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spiltscribbles · 6 years ago

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Stay For A While

Notes: I had a really really awful day and this was in my drafts, so here we go.

Ronan’s never really noticed how pungent the scent of hospitals are, the eerily clean surfaces that are masked with the smell of the residue of the alcohol remover Blue uses to clean off her nails once she inevitably gets bored of which ever eccentric color she’d chosen for that week. (Ronan remembers a particularly amusing night at Monmouth when Henry had dared Ronan to drink the bottle whole, to which Blue— pixie sized and never putting up with any amount of shit— cuffed them both on the back of the heads scoldingly, “You can’t drink it asshole, it’s like poisonous.”)

Idly, Ronan thinks that he’d rather chug down ten complete bottles of that shit instead of sitting here in this utter hell hole of a waiting room, the smell of antiseptics clogging his nostrils and glaringly florescent lights pounding down on him and a swarm of strangers trying to catch his eye for polite, if not a bit flirtatious, small talk. All just to wait for some fucking quack to tell him what half a dozen others said before. That Opal’s condition is to severe, to intensive, too unstructured. For this prick to tell Ronan that the technology just isn’t here yet and that they should just give it a rest already.

God fucking damn it, Ronan hates this place, hates all the memories it evokes and the literal hopelessness that’s woven into it. He hates it even more that he fucking let Gansey talk him into meeting with this fucking prick of a doctor, getting his hopes up and making Ronan actually believe this Parrish douche is worth meeting with.

“He’s a class act Ronan, truly,” Gansey had crowed in that uniquely Gansey way of his— all American charm and boyishly enthused smile. “Carruthers had sung his praises to us for so long that I simply insisted he came to Lucy’s christening a bit ago.”

That’s when Ronan had cocked a brow at his oldest friend, unconvinced that Helen of all people would allow any riffraff to puncture her picture perfect soiree for her picture perfect daughter to show off her picture perfect life.

“I bet princess wasn’t to happy with that impromptu invitation?”

“That was until she met the boy,” Gansey had corrected a bit too cheekily for Ronan’s liking, finger waggling in the space between them and it took all Ronan had not to bite it right off. “Carruthers was right on! Parrish is a magnificent specimen, and smart as a whip too!”

“What a dreamboat,” said Ronan, deadpanned and wondering if he’ll ever be over Gansey’s theatrics. (Most likely not on account of his loving the dip-shit like a fourth brother.)

“You know he got his medical degree from Harvard? And his undergraduate at Princeton?”

“Gee Gansey, I’m swooning.”

“Well don’t fall in love with him quite yet,” Gansey had chuckled good naturedly with a patting to Ronan’s shoulder. “I reckon you’ll need him for another, much more important reason.” Ronan just furrowed his brows, not bothering to show any actual interest, and Gansey just flashed him a row of pearly whites in turn. “You’ll never believe his senior year thesis was about? Fibula Hemimelia.”

Ronan’s heart had lodged in his throat and he suddenly, foolishly, felt a surge of pure hope. So Gansey had set up everything. He had scheduled the meeting for a day he knew Opal didn’t have school and Ronan didn’t have work, he had called to send over Opal’s medical history, and on top of it all Gansey had convinced Ronan that continuing to try was better than to give up, and Ronan had agreed. That’s why he’s sitting in this hell hole now, glower securely set on his face and simultaneously watching Opal as she built and destroyed her lego towers, while staving off any too curious onlookers.

Finally— mercifully— A kind faced nurse had called out, “Opal L,” and they were being dashed off behind the doors to get all the preliminary numbers before being lead into the quacks office.

“Don’t break any of his shit,” Ronan tells Opal as she made her way to the corner where some blocks and puzzles were set out, crushes and all.

It’s another ten minutes of waiting until the door swings open and a low, molasses smooth voice greets them good morning while taking a seat in his desk. And well…. He’s all cutting cheekbones and piercing eyes and his hair��s the same color as the caramel cubes that Arora use to set out for guests back in the barns when Ronan was a kid. Ronan feels a instant pulsing of white hot hatred towards Gansey at this exact moment for not giving him the heads up that this Parrish fuck is only moonlighting as a doctor while actually having a career in modeling or some shit.

“G’morning,” he holds out his all too attractive hand, and Ronan pretends his insides aren’t imploding while he gives it one quick, savage shake. “I’m Dr Parrish, and you must be Ronan Lynch?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful,” if Parrish was put off by Ronan’s standoffish demeanor, he doesn’t show it, just continues on speaking in that crisp cadence that Ronan thinks all doctors have mastered in one way or the other, and goes back to flipping through the blindingly yellow binder in his grasp. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, or puts on a facade with some overly cheerful smile and Ronan appreciates him for it, he’s gone through too many stilted conversations of a blank eyed doctor telling him that there’s no hope with an uncomfortably large smile threatening to split their faces in half.

Ronan much prefers the touch of realism that Parrish is offering up.

“So is it just you for today or are we waiting for Mom?”

“Mom doesn’t exist,” Ronan says, words clipped— He reckons he’ll never not be irritated by that automatic assumption, even when it’s ridiculously pretty doctors making them.

Parrish quirks a brow at him and Ronan relents, just slightly.

“She was an orphan till I adopted her a few years ago, so it’s just me.”

“Oh, I see,” Ronan pretends his chest doesn’t totally contract at the sight of the other man’s small, thin lipped smile that makes his eyes shimmer a thousand splendid shades of blue and green and violet. “My apologies.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m turning seven in three weeks.” Opal, excited for a new audience, announces with a manic grin, her ash blonde hair tugged out it’s ponytail and her big brown eyes gazing at the doctor like he’s one of her dolls.

“No way, really?” Parrish says, and if Ronan thought his small, privately impressed smile was charming, it’s nothing on the one he’s beaming at Opal with right now. It’s beautiful in its unadulterated sincerity, in the way it crinkles the corners of his wide eyes and brightens his countenance ten fold. Ronan inwardly thinks that the grin is one he doesn’t dole out that often, which is a real shame because Dr Parrish’s dimples should probably be declared an eighth wonder of the world by who ever the fuck decides on that sort of shit.

“You must be Opal.”

“Are you my new doctor?” She asks, abrasive if it weren’t coupled with her toothy smile.

“Yes, I think I am, if you’ll have me?”

“Cool,” Opal marvels. “Will you actually help me?”

There’s an instant tautness to the air that Opal, in all her childhood obliviousness, doesn’t notice, but Parrish doesn’t let it linger.

“I certainly hope so.”

Adequately convinced, Opal pivots around and returns to her puzzle.

The next hour is composed of Ronan answering questions he’s been asked a million other times, (“Yes, it’s the left leg. Yes, the bone is completely missing and her foot’s heel is ruptured as well. Yes I know that some doctors have suggested removing the leg completely and replacing it with a prosthetic, but i already told you that they’re all fucking stupid and lazy, and I already said I want to exhaust all options until I consider it.”)

“I hope we don’t have to get to that point,” Parrish says like an oath and Ronan knows it in his bones that Parrish— Adam according to the admittedly impressive array of degrees adorned on his wall, can’t promise anything to him or Opal in so many words, but it doesn’t stop him from believing that Adam could actually do what the others couldn’t.

For the next quarter of an hour Adam examines Opal’s leg and takes notes in a scrawl Ronan doubts anyone could ever actually transcribe, until he’s seemingly satisfied.

They make an appointment for next Tuesday, giving Parrish enough time to examine all the information he’s gathered, and can talk to Ronan about the options on the table for Opal.

“Alright, see you then doc.”

“Adam. You can just call me Adam.”

Ronan just snorts, derisive, before carting Opal out of the room.

“You think he’s cute,” she preens.

“Shut your trap,” Ronan hisses. THat doesn’t stop Opal singing some ridiculous nursery rhymes about trees and kissing and babies all the way home.

Next time they meet is right after Ronan drops Opal off to school, and Adam looks just as competent and put together as the last time. He explains each possibility with no inflection, just straight facts for Ronan to take in and comprehend however he’d like.

“So either way it’s surgery,” Ronan bristles.

“If you want to avoid the prosthetic, yes. You can either continue with the latter which would slow down the growth of her right leg so that the left could catch up, or we can conduct several procedures in the next few years adding to the length of the left to match that of the right.”

“That sounds like mumbo jumbo shit to me,” Ronan bites out, trying his best not to sound as frustrated and frightened as he feels. Though the way Adam’s ordinarily stoic looking expression softens ever so slightly, tells Ronan that he’s doing a pretty shit job at it.

“I know it’s a difficult decision, especially when it’s for your kid,” Adam’s voice ripples right then but it immediately goes back to it’s typical, low timbre. Ronan doesn’t probe. “But I assure you that which ever decision you make it’ll be the right one.”

“How? How do you know that?” Ronan asks, challenging.

“Opal’s young, and healthy. She’s still growing, both procedures are optimal when that’s still a major factor. And besides, it’s clear that you love her. You know what’s best for her because you’ll do your research.”

There’s a different stillness to the air than there was last week, but Ronan doesn’t think it’s any less charged.

“When do you need an answer?”

“As soon as possible. We want to make sure we can get the best feasible results.”

“Fine.” Ronan gets up to leave but is stopped by Adam calling after him.

“I’m always a resource if you need it.”

Ronan doesn’t reply, just purses his lips before snatching the card Adam holds out for him and swaggers out with a thousand different thoughts swarming in his head, ones about Opal. About her leg. About the healing process, the tole it’d have on her. How she’s so small and delicate already, About Dr Adam Parrish and his pretty eyes.

Ronan realizes about half way to work that Adam had written his personal cell number on the back, and pretends that his cheeks aren’t blazing red, chides at himself that he’s only Opal’s doctor. That’s all.

It’s for Opal, that’s it.

“I like Dr Parrish.”

Ronan starts at the non sequitur, eyeing Opal like she’s grown a second head right here in the middle of Nino’s while they wait for their pizzas to take to Gansey’s place. After weeks of paper work and consultations and check ups, Opal’s first official surgery would be taking place tomorrow afternoon and they all agreed it calls for celebration.

“Okay… That was random.”

“Nah-uh,” she peevishly sniffs, lips twisted in irritation— Ronan doesn’t give a fuck about DNA because that’s straight out of his playbook. “Look!”

He follows her insistent finger pointing onto the distance through the window, just making out the sight of none other than Adam fucking Parrish strolling down the street, dying afternoon light dancing golden in his hair and touching the tops of his cheekbones… It’s all very cinematic if Ronan’s being at all honest.

“Imma say hi,” Opal announces, and before Ronan can tell her to sit her ass down she’s dashing off through the doors and stopping him in his tracks.

“Damn it,” Ronan curses under his breath before saddling up behind her.

“Dr Parrish!”

Jolting back, Adam scans his surroundings before finally casting his gaze down to find pipe sized Opal smiling up at him, and by rote, he returns the expression.

“Opal!”

“Daddy didn’t believe me but I saw you all the way from inside,” she tells him pridefully, and Ronan only roles his eyes heavenwards.

“Good eye,” Adam says, crouching down so that they’re level.

“What are you doing at Nino’s?”

“I reckon I’m doing the same thing as you and your pops here.”

“Getting dinner and teasing Aunty Blue for working here when she was little?”

Adam cuts a glance at Ronan, silent question of “What the fuck,” painted all over his features.

“It’s done lovingly.” He says in a monotone and no. Ronan absolutely does not feel the flutterings of butterflies swarming down deep at Adam’s bemused laughter.

“You should come to Uncle Gansey’s house!” Opal crows. “He’s throwing a party for me cuz of my op-op-peratoin tomorrow!”

“Operation,” Ronan softly corrects.

“Oh yeah that!” Opal squawks.

“That’s really cool Opal, I’m glad that they’re doing that for ya.” Adam says, utterly sincere.

“So you’ll come!”

“Yeah doc, come and get boozed up before the surgery,” Ronan says, only partially teasing.

“Sorry Opal darling,” Adam says, lips pouting. “I promised an old friend that I’d actually eat out with them, and I seriously doubt that your Dad or Uncle or whom ever would appreciate me crashing in on your family time.”

Opal looks grief-stricken and Ronan privately thinks he feels the same.

“My birthday then!” Opal proclaims.

“It’s after the surgery and it’s not until next week and could you come please!”

“Ah,” Adam’s eyes surreptitiously flutter over to Ronan, seeking permission.

“There could never be enough guests,” he says, totally flat.

“Alrighty then, I’d be honored to come Opal.”

“Yay!” She tackles into Adam for a quick embrace and then leaps into Ronan’s arms over the excitement.

“Oh Parrish, just heads up, the themes Disney Princesses, and the invitations explicitly dictate that everyone dresses up.”

Adam glares nastily at Ronan but then just tosses Opal a thumbs up, Ronan translates it for the bird he’d rather be tossing him.

Ronan admits that he regrets everything the moment Adam fucking Parrish strolls into his house wearing a shit eating grin, and a full on Prince Philip costume— tights and all.

Everything in the procedure went as wonderfully as anyone could’ve hoped, so Opal— dawning a sparkling pink princess dress— promenaded through the party in the Barns with a huge smile on her face and a sharpie pen so that all her guests would sign her cast, a beaming Blue pushing her along in the tiny wheelchair the hospital provided. But even with how precious she looks, and the excited thrumming in the air, all Ronan could focus on is fucking god damn Adam Parrish.

“Lynch,” he says in greeting, swinging around a large, wrapped box. Ronan jutted his chin to the table carrying the rest of the gifts and Adam dropped it off before returning to his side.

“Lovely place you got here.”

“If that was your attempt at small talk, you’re shit at it.” Is how Ronan chooses to reply.

Something warm and splendid coils somewhere deep in Ronan’s gut at the sound of Adam’s miraculous peals of laughter.

“You’re such a shit.”

Ronan feels charged by that one comment.

“Oh, so Doc’s got a little bite all of a sudden?”

“Always have,” Adam corrects in that detached, ever amused way of his. “Only thing was that you were my client, but everything with Opal went better than expected, so now I can call you out for being a complete prick whenever I please.”

“So you still expect to see me outside of the allotted appointments for my daughter?” Ronan snarks, snide and excited.

Adam just gives him a one armed shrug before leaning close to Ronan’s ear— hot breath skirting against his skin. “You aren’t slick, but my ass appreciates your intense focus.”

At that, Adam swivels around on his heals to grab a drink and to say hello to Opal, and Ronan knows he’s fucked.

***

Five years later, when they’ve got matching bands of gold and Adam’s slumped on the sofa with Ronan’s head propped on his lap— the pair of them watching over Opal tending to her new baby brother— Ronan thinks to when Gansey warned that he shouldn’t fall in love with Adam.

Ronan laughs and Adam flicks him on the temple for being such a freak.

#PYNCH #ADAM PARRISH #RONAN LYNCH #OPAL #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK

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