"Bad practice is what landed us here." I waved at Milana's office.
"We put that argument to bed weeks ago," he replied. "You should leave it there.In bed. Where it belongs."
I didn't know what the hell he was trying to accomplish with all those references to beds, but I ignored him as I rocked up to my knees.
Once I was settled on the sofa and busy with the croutons I'd brought with me today, Milana said, "It's my observation that you experience the most friction in the places where you're most similar."
Sebastian snorted and I was proud of myself for ignoring him. Very proud. Meeting his eyes and acknowledging inside this room that we were carrying on a sexual relationship wouldn't end well for me. For either of us.
Even if it was a train wreck in process, a disaster built of anger and resentment, and blankets tucked up to my chin and glasses of water, I wouldn't be able to hide the fact that I wanted it again tonight. I wanted it to end, but I didn't want that at all. I wanted to stop screaming at him all the time, I wanted to stop being angry about everything, but the crazy, disastrous thing we had seemed to require that catalyst. I couldn't get what I wanted without dropping all pretense of being perfect, being in control.
I couldn't control him any more than I could control the tides, and dammit I'd tried. All I ever did was try to exert some control over him and every single time he shot me down and he swore I didn't want that control, I didn't need it.
"The things you struggle to accept in yourself are the same things that activate you in response to each other," Milana continued.
"That's funny, seeing as I don't have much history of screeching at people or destroying exam rooms," Sebastian mused from his usual spot at the bookshelves.
"You are a trauma surgeon." I said this as if I was speaking to a small child. "All you do is yell. We've all seen it. We've all heard it. You yell in the halls, you yell in the elevators, you yell in the OR. I'm not sure which part of your training teaches the shouting, but it's high time you accept that you and your brethren are loud as hell. You're not an ortho bro. You're not calm like neuro and you're not cranky like cardio. You're trauma and you yell. It's how you tell us that what you're doing is really fucking urgent and everyone else has to get out of your way. Sometimes it is necessary to yellatyou to get your attention. You are so accustomed to communicating that way that you don't listen unless someone meets you at that level."
There was a solid minute where it seemed like Sebastian heard and received those words, but then he said, "I've never once destroyed an exam room."
I turned to Milana, shaking my head. She gave me another one of thosetrust the processnods. "I won't be here next Thursday so—"
"Where are you going?" Sebastian asked.
"Does it matter?"
He rolled his eyes the way someone would wind an old watch. I could almost hear him ticking. Then, "I asked, didn't I?"
"Asking doesn't entitle you to an answer," I replied.
"Sebastian, it is worth noting that you are scheduled for time off next week," Milana added. "At least that's the information that was provided to me. Your medical assistant told me you had travel plans."
He pushed a hand through his hair, nodded. He was completely unaware of these plans and something about that tickled me. "Oh. Right. Yeah."
I gestured to myself because I could be tickled and prove a point at the same time. "Look at this. It's me not badgering you for information about your plans. See how it works?"
Milana gave a soft clap of her hands and smiled at us like this conversation was a real breakthrough or something. "Seeing that you'll both be off-site and unavailable for our session, I'd like to give back an hour of your time in appreciation for the work you've done over these past few weeks. When you return, we'll engage in our last session." She nodded, adding, "No homework this week. Just promise me you'll both give yourselves the opportunity to rest and refill the well before returning. You deserve it."
We went in opposite directions when we left Milana's office. Sebastian took the stairwell of stolen kisses, I opted for the roundabout journey through several annexed buildings. There was no way we'd cross paths unless one of us veered off course and I really hoped Sebastian didn't do that. I had a few cases to check on before leaving for the day, but more than that, I needed a minute to straighten myself out before running into him in the foyer once again.
I'd changed out of scrubs (and the offensive t-shirt) and almost made it to the hospital exit without running into Sebastian when I spotted him waiting beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot propped on the wall behind him.
I gave him a thorough study as I passed, the sort that said Iwastaking in the crisp gray trousers with which he'd replaced his bruised blue scrubs as well as the white button-down he wore open at the collar. He ran a hand over his jaw to hide a smile.
He caught up to me on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. "Tell me where you're going."
"Home," I replied, tipping my chin in that general direction.
"Next week," he growled.
"Really, does it matter?"
"The fact I've asked multiple times should serve as proof that it does matter," he said.
I shot him an impatient frown. "And why is that?"
"Because I want to know." He said this as if I was the one being unreasonable here.
