The Boys of Blueberries

5

Monday at The Fit began with an unscheduled appointment.

Sitting at the reception area, just as Sabina and Tristan walk out of the elevator, is a gorgeous brunette with bangs and a white coat. She hears Tristan's sharp intake of breath behind her, but Sabina doesn't break stride; she stops right in front of the doctor, raises an eyebrow and puts a hand on her hip. "Who are you?"

The brunette stands, leaving a paper bag on the sofa, and shoves her hands inside her coat pockets. Her eyes are dead-weight, with dark bags underneath them, and the shape of her mouth is delicate, soft, and pretty, turned down—Sabina has a feeling this woman is (a) not getting enough sleep, or (b) not getting laid. Her bet is on the latter when she says, "Hi, I'm Dr. Ian Bishop."

There's a stab—a pinch of horror, a sickly, sickly burst of tide that Sabina feels when she registers the surname. And then she sees the uncanny resemblance, and her bones—from her cheeks to her jaw, her chest and arms and fingertips, down to her hips and calves and every single toe—ease up.

"And you were just about to leave," Tristan hisses, stepping forward to grab her by the wrist, effectively taking out her hand from her pocket. When he turns to Sabina, his eyes are wild, and there's panic and an edge in his voice when he breathes, "Ms. Kyle, I'm so sorry, security must have buzzed her in—"

"Sister," Sabina mutters, eyes narrowing, going back and forth between the two of them. They have the same eyes, the pretty, delicate shape of their mouths; Tristan's hair is just a bit more blond than Ian's. "What is my secretary's sister doing outside my office?"

The doctor tips her chin up at her brother and yanks away her arm. "He wasn't answering his phone." To Tristan, she snaps, "June is flaking—she has an emergency. And I have emergencies at the hospital, I have a surgery in two fucking hours, Tris, I'm supposed to be doing rounds right now. God, I don't have time for this—"

"Shut up, you don't get to show up at my workplace," Tristan says, grabbing her by the arm once again, and begins leading her away. "Ms. Kyle, I'll be right back. I'm sorry."

Sabina doesn't even get another word in—she watches the pair move farther away from the hallway.

It's none of her business. Sabina rolls her shoulders and heads in to her office, her bag swinging beside her leg as she walks. The editors directly under Elyse stand up from the cubicles in their staff office, as they regularly do, and all collectively greet her with a, "Good morning." 

She passes by them without a word and puts down her coffee on her desk when she gets settled in, and switches on her computer to get started on her work.

When Tristan knocks, just about five minutes later, Sabina crooks a finger to beckon him inside.

He's holding a folder. Silently, he walks up the few steps to Sabina's desk and places it neatly on its surface. "Progress report from the design team," he says quietly. And then, with a deep breath, "Ms. Kyle, I apologize for my sister's unannounced arrival. It won't happen again."

"Is she older or younger?" Sabina mutters, not looking away from her screen. From her expression and voice, she sounds uninterested and uncaring; just a question to show civility between an employer and an employee. But against her own will and consciousness, she finds herself stupidly anticipating his answer.

"Younger," Tristan says.

"Mm. And she's a doctor."

"Surgeon."

"Ah. Smart."

"Yes, I guess so." Her secretary clears his throat.

It's none of her business, but Sabina has never been attuned with her brain-to-mouth filter. She lets herself say whatever she wants—MJ calls it tactlessness, but Sabina calls it curiosity. "Problems with your partner?"