasn’t against it, either.
Was I projecting?
“Dr. Vaughn.”
I waited until a nurse passed, until the noise swelled and receded again. Then I stepped closer, just enough that the space between us felt deliberate. “I need a word,” I said. “Somewhere private.”
Her eyebrows lifted, but she nodded. No hesitation. That alone made something tight in my chest loosen and tighten all at once.
The on-call room was empty. I closed the door but didn't lock it. I never would. As I leaned back against the counter, hands braced behind me like I were holding myself in place.
This was the part I hadn't rehearsed. The truth rarely benefited from polish. “I can't stop thinking about you,” I said plainly.
Her breath caught; I watched it happen. Filed it away like evidence.
“I've tried,” I continued, voice controlled. “I've told myself it's stress, proximity, adrenaline. That it'll pass.” My jaw tightened. “It hasn't. Not for a while.”
She didn't interrupt. Didn't pretend she didn't know where this was going.
“The way you listen to me, how you execute without asking,” I said. “You trust me. And I haven't been able to focus since.” A pause. Then, honest and rough around the edges, “That's a problem.”
Anya swallowed. “You're my attending; I’m supposed to listen to you,”
“You and I both know it’s more than that.” I pushed off the counter, took one measured step closer, then stopped. “Which is why this ends one of two ways. Either we keep pretending nothing's here, and I stay distracted. Or…” I exhaled. “We acknowledge it. Briefly. Cleanly.”
Her pulse jumped in her throat. I could see it. God help me, I wanted to touch it. “You're suggesting—” she started.
“I'm suggesting,” I said carefully, “that we get it out of our systems. One time. No promises. No expectations. So I can fucking focus again.”
Silence fell between us, thick and electric.
“This is entirely inappropriate,” her eyebrow quirked, tongue darting out just briefly to wet her lip. “You’re my superior. What if I say no?”
I didn't hesitate. “Then that's the end. I walk back out that door and we never speak of this again.” Fuck. A hollow ache settled in my chest, as a wave of disappointment washed over me. Had I misread this?
Her eyes never left mine, pinning me to my spot. “I could go to HR, Desmond,” she added, closing the distance between us.
“You could, Anya. I would prefer that you didn’t, but I won’t stop you.
” My fingers were splayed wide, my palms upturned, somewhere between surrender and a plea.
I tried, and probably failed, to keep a smile at bay.
If I had thought the sound of her name was addicting?
I was a goner hearing her use mine. “I’m not Patel. ”
“Sounds like something Patel might say.” Another step. “I want to leave.” A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise cool facade.
“O-of course,” I stuttered, moving before she had even finished her sentence. I put a wide berth between myself and the door. “My apologies, Doctor Volkov.” I cleared my throat, feeling a flush creep up my neck.
Her gaze stayed locked, barely blinking, barely breathing. Another step, but she didn’t move towards the door. Her jaw clenched tightly as her nostrils flared. “You’d let me walk out? After you just asked me to sleep with you?”
“I don’t own you, and you don’t owe me a thing.” Now felt like the exact wrong time to backtrack, but what else could I do?
She searched my face, maybe looking for something reckless or hungry.
Maybe even searching for anger. But what she found instead was restraint, stretched thin.
After several painstaking seconds, she finally broke the uncomfortable silence between us.
“I don't think,” she said slowly, finally, “this is just in your system.”
My mouth curved, just slightly. “No,” I admitted, pushing out a slow stream of air. Relief washed over me. “I didn’t think it was.”
Another beat. Then she stepped closer once more. Not touching. Not yet. “Okay,” she said. And that single word landed like a match struck in the dark.
I closed my eyes for half a second, just long enough to steady myself. “Okay,” I echoed.
And for the first time all day, the noise in my head went quiet. My hand came up first, slowly, fingers brushing her jaw like I were still deciding whether this was real. Anya leaned into the touch without thinking, breath catching, and that was all the permission I needed.
The first kiss was brief. Controlled. A test.
Then it wasn't.
I swore under my breath as I broke it, forehead dropping to hers, my grip tightening just enough to betray myself. “Fuck,” I murmured, the word escaping me.
Her hands were already on my chest, anchoring me. Feeling the way my heart was pounding as hard as hers. “This is a terrible idea,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said immediately. No denial. No hesitation. “That's why it has to stop right now.” But I kissed her again, anyway. Shorter this time. Hotter. Like I was trying to memorize the feeling and erase it at the same time.
Her lips crashed against mine when I tried to pull away, her fingers curling into my shirt, daring me to move. She tasted like cheap chapstick and some sort of energy drink I didn't care to spend anymore time focusing on.
It took all of my self-control not to moan into her mouth as her tongue teased my lower lip.
All of my self-control not to back her into the wall of the room and have her right there.
Instead, my hands slid up her arms, tracing the soft skin under her sleeves, feeling the goosebumps rise as I pulled her closer.
Anya's breath hitched, her mouth opening wider, inviting me in deeper.
I couldn't resist — I swept my tongue against hers, tasting the heat of her, the urgency building like a fire I knew would burn us both.
Her fingers loosened on my shirt, wandering up to my neck, nails lightly scraping the back of my scalp, sending shivers down my spine.
The kiss turned fierce, lips bruising, breaths mingling in short, desperate gasps.
Every slide of her tongue against mine made my pulse race harder, my body aching to press against hers without crossing that line.
When we finally broke apart, her eyes locked on mine, dark and wanting; her lips swollen and red. My hands lingered on her shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of her collarbone, as if letting go would make this moment vanish forever.
But Anya wasn't done. Her hand shot up, fingers tangling in my hair, yanking me back down for one last, quick peck — soft lips pressing firm against mine, a spark that lingered just long enough to reignite the ache before she let go.
But I’d left the door unlocked.
And even if this was a one-time thing, she deserved better.
When I pulled back, I did it decisively, hands dropping, space reappearing between us like a snapped elastic band.
“One time,” I said hoarsely. “But not like this. Not here.”
Her lips were swollen. Her eyes dark. She nodded once, sharp and breathless. “Okay,” she said again.
I opened the door for her and stood aside, professionalism snapping back into place with brutal effort. As she walked past me, our shoulders brushed.
It was nothing.
And yet… it was everything.
And when the door closed behind her, I pressed my palm flat to the counter and stared at the wall, pulse racing, jaw tight, already knowing one thing with terrifying clarity:
There was no way this was going to stay brief.