DASHIELL
By the time I woke up, it was the next morning.
My body felt heavy and sore, like I had been hit by a truck. Every small movement sent sharp reminders through my hips, thighs, and especially my throat. Swallowing hurt. My jaw ached. The split on my lip from yesterday's punch stung when I licked it.
The room was dark, exactly how I had left it, curtains drawn tight, only the faint glow of the salt lamp on the nightstand. I stayed under the weighted blanket for a long minute, rocking myself gently side to side, the familiar pressure helping my nervous system settle. My fingers found the soft tag on the blanket and rubbed it in slow circles, a quiet stim that helped me ground myself before facing the day.
I hated mornings like this. The transition from sleep to reality felt too abrupt and loud inside my head. I needed at least twenty minutes of quiet before I could function properly.
But the house wasn't quiet.
I could already hear movement downstairs, cabinets opening, the low hum of the coffee machine. Alexander was awake.
I sat up slowly, wincing, and walked barefoot across the room on the balls of my toes, a habit I fell into when I was tired or anxious. The cool floor felt better that way. I paused at the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to let in a sliver of morning light, then immediately regretted it. The brightness stabbed straight into my eyes. I closed the curtain again, breathing through the spike of discomfort.
After a quick shower, water as hot as I could stand it, the pressure helping my sore muscles — I dried off and stood in front of my closet for a long moment. The thought of stiff dress shirts and slacks made my skin crawl today. Instead, I chose the softest professional clothes I owned: a lightweight cotton button-up in a muted blue and comfortable dark chinos that didn't scratch. I still skipped the turtleneck from yesterday, it was in the laundry basket, carrying the faint scent of Alexander and dried spit I didn't want to think about.
I rolled the sleeves once for comfort and slipped on my white coat later. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best I could manage while my body still felt raw and overstimulated.
When I finally went downstairs, Alexander was in the kitchen, moving with that same precise, efficient grace he used in everything. He was already dressed for work, crisp white shirt, dark trousers, white coat draped over the back of a chair.
He didn't look at me when I entered.
"Coffee is ready," he said flatly, pouring a cup and sliding it across the counter toward my usual spot. "Black. Same as always."
How did he know that?
I stared at the cup for a second. The routine felt grounding and unsettling at the same time. He knew exactly how I liked it. Of course he did.
"Thank you," I mumbled, voice still hoarse from last night. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat soothe my fingers.
Alexander watched me silently as I took the first sip. His black eyes were unreadable, but there was something intense beneath the surface, the same dark focus he had when he was watching me on his knees.
I shifted on the stool, cheeks warming at the memory. My throat still felt raw. Sitting was… uncomfortable.
He looked me over once, slow and clinical.
"It seems you're ready for work," he said, voice flat.
I nodded, gripping the mug tighter. "Yes. I have rounds and Sophia's case today. I can't stay home."
Alexander set his own cup down. "Let's go."
The drive to the hospital was silent.
I kept my forehead pressed lightly against the cool window, watching the city pass by. My fingers tapped a slow, steady rhythm against my thigh, small, hidden stims to keep myself regulated. The fluorescent lights in the car were too bright, but I didn't complain. I just focused on breathing.
Alexander didn't speak for several minutes. Then, without looking at me, he said calmly, "Since Mr. Rivera will not be arrested for assault, the hospital will handle it internally. He's been banned from the premises and a formal incident report has been filed. Child Protection Services will continue their investigation into Mateo's case separately."
"The boy stays admitted for now, he still needs neurological monitoring for the seizures and the hematoma. If the mother tries to discharge against medical advice, we'll involve the ethics committee and possibly the courts for protective custody."
I nodded slowly, still staring out the window. "Okay."
We arrived at the hospital and took the elevator together. On my floor, the doors opened. Alexander stepped out with me for a moment, then continued to his own department without another word.
The moment I walked into the Pediatric Neurology ward, several staff members came toward me.
"Dr. Harper, we heard what happened yesterday…."
"Are you okay?"
A few reached out instinctively, wanting to comfort me with a touch or hug.
I flinched back sharply, arms crossing tight over my chest. "I'm fine," I said quickly, voice still a little hoarse. "Please don't, I'm okay. Really."
They pulled back, surprised. No one here knew I was autistic. I had always masked it well at work, kept eye contact when needed, smiled at the right times, spoke formally. But today the mask felt paper-thin.
Leo and Sari came forward next. Leo, being Leo, immediately moved in for one of his usual side hugs.
I stepped back again, a little sharper than I meant to. "Sorry not right now."
Leo paused, surprised, but recovered with a grin. "Whoa, okay. No hug. Got it." He cracked a joke to lighten the mood. "Rivera better hope I don't catch him in a dark alley. I'd give him a neurological exam he'd never forget."
I took the comment literally at first, blinking. "You shouldn't do that. Assault is illegal, even if…"
Leo laughed softly. "Dash, I'm kidding."
"Oh." I flushed, embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."
Sari gave me a gentle, understanding smile. "We're just glad you're okay. If you need anything, we're here."
I nodded, tapping my fingers against the side of my thigh again, trying to stay grounded. The attention was too much and the lights felt too bright. The voices layered on top of each other.
I excused myself as politely as I could and headed toward my office, already craving five minutes of quiet before my first case.
The day felt endless already.