Chapter Text
"Dan, you're familiar with Ward's scheduling I take it?"
It takes Dan a moment to realize his housemate is 1) not in his room and 2) talking to him. Directly. Without a school administrator or cadaver to divert his attention. It takes him a few seconds more to ground himself (he's in his living room, not asleep, stripped down to a v-neck t-shirt because summer is holding fast in Arkham and the air conditioner still doesn't want to work... not dreaming) before he replies.
"A bit. Why?"
"Would you mind deciphering this for me?" He hands Dan a copy of this week's schedule -- softened at the edges and wrinkled from frequent folding.
"Is his handwriting that bad?"
"His penmanship is fine," West says, "Well, as fine as any medical professional's can feasibly be. But if he's assigned me any morgue hours this week, I don't see it."
Dan scans the table of names and shift times, bites down on a giggle when he picks out "NORTHBYNORTH" in Ward's skinny block letters. West, ever vigilant, spots it anyway.
"Is something funny?"
"I think I found you." He grabs a pen from the table and highlights the dates before handing the schedule back. West's brow knits together, perplexed.
"That doesn't make... oh."
"Yeah, Ward's got kind of an odd sense of humor."
"Charming," he pauses, eyes scanning the page before holding it out for Dan's further review. "Which one are you?"
Dan peruses the grid, points to "CANDY."
Herbert... giggles. Slaps a hand over his mouth. Incongruous to the high formalities of his usual presentation. Dan feels almost light-headed at the sight.
"I don't suppose 'nova' occurred to him?” Herbert clears his throat, finally lowering his hand to scratch his chin, adjust his tie. “Or 'lido'?"
"A lot of things have occurred to him," Dan smiles, self-deprecating. "This has already been the longest semester of my life."
They both laugh then -- a light chuckle, a nearly personal exchange. His housemate looks as perturbed by it as Dan is elated. After a few weeks of intermittent cohabitation, getting more than an observant hum from Herbert is an accomplishment on par with medical school admissions, the first time he watched the defibrillator restart a patient’s heartbeat, Meg’s eyes, shining and clear, the first time he got the courage up to ask her out on a date. He holds on to the moment (and eye contact with West) for a second too long.
"Well,” he replies, clearing his throat again. “I suppose I'll be off then. According to this, my next shift starts in less than an hour."
"Have fun," Dan replies.
"I'll be sure to tell them all hello for you."
Them meaning the corpses in the hospital morgue. It's a rare tease, drawing out the breathless laugh in his throat as his housemate dons his jacket and steps out.
Meg emerges from the kitchen a full minute after the front door closes, a bowl of ice cream in her hands, Rufus trilling at her ankles. Dan meets her gaze, still smiling, fading slightly as he takes in wide blue eyes.
"What?"
"You've got to be kidding me,” she says, shocked enough that Dan brings his arms up to fold across his chest; self-protective.
"Is something wrong?"
"Not... Dan, not him?”
He can feel the moment his adrenaline spikes: cortisol flooding his system, fear response, fight or flight, caught. All before he can remind himself that this is Meg. Meg, who is safe, who loves him, who will not judge him...
“Dan! He's creepy!"
...much.
"I can't help it," he breathes, a hint of a laugh in his voice even as he feels the blood rush to his face; the light thrill of the last few minutes crashing out. "... it's a... Look, I didn’t expect it to happen."
"Is this why you--"
"No! It's not why I let him move in, I promise!” Though there had been a brief rush that first night, when he realized just who was on his doorstep and why. “It's just... he's brilliant. And I have a rich fantasy life. Weren't you the one that told me there was nothing wrong with it?"
"He's not even your type! Is he?"
"I... don't think so?" he says, "I've never met anyone like him before. How would I know?"
"Look just...“ she sighs.
"What?"
"I'm not saying no."
His eyes widen as he realizes what she's talking about. What they had talked about months ago and barely taken advantage of.
It had almost been a pretense for him to talk dirty -- telling Meg what he wanted to do to a gorgeous guy they saw in the park or to the cute graduate assistant in pathology -- and watching her wriggle against the mattress or flip him on to his back and grind against his thigh. He didn't think that's what this was, not with Meg's persistent distaste for his roommate.
"But you want to say no,” he ventures. “Hell, he would say no! This is probably all in my head...”
The risks are different. Herbert doesn't strike him as the kind of person who would take a pass as a strike against their masculinity, only to be backed up by breaking Dan's nose. But he could choose to leave, throwing Dan back into the precarious position of finding a roommate to split the rent with (possibly with the reputation of sexually harassing his roommates). And with nearly two years of their program left and a shrinking number of residents working in the hospital, it could also leave them with an awkward relationship strained by proximity and a shared workplace.
Meg seems to spot the stress in his expression, moves in close, slides an arm around his waist that seems more like a brace than a cuddle. Designed to keep him upright and vertical.
"Look. Just... tread carefully there. Okay?" her voice is soft, comforting, pitching upward as he slides his own arm across her shoulders to turn it into a proper embrace. "I don't get it. I'm not going to pretend to get it either. He makes my skin crawl. You can... you can. If he’s up for it. But I don't want to be involved."
A beat, silence broken only by Rufus’s claws pawing at the back of the sofa, the hum of what might have been his roommate’s car as the engine came to life and he could hear the wet squeal of tires pull away up the street. He leans his chin on top of Meg’s head, a relieved sigh escaping as she continues to tolerate his hold and to hold back just as tightly. Secure, but unfettered. Not holding him in contempt nor judgment, just simply holding on.
"So...,” he breathes, relieved at the clarity and lack of tremble in his voice. “I take it that means you don't want details?"
She slaps his arm a little too hard to be playful, but her giggling two seconds later eases the sharp sting quickly.