Page 4 of Dr. Danger

"Just vitamins," I reply. "And something to help me sleep."

He jots that down as well, his pen scratching loudly in the silence. The way he ignores me while taking notes feels almost cruel, his detachment clawing at the hot turmoil he causes within me. Every glance, every clinical question, makes my heart race and my nerves fray.

"Have you seen any other doctors about this?" he asks, his voice void of empathy.

I shake my head. "No, you're the first."

He finally looks up, his gaze piercing. Something flickers in it, almost as he’s a little bit appeased. ”I’ll need to run some tests," he says. "Blood work, scans, the usual."

I nod, feeling a strange mixture of relief and dread. ”Sounds good," I murmur. ”Are we done here?”

He closes his notebook with a snap and stands, towering over me. ”Not just yet.” His eyes are hard, calculating. "I still have to do a physical examination."

I swallow, anxiety bubbling up in me. That means he’ll have to touch me and I don’t know how ready I am for that. ”Is that really necessary?"

His stare is unyielding, making it clear that there is no room for negotiation. ”Obviously."

I lean back, feeling a shiver of apprehension. He approaches, his movements precise and controlled. There's an unsettling calmness about him, a sterile efficiency that makes my blood race. He brusquely takes my wrist in his hand, his fingers cool against my skin as he checks my pulse.

"Relax," he commands, his voice hard yet trustworthy.

I try to comply, but it's difficult with the tension coiling inside me. He releases my wrist and moves his stethoscope to my chest, listening intently. The closeness is almost alarming, his presence overwhelming.

"Unbutton your dress," he says abruptly, not looking at me.

I hesitate, my hands trembling. "Do I really have to—"

His eyes snap up, cold and piercing. ”We’re not playing doctor here, and this isn’t a game. Do as you’re told.”

I fumble with the buttons, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and discomfort. His stare is brutal, and I feel a mix of vulnerability and something more confusing as I expose myself to his unsettling gaze.

He places the stethoscope on my chest, the metal cold against my skin. I shiver involuntarily, and his expression remains impassive, almost clinical. But the tension in the room is electric and it’s only growing. How I wish it would ease off. I can’t feel my legs anymore.

"Take a deep breath," he instructs, a huskier edge to his voice this time.

I comply, the air feeling thick and heavy in my lungs. He moves the stethoscope, listening carefully, his face a mask of concentration. The tension becomes unbearable, until I fear I’ll let out a mousy, little squeak.

"White coat," I breathe, trying to break the silence, to ease the discomfort.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression deadpan. "Yes, doctors tend to wear them."

I shake my head, my voice trembling. "I had a nightmare... about a man in a white coat chasing me."

His eyes flicker briefly with something—before he pulls back, removing the stethoscope. "Nightmares are the least of your concerns," he says.

His words send a chill down my spine, and I can see something in his eyes that confirms my worst fears. ”Is it bad?”

”It’s not good.”

”Am I going to die?" I ask, the question a whisper.

For the first time, do I see a flicker of emotion on his face. It's brief, subtle, but it's there. "Not on my watch," he rasps, his voice rough and low. Determined.

The weight of his words hangs in the air between us, a promise I didn’t expect from this man. Despite his taciturn demeanor, there’s something in his tone that tells me he means it. That he really will look after me.

Maybe he’s not the nicest but it doesn’t matter. I know I’m in skilled hands.

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