DASHIELL
The house was quiet when we finally got home.
After everything, the surgery, the meeting, the family's broken faces, I felt like my skin was too tight. The static in my head hadn't stopped. I took a long, scalding shower in my bathroom, letting the water pressure beat against my shoulders until some of the tension eased. Alexander showered in his own bathroom. We didn't speak much.
Now I was in my softest pajamas, oversized white t-shirt and gray sweatpants sitting on the floor of my bedroom in front of the large aquarium. The soft blue light glowed gently, the slow bubbling and graceful movement of the fish already helping settle my nervous system.
I had my favorite 1000-piece medical mystery puzzle spread out on the low table. It was a custom one: a detailed cross-section of the human brain with overlaid neurological pathways, synapses, and common lesion patterns. Sorting the pieces usually helped when my brain felt too loud.
My fingers moved quickly, separating edge pieces first, then grouping by color and function. Tap-tap-tap. My left foot rubbed against my right ankle in a steady rhythm.
Alexander appeared in the doorway, freshly showered, wearing only black sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He leaned against the frame, watching me silently for a moment.
"You're doing puzzles," he observed, voice low.
I didn't look up.
"It helps," I said honestly. "My brain won't stop replaying everything."
I clicked another piece into place.
Alexander stepped inside and lowered himself onto the edge of my bed, close enough that his knee brushed my shoulder.
One hand rested heavy and warm on the back of my neck, thumb stroking slowly along my spine. The touch helped ground me a little.
"You should stop thinking about it," he said quietly, voice low and calm.
I nodded, still sorting edge pieces. My fingers kept moving, tap-tap-tap, but slower now.
"Okay," I whispered. "I'll try."
He was silent for a moment, just watching me work. Then, in that same flat tone, he asked:
"Can I join?"
I paused, turning my head to look up at him. Alexander, my cold, terrifying, extremely competent husband wanted to do a puzzle with me?
"You… want to do a puzzle?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "With me?"
He gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"I want to sit with you. If it helps your brain quiet down, I'll sort pieces."
I blinked, then gave him a small, direct smile.
"Okay. But you have to follow my system. Edges first. Then by color groups. No mixing lobes with vascular structures."
Alexander's smirk grew as he lowered himself to the floor beside me, long legs folding elegantly.
"Yes, Doctor," he said, voice dripping with mock obedience. "I live to serve your organizational hierarchy."
I handed him a pile of edge pieces, watching carefully as he started sorting them. His hands were steady, precise, surgeon's hands. He was surprisingly good at it.
After a few minutes, I noticed him deliberately putting a brainstem piece next to a frontal lobe piece.
"That doesn't go there," I said, reaching over to correct it. "Functional areas must stay separate until the outline is complete."
Alexander raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"So strict. What if I like chaos?"
I gave him a deadpan look.
"Then you can go sit on the bed and watch me like a normal psychopath."
He chuckled, smooth, and warm, and moved the piece to the correct pile.
"Better?"
"Much," I muttered, but I was smiling a little.
We worked in comfortable silence for a while. The only sounds were the soft bubbling of the aquarium and the clicking of puzzle pieces. My rocking slowed. My tapping became lighter.
Alexander suddenly held up two pieces.
"These two look like they fit," he said, trying to force them together even though they clearly didn't.
I snatched them from his hand immediately.
"No. They are from completely different gyri. You're doing it wrong on purpose."
He leaned closer, voice dropping teasingly.
"Maybe I just like watching you get all strict and corrective with me."
My cheeks warmed. I bumped my shoulder against his.
"You're terrible at puzzles."
"I'm excellent at other things," he replied smoothly, brushing his fingers along my thigh. "Like making you forget all about puzzles."
I swatted his hand away, but I was grinning now.
"Focus, Alexander. This is serious brain anatomy. Not… whatever dirty thing you're thinking."
He laughed softly and picked up another piece, this time correctly.
"Yes, Doctor. I'll behave."
For the next twenty minutes, we worked side by side. He kept trying to "accidentally" mix pieces just to watch me correct him, and every time I did, he looked far too pleased with himself.
At one point, I caught him watching me instead of the puzzle.
"What?" I asked, tilting my head.
"Nothing," he said, but his eyes were dark and soft in that rare way. "Just thinking how lucky I am that my husband finds 1000-piece brain puzzles relaxing."
I flushed and looked back at the table.
"It's logical. Satisfying. And it helps when my brain is too loud."
Alexander leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to my temple.
"Then we'll do this every night if you need it."
I nodded, leaning slightly into him.
"Thank you."
We kept building the puzzle together, my husband and I surrounded by the soft blue glow of the aquarium and the quiet clicking of pieces finding their place.
For the first time since the surgery, the static in my head felt a little quieter.
*****
The next day – Pediatric Neurology Ward
I stood at the foot of Mateo's bed, reviewing his latest chart with careful precision. The pages were arranged in perfect descending order on my tablet: latest neuro checks on top, medication log second, discharge notes third. My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the side of the tablet as I read.
Mateo was doing much better.
The subdural hematoma had resolved well with conservative management. No new seizures in the last 48 hours. His color was back, he was eating normally, and he was playing with the toy cars the nurses had brought him. He was sitting up in bed now, smiling shyly when he saw me.
"Hi, Dr. Astor," he said, voice small but clearer than before.
I gave him a small, direct smile.
"Hello, Mateo. You look stronger today. That's good."
His mother sat beside the bed, eyes red and swollen from crying. She had been allowed supervised visits only. Today, a social worker stood quietly in the corner, observing.
The mother looked at me with desperate, pleading eyes.
"Dr. Astor… please. I know I made mistakes. I should have protected him from Jerome. But I love my son and I left Jerome. I filed for divorce yesterday. Please… don't take him away from me. I'll do anything. Counseling, classes, whatever you want. Just let me have my baby back."
I stood still for a moment, processing her words. My left foot rubbed slowly against my right ankle under my white coat. My fingers tapped faster against the tablet.
I turned to Mateo first.
"Are you scared of your mother?" I asked him directly.
Mateo looked at her, then shook his head slowly.
"No… Mommy is nice when he's not there."
I nodded once, then looked back at the mother.
"Mateo is medically stable now," I said plainly. "He no longer needs hospital-level care for his head injury. But Child Protective Services will make the final decision about custody. They have to ensure he is safe. You will need to prove that you can protect him, therapy, parenting classes, a safety plan, and no contact with Mr. Rivera."
The mother started crying again, reaching for Mateo's hand.
"I know. I'll do everything. I swear."
I stayed quiet for a few seconds, watching Mateo. He looked at his mother with hope but also caution. Children were very good at sensing safety.
"I will write a positive medical report for the social worker," I told her honestly. "Mateo is recovering well but I will also be honest about what I saw when he was first admitted. The rest is not my decision."
The mother nodded quickly, tears streaming down her face.
"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you."
I adjusted the strap of my tablet case until it sat perfectly level, then gave Mateo a small smile.
"You are very brave. Keep getting stronger, okay?"
He nodded, hugging his toy car.
As I left the room, my mind felt heavy again. Mateo would likely go home with his mother eventually, but only with strict supervision and support. I hoped she meant what she said.
I was walking back toward my office when I saw Dr. Calliope Langford coming down the hallway. She slowed when she saw me, that elegant, sharp smile appearing on her face.
"Dr. Harper-Astor," she said smoothly. "How is the little abuse victim doing? And how are you holding up after the… unfortunate outcome with the Grant boy?"
My fingers tightened on my tablet. My foot-rubbing intensified.
"Mateo is recovering well," I said directly. "And Elias Grant is stable in ICU. We are monitoring him closely."
Calliope tilted her head, voice dripping with false sympathy.
"It must be so hard for you. First the stepfather incident, now this. Some people might say you're a bit… distracted lately."
I stared at her, my tapping growing faster.
"I am not distracted," I said bluntly. "I do my job."
She smiled wider.
"Of course you do. We all know how… close you and Dr. Astor are. It must be difficult to stay professional when your personal life is so… intertwined with work."
"I need to go," I said, turning away on the balls of my toes.
Her voice followed me down the hall, sweet but poisonous.
"Take care, Dr. Harper-Astor. We wouldn't want any more mistakes, would we?"
I walked faster, fingers tapping rapidly against my thigh, the static in my head growing louder again.
I needed to find Alexander.