Chapter 7 #2
What he needs is a distraction.
He doesn’t drag Alessia with him to the seedier gay bar in town, even though she offers. He knows it’s not healthy, but he goes anyway, condoms in his pocket because he knows he’s being stupid, but he isn’t that stupid.
The first few guys are smaller than him, lithe and toned, messy brown hair.
Eventually he realises what he’s doing. The next few are taller, blonder, muscled and skinny and soft.
“You’re being safe, right?” Alessia asks. “Come out with me instead, tonight? Or you can come to mine and we can chill. Cook something together in my shitty little kitchen. Please?”
It takes him until the end of his second year to realise he’s being really, really stupid.
He deactivates his profiles, stops going to the bar. Spends more time with Alessia and the other people on his course, gets himself checked out just in case.
He decides it’s time to focus on the future. Time to stop trying to forget the past.
???
Nathan
“Well,” she says. “You’re clearly very physically strong. What about your Gift?”
Nathan looks around the wood panelled office and makes a choice. The marble bust of some long departed gentleman lifts slowly into the air and does a lazy lap of the room, hovering for a moment in front of her face before it returns to its plinth.
“Jolly good. Strong and precise. I'd expect nothing less from Phillip Warner’s son.”
He meets her eyes impassively. She looks… formidable, that's the word. Greying hair, wool suit, pearl jewellery, steely gaze. Emily Lawson is his first real client, now the training wheels are off, a rising political star appointed to a shadow cabinet role.
The perfect first assignment, Dad said. A Principal who's been on the receiving end of a few threatening letters, assigned to a non-contentious post. Low risk, limited likelihood of conflict.
Basic bodyguard work. Perfect for a green operative with no military background.
For the son who needs a little fieldwork experience before he steps into a leadership role.
He realises he's been silent a little too long. Years of withdrawal stripped away most of his social skills, and six months of training isn't enough to rebuild them. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hmm. Go find yourself a cup of tea, Nathan. I've a lot of correspondence to deal with today, and I doubt you're here to protect me from papercuts.”
He nods once and moves towards the door. “Yes, ma’am. I'll be outside if you need me.”
There’s a kitchen down the corridor. Another besuited man stands beside the kettle, mug ready before him. Nathan gives him a perfunctory nod and grabs a mug of his own.
“Private bodyguard, eh?” The man says, looking Nathan up and down.
“Yeah,” he replies, sticking a hand out into the space between them. “Nathan Warner.”
“Sameer Malik. You Phillip Warner’s kid?” Sameer’s eyebrows rise at Nathan’s answering nod. “Heard about you. Just out of uni and straight into fieldwork, right? Never served?”
It’s an effort to hold the man’s gaze. “Um, yeah.”
The kettle comes to a boil and clicks off, a welcome distraction from Sameer’s scrutiny.
They make tea side by side, tension bristling between them.
Nathan’s aware that most of the operatives at his father’s firm transitioned to the private sector from the military or the police.
The idea of a green operative with no experience is understandably anathema, even worse when said operative is the owner’s son.
Nathan takes his mug. “Better get back to it.”
“See you around.”
Sameer’s gaze is a prickle at the nape of his neck as he walks out, shoulders held ramrod straight.
???
Will
The cafe is busy, laptops and notebooks strewn over every table, the air thick with chatter. Will takes two mugs of black coffee, extra strong, and heads straight back to the table Alessia is guarding with her life.
“I asked for a cold water top up, they should be ready to drink.”
“Thank you,” Alessia groans, lifting the mug immediately to her lips. Her skin is pale, eyes underlined by deep shadows. “I’m so tired. So tired.”
“You know I’m happy to see you, but are you sure you don’t want to go home and nap?”
“Nah. We haven’t caught up in ages. I knew placement would be tiring, but I didn’t realise how tiring, you know?”
“Well, you are in Accident and Emergency.”
“Yeah. I wish I’d been assigned to paediatrics instead. I’ll switch for our elective placement for sure.” Alessia drains her mug and starts eyeing Will’s. “How’s palliative? Is it depressing?”
He surrenders his coffee with a smile. “You know, it’s better than I expected. More holistic, I guess? There’s a lot of emotional support involved, for the families as well as the patients themselves. I’m enjoying it, actually.”
He had been dreading it since the moment he received his placement, struck by the grim irony of it, grief following him into his professional life.
But the reality of palliative care was a pleasant surprise; giving patients the best quality of life possible, supporting families on the path to the inevitable end.
The first death on shift was heartbreaking, a painful reminder of the creeping grief that smothered him when the bond broke.
When he lost Nathan for good. He was stronger for the next one, the one after that.
It dawned on him that death and life are entwined; no one without the other.
It helped his own grief, still a shadow on his soul.
Gave him a way to turn it into something positive, something he could use to help others.
“You know, I think I might do palliative for my elective placement.”
“Really?” Alessia swallows the last of her stolen coffee.
“Yeah,” Will replies. “I really feel like I can make a difference, you know? Give the patients a little peace, a little calm. Someone to laugh with, despite it all. It’s a really personal kind of nursing.”
“But you’re specialising so early.”
“Says the girl who’s been talking about paediatric nursing since the first day we met,” Will chuckles. “I dunno. It just feels right. Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”
Alessia clinks her empty mug against her other empty mug. “Proud of you, babe.”
“Thanks.” Will gathers up the mugs in one hand and squeezes Alessia’s arm with the other. “Is that a hint you want more coffee?”
“Yeah, but I’ll get it. Promise I won’t drink yours this time.”
Will laughs and watches her weave her way back to the counter, his future snapping into clarity before him, a kind of peace all its own.
???
Nathan
A rare silence blankets Emily’s office, motes of dust swirling lazily in the shafts of late afternoon sun that stripe the parquet floor. It could be peaceful, Nathan supposes, if his heart wasn’t swaddled in blankness, if his job didn’t require him to be alert and vigilant.
The job isn’t as distracting as he’d hoped.
She has a few overenthusiastic admirers, a few overly vicious critics.
Nathan earns his fees when she’s on the move or engaging with the public, and even then, most of what he does is stand around looking intimidating.
Only twice has he leapt into action; once, when a protest grew rowdy outside a party conference, and once when an admirer tried a little too hard to present Emily with his late wife’s brooch.
Both times he used his training and his Gift to create a safe path, both times he kept his cool.
Most of the time, this is the job. Sitting or standing quietly, aware and unobtrusive, waiting for a threat that’s unlikely to come.
“Nathan, be a dear and get me another tea, will you? God knows where Kevin is. What’s the point in having a secretary who disappears when you need him?”
Sometimes he’s a glorified tea boy, too, but he likes Emily enough that he doesn’t mind.
He walks to the kitchen, makes two mugs of tea, and returns, the sequence so familiar he executes it on autopilot.
“So.” Emily blows on her tea and takes a sip. “You’re very quiet.”
“Ma’am?”
“Most of the other operatives let a little personality shine through that banal professionalism you all have. But you… I’d go as far as to say you’re desolate, dear boy.”
Nathan nods his head slowly and busies himself with his own tea.
“Forgive me, but I must ask… what happened?”
She’s the first person to ask directly. The people around him—at school, at university, in his training cohort—they poked at the edges of his despair with curious fingers, retreating when he shied away.
No surprise, really; Nathan has kept people at a distance for years, his wounds too fresh and then too tender, never fully healing under the swaddle of his weakness.
The truth sits heavy in his chest, pinned in place by the rock he’s been carrying for years.
Nathan opens his mouth and talks, the story torn out from beneath that weight in halting scraps.
When he’s finished, his tea is cold. His face is damp.
“Thank you for telling me, Nathan.” Emily stands, walks around her imposing desk and stops in front of him, pulling a pressed handkerchief from her pocket.
She wipes his face, as if he were a child, as if she were his mother, dabbing the evidence of his sadness from his eyes.
“Tell me, have you considered talking to someone? I know a chap. Perhaps you’d like an introduction? ”
Nathan gazes up at her, skin prickling with the realisation that he’s not alone.
“I…” Emily offers the handkerchief, watching as he blows his nose. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Emily. I’d… I’d really like an introduction.”