“This place doesn’t seem like your style.” Dr. Donnelly cringed with a half-hearted smile. “Though that doesn’t seem fair when I can’t say I know much about you.”
“I’ve never been here. My roommate said they have good drinks, so I decided to try it.” Which was partially true, until he saw Dr. Donnelly by himself. Wyatt glanced down at the closeness of their knees beneath the dimly lit bar, and he sat back. “Do you come here often?”
Oh God, did I just use the most generic pick-up line ever?
Fuck.
Dr. Donnelly continued to smile, a slight laugh slipping from his chest. “A few times.”
Wyatt nodded, swallowing down the mortification as the bartender returned with his drink and Dr. Donnelly indicated for another one for himself.
Wyatt immediately lifted the fancy glass to his lips and took a long gulp, needing to create space between himself and his ridiculous nerves. A wall of alcohol might do the trick, he thought, letting the burn of the whiskey slide down his throat.
He returned his gaze to Dr. Donnelly’s and saw that his eyes were fixed on his throat before carefully averting them, the jaw muscle beneath his beard twitching. “Shouldn’t you be at a pub, or club, or something? God, that made me sound old.”
Wyatt felt his lips pull into an easy smile. “I was at the club a few blocks from here. I owed my bestie a night out. But the clubs not really my thing.”
Dr. Donnelly smirked, the lines deepening around his eyes.
Wyatt felt mesmerized, wondering if he had ever let himself look this long at his captain.
“Not really my thing either,” Dr. Donnelly said. “Though I’m sure there’s an age limit to those sorts of places.”
“Are you saying you're too old to club?” Wyatt asked, relaxing slightly.
Dr. Donnelly snorted, “Maybe. I dunno, I suppose clubs really weren’t my thing when I was younger, anyway. I was more inclined to smoke pot and listen to blues in my parents’ garage, that kind of thing.”
Wyatt glanced at the blues band behind them. “You must like this then.”
Dr. Donnelly hummed, “Yeah, minus the pot. But yeah. I love live music, especially the blues. Makes you feel…” he abruptly cut himself off, sitting back and clearing his throat.
Before Wyatt could press, the bartender reappeared with Dr. Donnelly’s drink and he thanked him, taking a long sip.
“You’re not that old, by the way,” Wyatt heard himself say out loud and immediately hid the rising flush of embarrassment by taking another drink of his whiskey.
Dr. Donnelly didn’t seem to notice as a wistful sigh escaped his lips. “Some days, I feel ancient.”
He wanted to ask, and in a way, he supposed he knew. He was their captain and knew it probably took a lot out of him. It was an impossible task to be responsible for others in life-or-death situations, and yet Dr. Donnelly did it. He showed up every day, managing to hold it all together, especially at times the crew, and kept the ship sailing.
“Are you here alone?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah,” Dr. Donnelly replied, rubbing his large hand through his thick beard.
Wyatt noticed how well-groomed Dr. Donnelly looked. His beard neatly trimmed, his clothes ironed, and his shoes polished to a shine on Italian leather. He narrowed his eyes, knowingly. “You were stood up.”
Dr. Donnelly’s eyes jerked back to his, “How could you possibly tell that?”
“I’ve been you,” Wyatt admitted. “I know the feeling. So, I’m… sorry.” Except he wasn’t, not in the slightest.
“You’re perceptive, or maybe assuming,” Dr. Donnelly retorted, assessing him. “It’s twice in one day you’ve called me out on pure assumption alone. In the ED, that could be dangerous if wrong, Lawson.”
Wyatt flushed, slipping a hand through his hair. “Shit, I didn’t…”
“I’m giving you a hard time,” Dr. Donnelly replied gently. “You’re good at reading people. I hadn’t realized, though maybe I should’ve.”
Wyatt heard the praise, but it was mixed with Dr. Donnelly’s own negative self-assessment, which bothered him. He frowned, noticing the faint lines of emotion strained on the doctor’s lips and the dark bags under his eyes. He was tired—they all were. But there was something else there, something deeper and unspoken that Wyatt could sense. More than the loneliness he had seen earlier. This undercurrent of emotion felt raw, almost delicate.
Surprised, Wyatt continued to stare, wondering if this was from his shoulder or something else.
