If love was Strange

About a year ago,

"The elevators don't work.

I'm standing here with a really heavy box, and it's making my knees wobble. I'm not happy about it. There are signs on the elevators saying they're not working, and they have yellow and red stripes on them. I have to take the stairs. It's so frustrating.

I could almost cry. Do you know how many floors I have to climb to get to my temporary office in the United States? It's eight floors. My poor legs.

I try to open the door to the stairwell, and luckily, my colleague and best friend Laura catches up with me. She says, "I'll get it," and lets me go in first. "You could've waited for me." She flips her long, bouncy blonde hair over her shoulder.

I tell her, "You were taking forever in the line."

She shrugs and says, "I needed my morning coffee," as she walks ahead while I'm still struggling with the box. "I go for coffee every morning, Maddy."

I reply, "You have a kettle in your office."

She laughs and says, "The barista is attractive."

I roll my eyes. She's been saying the same thing since we got here four days ago."

By the time we reach the eighth floor, I'm wheezing, and in desperate need of an inhaler. I don't know how many times I stopped to drop the box and catch my breath, but Laura seemed like she could go another eight floors. I guess she does work out every day, unlike me.

She's been my roommate since we met in college at eighteen, and we've never really been able to separate since. Nearly a decade of putting up with her wild ways, and still going.

I follow her into her office that's ten times bigger than my own, finally settling the box on her desk. I have my own space, the small, cold office that doesn't have a view of the world like hers does.

Well... a view of ponds and busy roads. I stare at a stone wall while I work.

"How many are coming to the meeting?"

"Seven," I reply. "I managed to persuade the top specialist from Great Ormond Street Hospital to come speak about the case. Oh, and two from Delaware showed interest and wanted to attend."

She whistles. "You did good. No one would take the case for over a year until you joined the team. It's been a blessing to have you with us instead of down in the labs. You thrive more."

The transfer had been a big step for me, but I think I was one more genetic test away from blowing up the entire lab. Day after day it had been the same. I wanted more. I wanted to make a difference. Laura told me there was a position opening up for a clinical scientist with experience in genetics, and I'd been in the labs for too long. I applied. And yep, I somehow impressed them enough that I got the job.

And it's been hard, don't get me wrong, the change of scenery and the workload caught me off guard. But I'm here, and like Laura just said, I'm thriving.

When I took over the Janet Ross case, we had traveled to numerous countries to discuss possible trials for her illness, or to at least find a diagnosis, but after failure after failure, a doctor here in Florida accepted.

"Okay, we have three minutes," she says, staring at her watch. She claps once. "You ready?"

I shake myself, taking a long, deep breath. No, I'm definitely not ready. "Yep."

My best friend can see right through me.

She grasps my wrists, holding them up to her chest. "You've got this. You're smart. You're professional, and you care. Don't think about them all being older, or that they have more experience. You fight for what you believe in and don't allow anyone to talk down to you because of your age. You understand? Your research is spot on, you've done everything properly, and I'll be surprised if it gets refused."

I nod once. "I understand."

But the lump in my throat is growing. I swallow it down, reminding myself of that beautiful smile from the most precious girl in the world.

I need to do this for her.

All the specialists are way older than me, and sometimes it can be daunting and nerve-wracking, especially when they try to dominate the room and talk down to me.

The conference room is blindingly bright, so much so that I struggle not to screw my eyes shut. Ceiling-to-floor windows span two walls of the corner room. And the heat? Horrific.

It's raining back home because it always rains in Scotland. Even in Summer, it's pissing down and cold.

We sit at a large, dark, oval-shaped table, paperwork covering nearly every inch of the wood. Assistants, nurses, doctors, and specialists fill each chair.

No one looks at us as we take our seats.

No one speaks, not even when the doctors from other areas walk in, sitting across from us, beside them, two others drop down, and I have no idea who they are.

Young like me. They're well dressed, and look confident. Dare I say handsome?

Dare you not.

I cross my legs at the knees, place my folder in front of me, and open to the front page. One of the young lads lifts his head, pale green eyes on Laura while she frowns at her paperwork.

"Did you bring all of the..." Laura stops her words as soon as the door opens, silence filling the room.

The specialist doctor here at Nemours Children's Hospital enters in powerful strides that make my spine tingle. To say I'm terrified is an understatement. But I can't show that I am.

I clear my throat, grabbing everyone's attention. This is the third time I've stood in a meeting like this and fought for this child's life. Maybe this meeting will be positive and I'm not shut down for not having the experience most of them have.

"Thank you for coming today," I announce, painting a confident smile on my face.

I begin by discussing with a few of the staff about other patients that are here in the hospital, how their treatment has impacted their quality of life, and my exact reason for reaching out.

I try to keep my chin up, my back straight the same way Laura is, as I address the main doctor at the top of the table, Doctor Logan. He wants to say a few words regarding my research and my palms sweat as he stands from his seat.

He clears his throat to grab everyone's attention. "This is quite a peculiar case that we've been looking into for some time. Remarkable work that you've done here." I remain passive, waiting for the blow to land like I've been expecting. He tells the room of my work, and my achievements in such a short time, and nods to me before taking his seat again. "I believe each of you has statements to make over the next few days before the arrival of Miss Ross."

Wait, no.

"Oh, sorry," I say before he can continue. And everyone looks at me. "Aren't we looking into the information before instructing the patient to travel here? It would seem unnecessary if she were to come all the way from Scotland, only to be told that the trials aren't compatible with what she needs. She's currently wheelchair-bound and arrangements need to be made regarding her stay."

"I know that. Please have the patient brought here by Friday. I've had a specialist from China look into her case, and he believes that there is a strong match."

"They think she is compatible?"

"Yes," is all he replies, his eyes challenging me.

I sit back on my chair, crossing my legs under the table.

Laura shifts beside me.

Like always, I'm the last to find out things. I feel a mix of relief and frustration. I've been here for four days, and nobody bothered to email me or come to my office to tell me that the doctors in China agreed there's a match.

Logan continues talking, saying, "I've asked two assistants to join the team." He points to the two young men sitting across from us. They're both busy with their notes. "Mr. Devon and Mr. Jefferey have been on my team for about three years, and they've done a lot of research on genetic mutations and changes in disease-causing factors."

The guy with light-colored eyes raises his head and gives a nervous little wave. The other one keeps reading his papers as if there isn't a whole room full of professionals discussing a little girl's life. He licks his thumb to turn the page, and his dark eyebrows are so furrowed that it looks like it hurts.

"In front of you, if you haven't looked through yet, are all the details needed. A copy of the enrollment, the specifics of the trial, what possible costs there are, side notes, and a section for your own notes if needed. Doctor Sawyer..." His eyes find mine over his glasses. I'm not a fan of being called that. I've never been called Doctor in the UK, I haven't earned the title, yet some people from other countries address me as such. "As you are the one who set this up, I'd like to speak with you tomorrow at noon, just to go over some extra details."

To take control, you mean. Which is fine, he is more experienced and has a good twenty years on me, but still.

"Thank you," I reply with an enthusiastic smile, ensuring I make eye contact with each person in the room. Except the dude in front, still fully focused on the paperwork.

The doctor from GOSH clears his throat and stacks his pages. "How long have you been working on this case? From what I've heard, you are very new to the department and were a lab worker only two years ago. A Masters in Genetics, am I correct? You're certainly one of the youngest I've worked with."

Here we go.

I'm forever being talked down to because of my age. Being in your twenties sucks sometimes. And for some reason, as a woman in the medical and scientific field, I'm never taken as seriously as men. Yes, I guess I'm still classed as fresh meat, but I know what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it.

Laura is the same age as me and she never gets comments like that.

But I refuse to back down, especially with this case.

"Thank you for showing concern. I've been in this department for a little over two years, and before that, I was a geneticist down in the labs. I take my role very seriously. I've done my own research for Janet Ross and all of her symptoms, and have spoken with her family numerous times about ways to help them find equipment at home, ease of traveling, and anything to help her. There's only so much available in the United Kingdom, so we are limited unless we can organize a transfer. That's why I have reached out to other countries. That's why we were in Germany six months ago, and then attending meetings in the Bambino Gesu in Rome. Janet Ross is a mystery, but I believe all mysteries can be solved."

I can feel Laura smiling beside me.

When they all nod between themselves, I relax, resting both palms over Janet's main file.

"I look forward to working with you all and hopefully finding a diagnosis and a quality treatment plan for the patient. If any of you have questions, I will be happy to answer them."

I feel another lump building in my throat, this one threatening to suffocate me. As a professional, it is highly recommended not to form a bond with patients.

But I struggled to separate myself.

I overstepped two months ago and appeared at Janet's family's door with flowers and a present for her eighth birthday. She'd smiled the whole time and cried when I left. She always gets excited when we have appointments, the beaming grin alone is enough for me to continue fighting for her. Her seizures aren't as intense now that I've gotten her on different medication, and she can, most days, stay awake for longer than six hours. But her body, her muscles, are slowly deteriorating, her undiagnosed sickness stripping her away from life, and I want to stop it.

One step at a time.

When the meeting finishes up, it's late, and most of the staff leave without looking at me. Laura rests a hand on my shoulder and tells me I did good, and that she'll see me at the hotel we are staying at nearby.

I'm the last to exit the conference room. I wanted to check over all of the documents again. I throw my bag over my shoulder, tucking my strands of hair behind my ear.

Lifting the dreaded heavy cardboard box full of paperwork, I make my way out the room. I don't get far as my foot hits a man's outstretched legs, sitting with his back to the wall.

I land face-first on the marble floor, paperwork and bag scattering everywhere.

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry," the man says in panic, quickly scrambling from the ground and holding his hand out for me to grab. In his American accent, he continues by adding, "Here, let me help you."

Intense, unexplainable shocks run up my wrist as I take his hand, the palm soft and warm. Not looking up while I get to my knees, attempting to reign in my annoyance and tiredness, I try to stack all the paperwork back into the box. I see him in my peripheral lowering to the floor, also gathering the papers. When I lift my bag, my phone, lipstick, tampon, and purse topple out.

If one more thing happens today, I'll cry.

I let out a long huff, wiping my forehead, still on my knees and staring at everything for a minute in silence.

The mystery man sets the pile into the box, and I can tell all the documents are mixed up.

My eye twitches.

"Are you-"

I cut him off by snapping, "You should really sit on the seats or in an office; I could have been a patient."

The air nearly leaves my lungs as I glare at him, his smile being the first thing I notice. He's clean-shaven, with penetratingly vibrant blue eyes, and long lashes to match his dark hair and brows. Now that I'm staring, his smile drops, and his perfect, white teeth bite down on the plumper part of his bottom lip.

"Are you okay?" he asks with a hint of humour.

I drag my eyes away. "Sorry. I'm just tired and today's been a bit much."

Squatting, he leans his elbows on his thighs, sleeves rolled up to reveal that he's wearing a watch, charity bands, and isn't heavily tattooed like my ex. "Sorry I tripped you," he apologises, handing me my phone and lipstick, probably refusing to lift my tampon. "You're the Scottish doctor, aren't you?"

I hum a response, rubbing my elbow that's aching from the fall. He's very aware of who I am, we just spent hours in a room together. Albeit, he barely looked up from the paperwork, but yeah.

He continues by asking with a tilted head, "Are you hurt, doctor?"

"I'm fine. And no one calls me that. Just call me Maddy."

"Maddy," he repeats like he's testing the way my name sounds on his tongue, tasting it. Then he smiles. "Doctor sounds better."

I scowl at him.

His shirt pulls taut along his chest as he straightens up, offering me his hand once again to help me stand, and I realize I'm gawking at him with my lips parted, nerves prickling in me.

Why am I nervous? I'm at work!

"You're one of the assistants. You're working on the Janet Ross case, too."

Duh. I don't know why I'm stating the obvious.

I need lessons on how to speak to people. If Laura was here, she'd most likely be rolling her eyes at me.

His dimples dent in deep as he grins again, and I nearly buckle at the knees. Stepping back, grabbing his bag, and throwing it over his shoulder, he says, "I am, but a lovely little thing like you can call me Nathan."

A charming compliment for someone like you.

Um, excuse me? I don't mind playful comments, but not at work. It's not professional and... well, it's just not right. My cheeks are probably still red from that awkward moment yesterday when I fell to the ground. Or maybe they're red because of what he said? The way he looked at me? No, I don't care for Nathan's flirting.

"Why are you giving my chest a dirty look?"

My eyes move up to her face. I must have been daydreaming, wondering why I was so bothered by such a small thing. "Oh, sorry, Laura. I'm feeling a bit off."

"Still thinking about Nate?"

"Nathan," I correct, rolling my eyes, not enjoying that I shared what happened and now have to deal with her comments all morning. "And no. I'm actually thinking about what we'll have for dinner later."

She clicks her tongue. "Sure. Then you won't mind if I invite both the assistants for some Friday fun tomorrow?"

Is it okay to imagine a million ways for your best friend to disappear? Because I can picture myself getting really mad at her.

"You wouldn't," I say, crossing my arms and legs.

She raises an eyebrow, as if to say I totally would.

And the scary thing? I believe her.

"Friday fun" is something we've been doing since we both became single two years ago. If we both have Saturday off and finish work early on Friday, we go to the club."

But asking the Americans to tag along? No.

"Don't you dare." I grit my teeth at her in a bid to show how angry I am without raising my voice. But it doesn't faze her. I'm not the slightest bit intimidating, with my small height compared to her towering form. "That'll mess up the seating arrangement," I continue when she ignores me.

She shrugs, her eyes going back to her computer. "We'll see. You have a meeting in ten minutes with Logan. Maybe Nate will trip you up again."

"Don't start," I say. "It was an accident."

She snorts. My best friend may be professional when around others, but when it's just us, her fun, playful side comes out. I think that's why we vibe so much together. She calls me the grump, whereas she is the life and soul of every party we attend. She had vowed to make me as wild as her one day.

Years later, I'm still me.

Laura seems to find my unlucky topple over Nathan hilarious. My first mistake was telling her, my second and most important was becoming her friend in the first place.

She had nudged me with her elbow and winked in his direction when he walked by our meeting room this morning. Then again when he was in the ward's kitchen, studying his tablet intensely.

She even intentionally asked me to grab coffee when she saw him venturing for his own hot drink. It's ridiculous. She's ridiculous. He's ridiculous. Who flirts with someone they bloody floored?

Don't get me wrong, it's not that he isn't hot, I just don't have time for romance or distractions, especially in my place of work.

Right?

The meeting with the doctor goes quickly. We discuss what Janet likes, dislikes, sensory issues, and ways to make her feel comfortable here at Nemours.

The little surprise I don't expect is him telling me that I have the luxury of an assistant for the next few weeks; one I will be spending all my time with.

I've never had one before.

When the door opens, I expect a young student, a shy girl, or someone other than Nathan to walk in. Wait, what?

No, go back out and let the student come in.

He smiles as he closes the door, a melting smile that makes me look straight ahead and attempt not to blush. I need to spend my time with him? The hot assistant? Lord, help me.

"Good afternoon, doctor," Nate says with a low tone. Nothing like the one he used yesterday. This version of him is closed off, the way he had been during Janet's meeting. Oh, and he better stop calling me doctor. Nathan takes the seat beside me, legs parted so wide that our knees nearly touch. With an elbow on the armrest, he glances at me. "It's a pleasure to have the opportunity to work with you."

I give him a tight smile, but deep inside I'm screaming. That little high-pitched voice is yelling into my psyche, the intelligent part understanding that he's knowledgeable and has worked on cases like this. The annoying part of me that sometimes pokes out of the darkness is rubbing her palms together with a goofy smile.

No.

We are not doing this, Maddison Baker.

Do you remember what happened with Peter?

When I was in college, I was literally obsessed with him. Two years older, hot, the bad boy with a big brain to go with his big... no. He asked me for help on a paper he was struggling with, so I met up with him at a coffee shop, then again at his house, and again, and again, until we fell into each other's beds and fucked until our souls left our bodies. Let's just say when I found out he actually had a girlfriend, I raised hell on him for weeks before declaring not to go near anyone in the same field as me again.

Which means that I need to put a stop to the crawling heat that's currently wrapping around the apex of my legs. His voice is so deep, so arousing, I can barely think straight.

Once the meeting is over and he's still calling me doctor, I ask Nathan to follow me so I can show him around, specifically the labs. When we meet with one of the seniors, we begin discussing the most recent tests that have been performed on Janet, and what we plan on doing next.

He listens with his arms crossed, biceps tensing under his shirt, nodding at everything I say.

He puts on a pair of thick, black framed glasses and takes notes. And oh, Jesus Christ, I'm screwed.

He asks all the right questions, and I must admit, I'm impressed. I think I smile once, maybe twice, when he asks someone in tech about a specific technique used.