"Just One Minute" - A Short Snippet (Patreon)

Based on the commission by the wonderful @nightingale-interactive on Tumblr (the author of Scandal and Absentia), "I would love to see something where Ivy learns that Alcina has been hurt or is in like a super delicate situation (like there’s been a threat against the White House)."

Note: Alcina is the First Lady in @nightingale-interactive's WIP Scandal. 

You have never been good at sitting still. 

Growing up in Durham, in that oppressive little house, you've come to associate rooms with entrapment. It didn't matter how you decorated the space, tried to make the space your own - any home you've ever claimed, in moments like these, has always felt like a prison. 

So, you walk. 

You slip out of your office, and school your face, take the elevators down to one of the many back exits. You swing open the doors and breath in the fresh air, giant lungfuls of it, so deep and so cutting that it makes your lungs ache. You find yourself wandering the Citadel campus, passing by neatly trimmed hedges and quiet ponds - you find yourself going nowhere, because this is how you do it, subsume those feelings inside of you, the sharp, hard feelings that gut you deep inside. 

The feeling of your footsteps. The breeze against your cheek. These are the things you focus on - that you have to focus on. 

"Sloan."

His voice. Of course - always the caretaker.

You turn, see Peter walking towards you, worry plain on his face. His worry - it hurts you. You don't like to be seen like this. 

You don't like to be pitied. 

If it were anyone else, you'd let that mask slip back on - the cold one, the one that demands respect, carries the weight of Dr. Sloan. But, his worry is tolerable - just barely. You don't ever want to admit that you need it sometimes, that he will always look out for you just as he has since you first came here - a new attending, still learning the ropes. But, he knows - in that subtle way of his. 

"I saw the news," he says, and you ball your fists. 

First Lady Alcina Anderson...an unprovoked attack...taken to the hospital in critical condition.

And the camera panning over the scene, lingering on the blood pooling on the pavement. 

He steps closer. You close the distance. 

You feel his arms wrap around you, you rest your head on his chest. A sob rips out of your throat, and his hand rubs soothing circles on your back. 

He doesn't say anything else, and that is fine with you.

"Just one minute," you say, your breath hitching. "I just need one minute."