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Attempting to get the doctor AU going.
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They had met–unofficially–at a conference Alex’s first year out of med school. Alex was poised to give a speech about the effectiveness of intra-aortic balloon pumps in cardiac shock patients, something he had spent months preparing for. He was ready and he was confident. He had been thriving under pressure his whole life and public speaking wasn’t something that ever fazed him.
But something snapped inside of him as he watched more and more people file into the conference hall. He wasn’t in school anymore and these people weren’t his classmates getting ready to listen to his valedictorian speech. They were professionals. They had been in the game for years—they were experts in their fields, and who the fuck was he to show up and act like he could teach them something? They would see right through him. They would think he was a fraud. They would tell him to his face that he couldn’t hack it, all this hard work and sacrifice would have been for nothing.
Alex broke out in a cold sweat, the speech crumpled in his hand as he closed his fist around it, smearing the ink of the words he so carefully thought out.
By the time he made it to the closest men’s room he could barely breathe. His chest was tight and his vision was spotty and he had accepted that he was going to die beside the urinals on the fourth floor of a DoubleTree by Hilton hotel.
Eyes closed and head tipped back against the cool tiles behind him, Alex was prepared to meet his maker when the door swung open. Assuming it was the Grim Reaper coming to take him, Alex cracked an eye open and was met not with a specter cloaked in black holding a scythe, but a tall, blond man in a well-cut suit.
A Meet Joe Black scenario, then. He could deal with that.
Alex drew his knees back against his chest and the man dropped to his directly in front of him.
“My name is Henry, I’m a doctor,” he had said and even on his last leg, Alex found the strength to roll his eyes.
“No shit, we all are,” he had wheezed before rattling off his symptoms because fuck if he knew what was happening inside this fogged up brain.
“I believe you’re having a panic attack,” Henry had said and Alex shook his head.
“I don’t get those.”
“That tends to be the case for most people,” Henry started, “until of course they do.”
Henry raised his hands slowly, the intent to reach out for him clear. Alex surprised the both of them when he bridged the gap and wrapped his fingers around Henry’s wrists, not wanting to be touched, but desperately needing it.
Henry, with his perfect hair and blue eyes and calming British accent, talked him through breathing exercises and had him focus on anything but the feeling of dread that had been clawing at his chest.
Slowly, it got easier to breath and his body stopped shaking and he was able to stand on his own two feet again.
Henry had lingered after, handing Alex paper towels to dry his face after he splashed himself with water and nodded his approval as Alex fussed with his hair in the mirror.
Alex never thought to be embarrassed until Alex caught Henry’s eye at the networking event long after the speech was over.
Alex was going to thank him, properly, for saving his ass, but Henry turned abruptly to the man he was standing with (whose maroon suit stood out beautifully against the sea of black and white) and muttered something that made the man look Alex over with an arched brow.
He said something back to Henry who immediately shook his head and walked off and Alex burned.
He still does, given the way Alex’s hackles rise and he needs to bite his tongue every time he sees the man which is, unfortunately, often.
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