; the little -details- xXx

 

i'll edit the whole story if i have the time to tweak the bits and pieces i'm still not satisfied with.

comments will be thoroughly appreciated. =)

"You look dead," Jerry said as he came into the locker room, stripping away his outer gown. Jaime looked up from the bench, his bright blue eyes hidden beneath dripping wet obsidian tresses.

"Well that's ironic," he said, rubbing his hair with the towel around his neck, "I went to hell and back bringing someone back to life--barely."

"My transplant went better than expected."

"Owen has multiple organ failures."

"Patient has no reaction against the new liver and it's functioning as if it's his from the day he's born."

"Patient is on dialysis, respirator, dozens of different drugs and has less than two days to live."

"Charlie's a really sweet girl."

Jaime threw him a disgusted look. "Conversation killer," he said, rolling his eyes. He stood up, yanked open his locker and took out a fresh blue shirt and a sweater vest before getting into them. "So what's this I heard about you bullying Roberts again?"

Jerry scratched his stubbles. "Now that's a conversation killer," he muttered, opening his own locker before sidestepping neatly as a pile of clothes and personal belongings spilled out onto his feet. "First off, I wouldn't use the word 'bullying'. It was merely a ... greeting between old dormmates--boys stuff, y'know? And which Roberts are you talking about again?"

He took out an old, faded Hopkins jersey and quickly stripped his shirt and pulled it on before staring at the pile of junk on the floor distastefully.

"The one working for me. Beatrice's beau. Remember?"

"Oh--the hepatologist, that one with the too big nose and balding hair? That one who can't pronounce 'r'?" he picked up the pile, held his breath and stuffed it into the locker again and after a stupendous effort, closed the door. Then he looked at Jaime again, grinning wickedly, and as if to prove his point, continued, "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllllll!"

Jaime sighed and picked up his bag, exiting the room. "I know you're jealous--"

"Am so not!" Jerry called out.

"--but stop being so childish and--aaahhhh! Jesus Christ!"

Jerry put down whatever he was holding and quickly peeked out of the door; his heart actually stopped when his brother had screamed out--it's a twin thing. Charlie grinned at him in greeting, "Hey again, Jerry."

He grinned back in reply. "'Sup?"

Five minutes of greetings, pleasantries and a “Dr Benedict is a handful, can I just call you Jaime?” and Jaime’s too many nods and smiles, they made their way back to Jaime’s office. Although the summer sun was still staying stubbornly up there on the sky, it was already late evening and Jaime’s subordinates had all knocked off for that day, leaving the Diagnostics’ office quiet and empty.

“You know,” Jerry said, standing behind his brother who was watching his desk warily as if a certain girl would jump out of it, “I have this teeny weeny solution to your current dilemma. I’m sure I’ve told you about it and I’m sure the Dean’s told you about it and—”

“I’m not getting a lawyer,” Jaime said, his voice calmer as he sat behind his desk, “And I’m not getting a restraining order against the poor girl.”

Jerry rolled his eyes and plopped himself down the leather sofa in front of Jaime’s desk. “So then give the poor girl what she wants,” he said, playing with Jaime’s paperweight, throwing it up and down in his hands, “I’m sure it’d be fun.”

“I touch her, I’m gonna get screwed morally and legally.”

The paperweight flew up and fell down, replaced by a big heavy stapler, which went up and down to be replaced by a small bottle of pills; Jerry didn’t even look up from his juggling as he replied, “You know what’s your problem, Jay? You think too much.”

Jaime sighed and he propped his very heavy head on his hand. “There has to be some logical explanation why she’s following me around.”

“You sell her drugs?”

“No.”

“You ever save her life?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You ever appear in any pornos?”

“Jerry!”

Jerry’s grin was brief before his lips were twisted in concentration as he continued juggling again. “Aww, everyone of us has a secret life,” he said, “Don’t worry about it.” The paperweight flew up once last time, followed quickly by the stapler and bottle of pills and they landed gracefully into Jerry’s awaiting palm. He placed them back on Jaime’s table and bowed.

“What, no applause?” he pouted, before leaning into his chair with an easy grin. “You and your Rubik’s Cube complex; has it ever occurred to you that maybe, maybe, something can happen without any logical or medical reason behind that?”

Jaime could feel the corner of his lips twitching. “Well, I can’t see any reason why you have to be my twin brother…”

“Ask God,” Jerry said, pointing up. “And stop wondering why Charlie likes you; I’ve been looking for the smallest reason possible and trust me, Jay, I can find none.”

“Hey!” Jaime exclaimed, feigning hurt, “I’ve got great hair, for starters.”

Jerry guffawed, before stopping and staring at his twin. “Were you talking about that mop of black straws you call ‘hair’? I’m sorry, but it totally pales in comparison to Yul Brynner’s.” He got up, still laughing, and heaved his bag onto his shoulders.

“Brynner was bald,” Jaime said slowly.

Jerry winked at him and opened the door. “That’s the point.”

Jaime rolled his eyes at the bad joke as he packed his things into his bag. After switching off the lights and the air-con (unlike Jerry, he tries to keep his carbon footprint as small as possible), he went after his brother, who was waiting for him in the elevator landing. Nurses and doctors ending their shifts piled up into the lift with them, and it was too stuffy and packed and Jaime could feel claustrophobia teasing his consciousness, just like how the plenty of body odour around him was teasing his nose.

“So what’re you cooking later on?” Jerry said as soon as they were out of the elevator.

“Cordon Bleu, some soup—something I’m not sharing with you” Jaime added sharply.

“Hey, good brothers share the good things in life—”

“Go home, Jerry,” Jaime sighed, reaching out for his car keys inside his coat, “You’ve been staying over in my house for a week now. Take care of your own home—or start learning how to.”

Jerry groaned—the nice thing about staying at Jaime’s apartment was that Jaime takes care of everything, not like in his own apartment where everything was so dirty and messy even he could not stand it.

He did not even want to think how his place now looks like after being abandoned for one whole week—he could recall vaguely the mountain of dirty dishes piling up in his sink and shuddered.

It wouldn’t be very funny if he dies of poisoning by his own home.

“Yeah, great idea,” he said, an idea forming in his head, “I know, I know. I gotta learn to take care of myself and those bullshits you’ve always tried to teach me although you think that they won’t get through my stubborn skull anyway. You know what?” He punched his palm, grinning. “Good news! You’ve finally succeeded!”

“I have?” Jaime said, narrowing his eyes. “Is this where the seas will turn to blood, and fire will rain from the sky? I don’t really want to deal with the Horsemen and the end of the days right now.”

“No-no-nonono,” Jerry said dismissively. “Look, I’m even inviting you to my place and I’m even gonna cook you dinner for this special occasion.”

“Nice try,” Jaime laughed, before his laughter subsided suddenly and he bit his lip as he turned to Jerry. “On the second thought, yeah, sure, let’s go to your house right now.”

Jerry raised an eyebrow and peered over Jaime’s shoulder and could make out a slim figure leaning against the white Mercedes that was Jaime’s. He smiled wickedly inside; Jaime would do almost anything at this point to avoid Charlie and he was already listing the possible things he could make his perfectionist twin do, starting with the dishes…

“And can—can I hitch a ride, you know, just for this once?”

Jerry spun his car keys on his index finger, looking thoughtful in what he hoped was a dramatic way. “Jaime Benedict, leaving your beloved car behind and instead hitchin’ a ride?” he said slowly, “Despite the fact that the seas will turn to blood and fire will rain from the sky and stuff, sure; why not?”

---------------------------

There was a reason why Jaime chose to be a doctor instead of a lawyer. For one thing, lawyers have to write a lot. A doctor’s paperwork was bad enough, but lawyers may have to define something in such a long winded way, making sure there were no fallacies, and that the definition was easily understood and yet not easily manipulated by their opponents in the court.

Not only that, they have to understand the law inside out, know it well enough like the back of their palm. Well enough for them to use as a very deadly weapon in the courtroom. Well enough for them to manipulate the law to their own advantage. Jaime would never understand the law. He tried not to—sometimes, it could be a little bit too illogical for his liking.

This thought had been going through his mind tens of times during the few hours he had to sit on the grand mahogany table listening to the hospital attorney talk, watching the board of directors and the dean and signing whatever the lawyer asked him to sign. He fidgeted after a while, and when the lawyer approached him to sign something else, he asked him wearily, tired of listening to big words alien to his ears, “This means she can’t get anywhere near me anymore, right?”

Remy the lawyer smiled. “Yes,” he said, “Think of it like having a shield all around you for ten feet. She can’t get past those shields—not according to the law.”

He sighed in relief. Medical mystery or not, he felt better now that he had the law to protect him from her. He felt a tad bad for Charlie even though he was not the one who asked for the restraining order; the board had gotten wind of the issue and felt compelled to protect one of their best doctors from a crazed wild teenaged stalker.

He came out of the room with a spring in his step—for about five seconds or so. He watched his surrounding with alert sapphire orbs, his heart pounding hard before relaxing; there was no Charlie Ryan in sight. Jaime smiled and walked into the clinic, grabbing a file along the way, his smile widening when a huge redhead covered in rashes and blisters greeted him as he opened the door of Exam Room Three.

Life goes on.

------------------------------------

Jaime was happily sleeping and indulging in his dreams when he suddenly noticed that his air-con had turned itself off and that he was tangled in his blanket—it was the middle of summer and the sun was still setting, its golden purplish ray filtering through his curtain and for God’s sake it was hot. His hand crawled sleepily towards the air-con remote and pressed it, again and again until he realised that it was broken. Sighing, he kicked away his blanket and rolled to his other side, all the while cursing his bad luck.

The floor was still cold to the touch as he made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a jug of cold water. Then, crack!

Jaime put down the jug, his eyes now wide and alert, searching for something that did not belong to his house. He relaxed when he saw a window to his right open; it was probably the casement window swinging in and out, and may bang against the sill just now. He noticed that the curtain was fluttering wildly and he proceeded to close the window.

His hands were already on the window sills when he saw it—a lone silhouette standing in front of him. He swiped the curtains away from his eyes and squinted at the dark surrounding; nothing. Maybe it was an odd-shaped bush or something.

Shutting the window close, he proceeded to turn back when the bushes rustled and something jumped out of it in a stream of leaves, screaming at the top of its lungs away from his apartment.

He saw the caterpillar wriggling on the soft grass.

Suddenly he felt like screaming too.

--------------------------------

“Go away,” Jerry groaned from where he was laying down on the cold, hard floor of his apartment; his head was pounding like a bitch and the incessant knocking on his door did not help at all.

“Jerry,” Jaime’s voice floated in, slow and muffled. “It’s already ten—it’s time for work, and I need to talk to you.”

“No you don’t,” he replied back, his eyes flying open—and he regretted doing that soon enough as sunlight pierced his eyes despite the curtains and he felt like his head was going to split open. “And stop knocking.”

“How many did you drink last night?” his brother’s voice said again after a while.

“Everything went hazy after the sixth glass,” Jerry said as he massaged his forehead, “I dunno; nine, eleven glasses or so?”

“You’re nuts.”

“It was a challenge,” he shot back.

“Of course, that makes a world of difference,” Jaime said sarcastically, before adding in a lighter tone, “I’ve got hangover pills.”

Jerry blinked, before summoning up all his power to push himself off the floor and onto his aching feet. The world felt like it was spinning and he felt like he was walking on a vertical cliff. It took him an eternity and more to reach the door.

Jaime didn’t even smile when he saw him. “Funny thing—”

Jerry lifted up his palm. “Pills first. Bullshit later.”

The bottle of pyritinol was shoved into his hands impatiently. “You won’t even guess—”

“Sshhh,” Jerry cut in again, his eyes screwed in concentration as he tried to open the bottle. “Right now, I can only do one thing at a time, which means I can’t listen to you while trying to get this shit to open so shut up.” He growled in frustration and brought the bottle to his teeth to pry it open.

The cap gave way with a loud pop and Jerry happily downed whatever pills that fell into his mouth.
“Ready,” he said, swallowing the pills, “Get set, go!”

“Tell me, what’s a restraining order’s supposed to do?” Jaime asked thoughtfully, taking whatever pyritinol was left and pocketed the bottle before Jerry could overdose on it.

“I’m hungover, not mentally retarded,” Jerry drawled, “It’s to restrain people from other people. Duh.”

“I thought so too,” Jaime said slowly in a faux calm tone, “You know, until this early morning when I spotted her creeping around my apartment. It’s safe to say that that is not being restrained.”

“Look, if you want to scream, go on; scream,” Jerry said, looking up from the fridge, “Your forced calmness is way more annoying to my hangover than your whiny screams will be.” He found a small bottle of Johnny Walker and took it out, immediately draining it straight from the bottle.

“Jerry,” Jaime started, watching his twin warily.

“I’m sorry,” he said innocently, “Do you want some too?” He wiped his chin and set the bottle down on his dining table. “Having the hair of the dog,” he said, satisfied, “is the foolproof way of getting rid of hangovers.

“As for Charlie,” he added in between of gulps, “Since I know you’ll be too nice to bring it up to the board, don’t worry; I’ll do the honor.”

Jaime sighed, opened the door and went out. “Don’t be too late for work,” his voice said and Jerry shrugged before continuing his own hangover treatment.

----------------

TBC

One more part to go, and that's it!

Jerry ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath--and another deep one--and exited the room, closing the door gently behind him. The loud beeping ringing shrilly in his ears stopped immediately and he turned around and saw one of the most attractive girls he'd ever seen in his life.

"You're sure you're fifteen?" he muttered without realising it. Charlie, however, kept quiet, her eyes cold as they travelled up and down his height, her mouth dissolving into a thin pink line.

"You're not him," she accused, stepping back.

"Of course I'm him," Jerry said, "I mean, I'm me. You know, dear ol' Jaime."

Charlie chuckled humorlessly. "Nice try. But you can't fool me. You gotta be his brother--twin, maybe, right?"

Jerry sighed and rolled his eyes towards the heavens. No point continuing this facade anyway. "How'd you know I'm not Jaime?" he asked curiously; they were identical twins--even their mom couldn't tell us apart until now.

She raised an eyebrow and pointed at his coat. "Your nametag, for one, says 'Jeremy Benedict.'"

Jerry looked down at his ID and groaned. "God, I thought I'm smarter than this," he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes towards the heavens. "Well, you don't have dyslexia or myopia," he said to Charlie, chuckling at his own lame joke.

"Your hair's parted at the left. Dr Jaime's is on the right. Your stubble has to be at least two days old. Dr Jaime shaves," Charlie rattled off as if she'd never even heard Jerry speak at all. "And his eyes. They're..." she shrugged, "different than yours."

Jerry could feel his mouth hanging open and quickly closed them. "Oookayy," he said, feeling freaked out on behalf of Jaime, "You don't have dyslexia. You certainly aren't mentally retarded. No autism. Well," he glanced at her seriously, "You're just twisted and horny--and also really really hot. You sure you're fifteen?"

"Positive. Where's Dr Jaime?"

Jerry shrugged and he realised he was feeling a bit thirsty and decided to pop up at the cafeteria for a nice cup of espresso. Charlie followed him eagerly like a dog following its master. "He's doing doctor-ly stuff," he said, winking and grinning at the familiar faces he passed, "You know, treating illnesses, saving lives and whatever other doctor-ly stuff there is. Oh, he's damn busy," he added quickly, "So darn busy I don't think he has time to entertain any fans. You can leave the chocolate and flowers and fan letters down on the reception areas if you want."

"I just wanna see him," Charlie said, huffing.

"Will it help if I tell you that he's gay?"

Those bright green orbs widened. "No!" she gasped, before chuckling. "Naw, it won't. You're a horrible liar, by the way," she added.

Jerry made a face; he took pride in his lying skill. "Jaime's a lotta stuff: he's a stiff asshole, a total control-and-order freak and not to mention the most boring person alive, but he's no pedophile.  And he's one law-abiding American--kinda impossible to believe that such people still exist today--especially in Denver--but you got the jist. You gotta know that he won't come on to you even if you dance in front of him naked."

Charlie's eyes twinkled. "I can try," she said mischievously.

"Why him, anyway?" he asked, "Why--gimme a minute--" a doctor whom he especially disliked had just walked pass and he'd conveniently stuck out his leg--the doctor unceremoniously and gracelessly kissed the floor with a loud thud. "Concussion, Roberts?" he whispered loudly, "Thank God you're in a hospital." Charlie was laughing when he turned back to her and he grinned. "Yeah, where were we?"

Charlie didn't have the chance to reply as a loud voice froze Jerry on his tracks, although a slow smile spread on his face. "Oh yeah, here's the best part of the day," he whispered quickly to her.

"You do this everyday?"

"What can I say, I'm an attention whore," he winked and he turned around, greeting the furious redhead who was breathing down his neck. "Why, hello, Beatrice. How are you this wonderful day?"

"Wonderful until you conveniently tripped my boyfriend!" she said, pointing at the disoriented figure behind her. "He didn't do anything to you!"

"Yet," Jerry said, smirking, "If he's to do anything to me, I'd wanna get back to him as soon as possible--maybe before he did it, you know, to play it safe."

Beatrice opened her mouths and raised her hands, but no words escaped her. She groaned, glared fiercely at Jerry, her light green eyes narrowed into glowing slits which seemed to be able to burn through Jerry's cheerful blue ones. "If I don't know better, I'd say there's a tumor pressing down on your brain and thus explaining your mental retardation." She folded her arms across her chest and the dark slits which were her eyes flared up. "But then again, we all know you're just retarded by nature. How the hell you get into med school is beyond me; maybe luck does exist."

She stomped away, grabbed Roberts by the arm, spinned him in the correct direction, and then led him away. Jerry cupped his mouth, calling after her, "I'd say there's a tumor in my heart, and only you can fix it. You know you love me!"

Charlie laughed as they resumed their journey down the hall. "You're chasing someone attached to another guy?" she said, after her laughters had subsided, "Not that I blame you: she is hot."

"Exactly. It's such a waste for her to end up with Phil Roberts," he chuckled, "I'm just trying to help her achieve her true potential." He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "And who are you to speak about chasing someone's else girlfriend, Ms Crazy Relentless Stalker?"

The cafeteria was almost empty--it was only early afternoon and the lunch crowd was not there yet. "What were we talking about again?" he said, getting his wallet out.

"I forgot," Charlie said, "Can you lend me a five?"

"I'll treat you. What do you want?"

"A sandwich. A baloney sandwich." She took a seat nearest to the counter and waited for him to order. A few minutes later, he set down her sandwich in front of her, while his cup of espresso and croissant were in a paper bag he was holding in his hands.

"I gotta go soon; liver transplant in an hour's time, but before I go--all jokes aside, you gotta stop this."

"Borrowing money from you?"

"No," he sighed, rubbed his face with one hand and continued, "Stalking Jaime. He's way too nice of a guy to tell you off, but the hospital might do something 'bout it. You gotta know that stalking is against the law. The hospital gets a restraining order against you on Jaime's behalf and this whole thing's gonna end up more complicated than it already is. You'd be messing with the law."

Charlie took a bite from her sandwich and chewed it slowly before looking up to meet Jerry's sapphire gaze. "That same law states that we are not to possess or consume ice or have sex before we're sixteen. I broke those three years ago. I get everything I want. Law or no law. Some dead guy did say that laws are made to be broken, yeah?"

Jerry shrugged. "I say 'screw the laws' five times everyday, so I'm not in any position to chastise you." Then his face broke into a grimace, "Sex and drugs at twelve? Man, and they say the next generation's screwed; what an understatement."

As he took his leave, Charlie put down whatever left of her sandwich and waved at him. "It's been nice meeting you," she said, smiling sweetly.

Jerry tried to picture how Jaime's face would look like if he'd told him about what Charlie'd said and snorted. "It's been nice meeting you too," he said, winking, before getting back to his boring routine and boring doctor-ly stuff, silently musing that having Charlie Ryan around wouldn't be all that bad after all.

TBC

---------------------------------------------------------

Another short one--and yet it still took me so bloody long to write. No Jaime (it's pronounced as Jay-mie by the way XD) in this chapter, because Jerry is cool. ;) I hope I've gotten his voice right. A few more chapters to go until the supposed end of this short story, although I really haven't developed the ending yet. Any suggestions? =D

"Hey, look, it's that gorgeous doctor again!"

Jaime, who had been carefully measuring morphine in his syringe, jumped and the syringe did too, shooting a few inches into the air, squirting precious drug, and almost landed needle-first on his arm; he caught it expertly before it did and sighed in relief, putting the syringe back on the tabletop and turning back to face his grinning twin.

"Jumpy, are we?" Jerry teased.

"You'd be too if you find out that the fifteen year old girl who's trying to be closer to you than your own shadow is down there in the clinic queueing up," Jaime muttered, producing a small vial of morphine from his pockets. He pumped the syringe with the correct dose of it and went over to the bed across him. A pale, sickly-looking man lay there, twitching and groaning in pain, but other than that he showed no sign of conciousness. "He's passed out from pain," he said, inserting the morphine into his dripper, "I just hope that we can keep him in as little pain as possible before we find a cure for him--if we can."

"Poor chap," Jerry said before turning back to his brother, "But at least he doesn't look as miserable as you when you were talking about Charlie. Maybe you can try some of that morphine yourself. Might cheer you up a lil'."

Jaime shot him a dirty look as he threw the syringe into the bin, in the far corner of the room, with all the accuracy of a seasoned basketball player. "I am not miserable," he said, flipping through the medical file in his hands, "Besides, I'm not gonna see her today."

"You're not? Really?"

"I thought I said so already."

Jerry pointed to the direction of the clinic. "You have clinic duty in exactly--" he broke off and checked his Tag Heur "--8 minutes, and the girl's waiting right there with God knows what disease now just for some alone time with you. Imagine if she declares that she's got breast cancer..."

"I don't care if she's got breast cancer, hepatitis, genital warts or cerebral palsy," Jaime replied cheerfully, "I've got someone else to replace me for duty today. The dean doesn't mind; I've been doing extra hours anyway. It's just gonna be me and ol' Owen down here for today."

Owen twitched somewhat more violently as soon as Jaime mentioned his name and by instinct, they quickly looked up to check the half dozen scanners monitoring him. Heart rate and blood pressure figures jumped a little bit, but they stabilised soon enough. Jaime eyed him sadly.

"I wish we can diagnose him soon," he said, "It's just that he has too many unrelated symptoms, and MRIs and dozens of tests and biopsies don't show anything so far. We don't even have a complete family history because he lives all alone."

He plopped down onto the nearest armchair and stared at the scanners, his eyes, mirroring the Denver summer sky outside, oddly blank. The green lines on the cardiogram squiggled and danced, beeping rhytmically, a little bit slower than his own heart, but oddly relaxing, nonetheless. His hands cradled the book "The Human Brain: From Physiology to Psychology" and his mind started to wander to a pair of bright green eyes and strawberry blond tresses...

"Oh, I know you too well to know that no matter how noble you are, you're just not thinking about dear Owen and his diagnosis and predicament," Jerry's voice said, cutting into his thoughts sharply, "You're doing a differential diagnosis on another patient of yours. Five time patient of yours."

"No, I'm not," Jaime said irritably and hid himself behind the book, pretending to read it. He could still feel Jerry's sapphire stare piercing through the thick book and he put it down, giving up. "I told you what I think of her already. Munchausen. That or she's just nuts... or she has the most pathetic immune system I've ever heard of--which doesn't make sense seeing she's lived for fifteen years already." He paused, and then his mouth started to speak on its own. "Or her complains are real and they're actually symptoms for something else, or..."

He groaned and covered his face with his book. He could already picture Jerry's annoying smug grin in his head, and when he lowered his book and faced his twin, the grin on his face was just exactly how he pictured it.

"Well, smart ass," he began, "Aren't you just a wonderful diagnostician who lives up to your famous reputation?" He paused, although this was more for a dramatic effect than waiting for Jaime's answer and he continued, "No! Look, maybe I'm just a lowly surgeon who's not a damn great diagnostician like you, but I think my diagnosis in this case owns all of yours: She is a STALKER!"

Jaime looked thoughtful for a while, before dismissing it. "That may not be entirely true," he said, frowning, "And that can't really be called a diagnosis--"

"She's obsessed with you. She's. An. Effing. Stalker," Jerry interrupted him again, before leaning back against the wall and grinned, "There. Any prescription for that?"

Jaime opened his mouth to reply, but his cellphone rang and he took it out immediately. A few solemn minutes later, he hung up and shoved the N93 back into his pockets with a heavy sigh. "That was Dr Ross. He says that a certain patient of his--"

"--whose name happens to start with a C and ends with an E--"

"--is refusing treatment from him because she'd like to discuss personal matters with Dr Jaime Benedict and she'd only trusted him, her only doctor so far, with her condition--"

"Stop talking about yourself in 3rd person. It's weird," Jerry cut in again, shuddering.

Jaime rolled his eyes. "I'm just repeating what George's just said. But anyway, I told him to tell Charlie I'm busy with a dying patient right now, so she better just receives treatment from him, or leave."

"That's weird," Jerry said thoughtfully and Jaime just knew that he was going to say something totally unrelated to what he just said,  "George Ross is way more better looking than you--" Jaime glared at him--"and yet she still wants you? Woah, that can only mean... she's a STALKER! God, isn't it damn obvious now?"

Jaime shook his head. Deep down, he wanted to believe that, but his mind--his logical, analysing mind, which currently annoyed that deep down part of him to no end--believed that there had to be something medically wrong with Charlie. "If it's Munchausen," he said, ignoring Jerry, "Once we turn her away for a few times or give her a long treatment, she'd go away on her own."

Jerry snorted, his back facing him. "Yeah, you mean 'go away' just like that?" he sneered, pointing a thumb at the windows where a tall, blond girl stood, looking around in a dazed manner as if looking for a specific room--or maybe a specific someone. Jaime jumped up from the armchair and quickly turned the window blinds.

"I'm supposed to be treating a dying patient!" he moaned, and as if on cue, Owen started to twitch and shake more violently, his eyes snapping open before the grey pupils rolled up, showing only white and the scanners started to scream in warning in a dozen different noises. Jaime slapped himself before pressing the alarm button, and a horde of nurses rushed in.

"Dr Benedict, What's wrong?"

"Dr Benedict?"

"Dr Benedict, He's having a seizure!"

"Dr Benedict..."

The words flooded in along with the rush of adrenaline and the panic, but Jaime realised something at the back of his mind: these nurses had just practically announced his presence here to the whole hallways, where a lot of people were in, including one wandering Charlie Ryan...

It would really, really suck if she was to barge in there and then to see him. He works well under pressure, but not this kind of pressure.

As the nurses took care of Owen, whose condition was deteriorating fast, Jaime snatched Jerry's arms and said urgently, "Get her outta here."

"Heart rate's dropping, BP is on all time low!"

Jerry rolled his eyes. "Do it yourself."

"We can't use that drug to stop his seizure; he's allergic to it."

"Then who's the idiot who gave this to me?"

Jaime prepared his own drug and rapidly brushed Owen's ivory skin with an alcohol swab. "In case you haven't noticed, my arm's full with a dying patient!"

"In case you haven't noticed, I--well--" Jerry looked around before continuing, "if I listen to you, I'm gonna have a crazy stalker trying to rape me because she thinks I'm you. In case you haven't noticed, we're twins and I happen to look a lot like you!"

"Have I mentioned she's hot?".Jaime's tone was pleading and desperate, "Great smile, great chest, great ass. You'll love her; she's your type."

"No?"

The seizure had stopped, but Owen's heart rate was not picking up. "Jumpstart his heart," he said to the nurses, and one of them scurried off to get the necessary equipments. He turned to Jerry while he pumped Owen's bare chest.

"Just get her outta here."

--------------------
TBC

If it's a bit messy (gasp! the grammar mistakes!), that's because I can't really think straight because of some really exciting news in my inbox right now. ;) maybe i'll get back to this if i have time.

George Ross--reference to ER. Cookies to those who can guess what/who. XD

"I've got a cute doctor," the girl chirped as soon as Jaime walked into the room. She was blond, tall and pretty and a very wide, flirty smile was plastered on her face.

Jaime glanced at her file. "Charlotte--"

"Don't call me that," she cut in, shuddering, "It's Charlie."

"Okay, Charlie Ryans," he finished, taking his stethoscope from the table he was leaning against. "What's wrong?"

Charlie shrugged. "I saw a 'rhinovirus' in that book just now," she said, pointing at his medical dictionary, "What are its symptoms?"

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "It's common cold," he explained, putting the earpiece in his ears. He gestured at her shirt and she unbuttoned the first few buttons, and after glancing at him slyly, she unbuttoned more. "Runny nose, slight headache, slight aching..."

Charlie grinned at him. "So let's just say I've got all that," she said, "Means I can't go to school, right?"

Jaime chuckled and took off the stethoscope. "Open up and say 'aah'," he said, gesturing at her mouth. He inserted the wooden stick in and surveyed her throat, before pulling it out and throwing it into the tray. He lifted up her chin and examined her nose, and then he turned his back against her and took out his prescription script.

"So..."

"Nasal congestion, phlegmy throat," he listed off and turned to face her again, "Congratulations. You've adopted the rhinovirus and here's its certificate of adoption," he said, handing her the prescriptions. "That should be enough to get you out of school for today."

Charlie shoved it in her pockets, her green eyes not leaving his face even for a second. "Cute, smart and funny," she said, smiling not-so-innocently, "You've got a girlfriend?"

"You're fifteen," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

She leaned close to him and looked up. "People have always said I'm mature for my age," she whispered. Then she chuckled, got up and buttoned her shirt slowly before exitting the room. "Thanks again, Dr Benedict," she called out and she sashayed her way out. The door clicked shut a few seconds later and Jaime stared blankly at it for a few seconds before shaking his head, clearing it.

-------------------------------------------------

"Stop laughing," Jaime moaned as Jeremy guffawed even harder and sent pieces of baloney everwhere, including his face. "If you keep this up, don't blame me if I don't tell you anything anymore."

Jerry stopped instantly, only to choke on whatever remained of his baloney sandwich. Jaime handed him his lemon tea and he gulped it down, sighing satisfactorily. "Come on, bro," Jerry said, putting the empty plastic glass down on the table, "Who asked you to be this attractive? It's not any of those women's fault that they came on to you."

"We're twins," Jaime said, rolling his eyes, "I look like you. A lot. And yet, you don't have any of this... bullshit... happening to you."

"I'm a surgeon," said Jerry with an easy grin, "Most of my patients are unconcious when I meet them. Although there's this one time this old lady with bronchitis--not my patient; Beatrice's--came to my office to declare that she fell in love with me at first sight. But then again, it may just be her chemical imbalance..."

He spotted Beatrice walking into the cafeteria and put his legs on the table, accidentally kicking away Jaime's fries, and propped his chair on its two hind legs. He messed up his black hair a little and plastered a devious grin on his face. "If it isn't my favorite oncologist!" he called out, "You free for dinner later?"

"You're an inoperable tumor, Benedict," Beatrice hissed and walked away, her copper blond hair trailing behind her like a curtain. Jerry's chair dropped back to its four legs with a thud and he propped his face on his hand sourly.

"She's playin' hard to get," he said, glancing at her figure in the cafeteria line, "D'you reckon behind that hard demeanor she really likes me?"

Jaime looked up from where he was crouched on the floor, gathering up his fallen fries. "That's one girl the Benedict charm doesn't work on," he said, shoving his dirty lunch at his brother, "Good luck."

He picked up his bag and stood up. "Where're you going?" Jerry asked, plopping some of the fries into his mouth.

"A patient of mine's scheduled for MRI in a few minutes time," he replied, snatching the fries out of Jerry's grip, "You're a doctor, Jerry. Which part of 'personal hygiene' don't you understand?"

He threw the packet of fries neatly into a nearby bin and exited the cafeteria, blending in with the crowd in the busy hospital.

-------------------------------------------------------

Jaime was late for clinic duty for ten minutes thanks to a test gone wrong because his patient was a spoilt ten year old who wouldn't stop squirming. He threw on his white coat, grabbed a file and entered Exam Room Three, only to blink at a familiar face.

"I've got the cute doctor again," Charlie winked, "Must be my luck."

Jaime raised his eyebrows, before consulting the file. "Says here you're complaining of a stomach ache," he read off, "Rhinovirus gone?"

"Without a trace," Charlie answered, "You gotta check my stomach, right?"

Before Jaime could do or say anything, she'd shed off her shirt. She crossed her leg and smiled at him as if waiting for him patiently. Jaime's mind went numb for a while, and he forced himself to snap out of it and took a hold of his stethoscope.

"Did you have breakfast?" he muttered, his bright blue eyes everywhere but on her chest.

"Nope," she said cheerfully, "I'm on a diet."

She took a few minutes to button up her shirt and leaned really close to Jaime to get her prescription. "I'm gonna be sixteen in a few weeks' time," she said, before getting up and walked to the door,her hip swaying exaggeratedly.

Jaime rubbed his face when she left and sighed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"So she's been comin' again and again for how many times again?"

Jaime lifted up five fingers. "First time for common cold, second time for gastric, third time for eczema, fourth time for back problem and fifth time for Syphillis--she doesn't have any STD, really, but she wouldn't get out until I do the necessary tests."

"Necessary tests," Jerry echoed, "That's usually the most disgusting part of diagnosing an STD."

"Apparently, not to her," Jaime sighed. "I'm thinking of Munchausen."

Jerry shook his head. "Maybe she's just trying to get out of school--you issued her with an MC everytime--at least for the first four times, right?"

"It is part of the procedure. She isn't faking--except for the Syphillis," Jaime said, folding his hands below his chin, " It's Munchausen."

"Tell her that--it's still a medical condition and she can get an MC for that," Jerry chuckled, "Saves her the trouble from getting sick all the time to skive school."

Jaime shrugged. "Next time she comes," he said, "I'm referring her to another doctor. She's wasting the time I can use to save other people" He raised his glass to his mouth, only to find it empty. He passed it to Jerry. "You're refilling your coffee, right? Get me some water along the way."

Jerry rolled his eyes--a perfect copy of Jaime's--and got up with a sigh, exiting Jaime's office. Jaime turned back to his paperwork, grabbed a medical dictionary and twirled his pen in one hand, reading it silently. Patient experienced a 30 second seizure. MRI showed nothing...

"Hello!"

Jaime jumped and his pen flew out of his hand. He looked up, and blue met green and he groaned. "C-Charlie?" he exclaimed, "Why--What--How?"

Charlie pointed to his door. "It says Jaime Benedict, MD. Neurologist," she said innocently, "I'm thinking that would be you."

"What are you doing here?"

She twirled her long blond hair and looked at him with half lidded eyes. "I wanted to see you," she whispered, "Don't you wanna see me too?"

Jaime glanced past her shoulder: the hallways were empty. Where was Jerry when he needed him? "I'm, uh, just about to go home," he said, picking up his bag and shoving the medical reports into it. "You shouldn't be out this late--"

"Wanna stopover at my house? My parents aren't in town and I've got the house all to myself."

"Er," Jaime said again, calculating the distance between his desk and the door and how fast it would take for him to run away, "Charlie, you're fifteen. There are other fifteen year old boys around--handsome, strong, horny..."

"I like you," she smiled.

"I'm over twice your age."

"I like you."

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but just then his pager beeped. He picked it up quickly and read the message. "My patient's got a heart attack," he said, never feeling this happy to hear his patient dying, "I gotta go check up on him right away, so..."

He slipped around her, opened the door and ran as fast as he could to the ward. Charlie'd most likely think he was running for the patient's life when in fact he was running for his life.

TBC

-----------------------------------

Inspired from the episode Lines in the Sand, season 2 of House--especially on the rhinovirus (what a fancy name for common cold!) and the girl-stalking-doctor-thing. But the Munchausen part--feigning/inflicting disease on oneself to get attention--is inspired from real life. ;)

I thought it wasn't wrong,
To hide from you,
Simple truth.

I was scared,
I felt it all along,
But it hurt to much for me, to share.

If only I, had been less blind.
I'd have someone to hold on to.
IF only I, could change your mind,
If only I had known, If only I had you...


The sunlight pricked his skin as he narrowed his aquamarine eyes into tiny, gleaming slits. The sand was warm under his feet, tickling the bare skin as he slowly made his way to the zigzagging blue up front, leaving deep, deformed footprints in them. He cupped his eyes with a tanned hand--a figure waddling in the waist deep water was waving at him, splashing cool water droplets at him, its head thrown back in pure joy and the curtain of blonde hair was just dipping slightly into the sea.

He could hear her voice, as light as the summer wind blowing around them, laughing and shouting something incoherent (she accidentally swallowed sea water by the look of it) as she continued waving enthustically at him; his eyes travelled to her jiggling chest and he turned away, his face as red as his sunburnt arms.

She was happy.

That was an understatement.

He smiled. He was glad to see her very happy and chirpy again.

A moist, soft hand patted his arm gently. He looked up and his eyes met her soft, wine colored ones. "Is the heat getting into you?" she asked, teasing gently. "Maybe you should get out of that tee shirt and pants and get into the water."

He let his eyes roamed over her face, taking in her beautiful almond shaped eyes and her flawless pale skin and those dimples that framed her pink, petite lips. He placed his hands around her waist (and his naughty fingers developed a mind of their own and caressed the strap of her bright yellow bikini erotically) and she leaned against him, her damp hair wetting his shirt.

"You're not running away from me again, are you?" she muttered, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck; he breathed in deeply in her scent--that sweet, fresh unique chestnut smell of hers--and Lord, how he missed that.

"No," his mouth said, even before his mind could wrap around the word. "No, I was stupid."

"Glad you finally know that," she said; he could feel her smile against his skin. "Dumb asshole. You and your selfish noble intentions."

He kept silent. Dumb asshole indeed. Too poor, too old, too dangerous. He thought he was sparing her from the grief and pain she would have if they continued being together.

An image of her with dark rings below her bloodshot eyes, her limp hair and her too-skinny frame came to mind. He shuddered.

Dumb asshole, indeed.

"Hey," she said softly, her breath caressing his skin (and his own breath got hitched in his throat). "But that was that, huh? I've already forgiven you and forgotten that matter." He looked down; she was raising her eyebrows suggestively. "Correction. You, me, skinny dipping, and I'll forgive and forget."

She got up (his fingers withdrew to themselves again quickly) and ran to the sea, burying him in a pile of sand as she did. A splash and a string of curses meant that she'd tripped (over her own feet, obviously; she really was a danger to herself) and he followed her to the edge of the water with his own slow, long strides, his eyes following her petite figure eagerly.

(Like an old toad lusting a princess, don't you think, man?)

(Shut up, man.)

"STRIP!" her shout broke his train of thought and by the time she was giggling, his shirts and khakis were already pooling on the sand below, the sunlight bouncing off his well toned chest and washboard abs.

He smiled. The past was the past; another skeleton in his closet. He could hide it underneath old cloaks and blazers and moth eaten shirts, and it would always stil be there. But she gave him a new shot, a new chance with her (and fuck it, man) (shut up, man) and he wasn't gonna screw it up.

The water was cold, a sharp contrast to the summer heat. He slowly waddled on, his feet slow and sluggish as he dragged them across the water. The wave brushed against him and his cotton boxer bounced up and down under the clear water (a few small fish leisurely swam around the creases of the fabric, and some got lodged into the small pockets of his boxer).

"Hey, slow," she teased, though her eyes were soft as she looked up at his face, a good six inches above hers.

"Hey, impatient," he said, wounding his hand in hers.

"So, are you gonna make me forget about you being dumb?" she said, smirking naughtily.

There was an old saying, something about learn from the past or some shit like that. He felt weightless as the water climbed up to his chest and she released his hand and looped it around his neck, her wet skin cold against his dry one--feeling guilty all his life would get him nowhere, and he could start now.

"Love ya," he said as truthfully and earnestly as his feelings for her and he brought his lips down on hers and she responded, moving her lips across his hungrily, her tongue flicking in and out of his open mouth, dancing with his own and for that one blissful moment, he forgot about the stupid past and everything else (and he kept his promise and his end of the deal and made her forget about it too) because all that mattered was the present (and her.)

Finally understand,
Why things have happened,
And how it all could go so wrong.

Will this pain ever end?
'cause I don't think I can carry on.

If only I, had been less blind.
I'd have someone to hold on to.
If only I, could have spoke my mind,
If only it were true, We could start brand-new
I know I'll make it through
If only I had you!..
If only I had you!..
If only I had you!..

If Only
Hoobastank

            The rain spattered onto the ground, droplets like transparent clear pearls free falling from the overcast sky, pooling down on the pavement below. She shivered and huddled closer to herself, her breath frosty from the cold autumn; her red hair was plastered on her face, hiding her emerald gaze from the distressed world outside.

 

            She tucked an auburn strand behind a pink ear, raw and numb from cold. The alley came into view, dirty, dark and dingy with a stench that sharply penetrated her nostrils; she gagged and crawled away from the dumpsters. She let out a gasp of surprise as cold invaded her senses and she realized that she had just sat on a puddle of murky water.

 

            “Argh!” she said, standing up in frustration. A rat scurried into the darkness of the alley and she shivered—not in cold, but in disgust. The rain did not look like it would let up anytime soon; she was trapped in this goddamned trash haven for a few more hours at the least.

 

            She looked at the bundle in her arm, the wrapping soaked with rain water and God-knows-what. A pang hit her heart. It was his birthday today. Fuck it. His birthday.

 

A happy day for him.

 

            Not a very happy day for her.

 

The rain cried for her.

 

***************

 

            She first saw him last year—or a mere few hours from last year, to be exact. Her cousin had insisted on her to attend his new year’s party, and when she had refused for the twentieth time, he literally dragged her out of her room, only releasing her hand when he realized that she was decked in nothing but her sleeping gown.

 

            “Get into your best party clothes, cousin,” he said, winking as she slammed the door on his face. “Tonight’s gonna be wild!”

 

            When he saw her in a dull yellow long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans, he forced his way into her closet and picked some clothes for her—although it was not a very good decision (“Cuz, those are my KNICKERS, not a microshort!”).

 

            Half an hour and a messy wardrobe later, he hauled her into his new car and drove in a neck breaking speed to the café at the edge of the city (“I’m bloody late for my own party. And ‘cause I gotta blame someone, it’s all YOUR fault! Hear me?”). There—after he tore up the speed ticket he got—he made her ask any guy she saw to dance with her; she couldn’t refuse since the blokes were all too eager to get their moves—and hands—on her.

 

            “Cuz, lemme introduuuuceee yehhh…”

 

            She brushed her very, very drunk cousin away and walked briskly towards a sofa at the corner of the room. The room was dark, safe for the flashing disco light around her and every few seconds or so, she would inevitably bump into people—young, drunk men, giggling women, couples making out (eew…) and…

 

            “Oh Lord.”

 

            She looked up from the very uncomfortable floor she was sitting on, her butt sore from the previous impact and her head still dizzy from the floor. A figure crouched in front of her, holding an empty glass, and she could see red liquid trickling down his knitted vest…

 

            She was such a clumsy git!

 

            “I’m really sorry, uh,” she looked at his face, prematurely lined and pale—there were dark bags under his eyes. “Uh, sir.”

 

            He chuckled as he followed her eyes from his face down to his clothes. “It’s fine, really. Nothing a good dry cleaning won’t do, uh, miss,” he said, his blue-gray eyes glittering. He offered her one pale hand as he stood up to his full height… sweet Mary mother of God, he was TALL!

 

            She smiled, taking his hand in hers—it was so big, and warm and it just felt so right with hers. “Actually, I have a name other than ‘miss’, y’know? It’s…”

 

            “CUIIISSINNEEE,” a voice drawled behind her; she flinched at her cousin’s spelling. “Just tehhh perzen I want ‘cha to meetttt.”

 

            “How much has he been drinking?” the man in front of her asked, studying her cousin with an amused expression, and when she squinted, a tinge of concern in his eyes.

 

            “More than what we’ve all drunk combined altogether,” she shrugged. “And my name isn’t ‘cuisine’,” she added quickly.

 

            The man laughed. “I was hoping it wasn’t. ‘Cuisine’ would be a … rather exotic name,” he smiled. “Mine is quite unique though. It’s Jin. You don’t want to know what’s it’s short for.”

 

            She shook the hand that he was still holding. “My name is…”

 

            “Dahhlinngggg. Gooo dennsee with my mate, Jin.”

 

            “I’m sure it isn’t ‘Dahhhlinnnggg’ either?” the man chuckled.

 

            “No,” she muttered, a flush creeping up her face. “No, it’s,” she stopped for a while before shoving her cousin back into the crowd before he could interrupt anymore. “It’s Anne. Not very unique, eh?”

 

            “No,” Jin agreed, “I have seen my fair share of Annes in my life. But you have to be the prettiest of them all.”

 

            The flush exploded on her cheek and she inclined her head, not wishing to show him her blush. “So, you wanna dance?”

 

            She suddenly realized that her hand was cold—he had just released it. She frowned, before smiling again, looking up into his eyes and as soon as she did, her jade orbs were drowned in the cloudy blue pools.

 

            “No, actually, I can’t dance,” he said, bringing her head back into good ol’ Earth. She shook her head. “That’s why I’ve been sitting here, a miserable old chap accompanied with only my watermelon punch, which is the only thing that I seem to finally get all over me.” He grinned, before producing a handkerchief to wipe the stain on his clothes.

 

            “Oh,” she said, feeling guilty all over again. “I’m really sorry about that. My feet like to act on their own accord most of the time.” She moved forward, and grabbed a napkin from a passing by waiter before grabbing a fistful of his vest. He flinched.

 

            “Did I hurt you?”

 

            “No, it’s…” he gulped. “I’m not used to having a girl this close. It’s…”

 

            She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes. Nice, she muttered in her mind. It’s nice to have him this close. But she quickly shifted her gaze to her feet, her hand crumpling the napkin into a ball before chucking it in a random direction. “Well, sir, this stain is too stubborn for the both of us to handle. So, to make it up, I’ll come sit with you over there and accompany you till my cousin lets us both go. Deal?”

 

            He looked surprised, but he quickly covered it with a very warm smile. “Get me some watermelon punch and it’s a deal, miss.”

 

            She laughed and tried to walk to the direction of the buffet table—but her legs caught the edge of the carpet and she fell and tripped a waiter who was nervously avoiding the drunken crowd and five glasses of watermelon punch flew above her head, spilling their content on the man beside her.

 

            She gasped in horror as she watched the red liquid slowly trickling down dirty blond strands and on his face, cutting a crimson path onto his clothes. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream; she compromised by snorting.

 

            “There you go, sir, your watermelon punch.”

 

*********************

 

            He loved watermelon.

 

            She knew that by heart, like she knew that summer comes before autumn and that goats have four legs. It’s a fact, a law of nature: He loved watermelon.

 

            Her tears slowly dripped off her pale cheek and onto the brown bundle in her arms. She tried to wipe those salty droplets off, but her nails raked against the brown paper and it tore.

 

            Inside was his birthday present. A watermelon. One she’d just bought fresh from the market a few hours ago before the sky poured down on her. How appropriate. Giving a guy she loved something he loved much.

 

            She wished it had been her—his birthday gift—not this stupid watermelon.

 

*********************

 

            “10, 9…”

 

            “A what?”

 

            She giggled. “A new year’s kiss, moron!”

 

            “8, 7, 6…”

 

            He frowned into his thirteenth cup of watermelon punch. “Did you just make it up on spot so that you could kiss me?” he asked, and a lazy grin replaced his frown. “’Cause you don’t have to do that to get a kiss…”

 

            “5, 4…”

 

            “No, idiot,” she rolled her eyes. “And here I thought you’re a brilliant Oxford doctorate graduate.”

 

            “I study viruses and their mutation patterns, miss. Not kissing traditions.”

 

            “3…”

 

            “So, I can kiss you?”

 

            He tugged at the collar of his blue Oxfords, clearly uncomfortable. “Why would you…”

 

            “2…”

 

            She blushed. “Gawd. You ask too many questions. To kiss or not to kiss?” She said, annoyed.

 

            “Uh…”

 

            “1…”

 

            “I swear watermelon punch causes brain freeze. Forget it, sir.”

 

            “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

 

            She did have a New Year’s kiss. But it wasn’t his lips which were on hers that night and regret swallowed her insides whole.

 

***********************************

 

            Stupid rain just won’t stop.

 

            She cursed.

 

            Another reason for her memory to mock her from their dwellings deep inside her mind.

 

**********************************

 

            “Jin’s contacts.”

 

            She glanced at the piece of paper her cousin had shoved into her hand, making out messy handwriting with several of the letters sticking together, making them very hard to read.

 

            “Go back to school and relearn how to write, Orion,” she muttered. “I can’t read a damned thing.”

 

            “You’re welcome, Anne,” her cousin said, rolling his eyes. “There. Since you’re a big girl and everything, I don’t hafta remind you about all these abstinence and contraceptives shit. But just remember.” His voice dropped to a more serious tone. “No sex till the third date.”

 

            “What makes you think I’m interested in him?”

 

            “’Cause, when I mention his name, you jump three feet up in the air and your face will go scarlet,” he grinned. “Jin.”

 

            She jumped involuntarily and she felt like her heart was still five feet in the air above her.

 

            “See?” he declared triumphantly.

 

            “Bugger,” she cursed.

 

            “Ah, okay. Where was I? Oh yeah. Even if he just has to get into your knickers, please don’t do it here at home,” he said, feigning disgust and horror. “I need my sleep for work, lil’ cousin.”

 

            “And I put up with you bringing a new girl here every week. How fair is that?”

 

            He grinned. “My house. My rule. Knock up Jin right and you can go move in with him. Then you’ll be free from my tyranny.”

 

            “We’ll see.”     

 

            She chuckled before retiring into her room, the crumpled piece of paper stored neatly in her breast pocket. She’d decipher Orion’s handwriting later on. But before she could close the door, her cousin’s voice floated by, more solemn than she had ever heard him.

 

            “I wasn’t kidding, Anne. Jin needs it. Jin needs someone like you to go and kick some sense into his scrawny ass,” he smiled at her from across the room sadly. “He needs you to set his life right again.”

 

            She raised an eyebrow mentally. What was that all about?

 

**************************

 

            The watermelon was cold against her bare skin; she clutched it hard against her chest as thunder flashed above her.

 

            “Who’s the idiot, huh?” she said softly to herself. “You, for being a noble git or me, for falling for you?

 

            She stared at the watermelon hard; but it just won’t tell her the answer.

 

Stupid fruit.

 

***************************