Diagnosis

Noah's POV

I hate how drab hospitals always look.

Blinding fluorescent lights, polished white tile floors and pale blue walls; it's a real wonder how people are expected to recover in a place like this because just being here is depressing. The lights above us buzz faintly in an off-key hum that grates on my nerves, my back aches from standing too long, and the sterile scent of antiseptic is doing nothing to settle my stomach. 

I hate it here so I suppose it's a small mercy knowing Logan hates it just as much as I do, probably more.

He's sitting on the exam table in front of me, looking like he's been cracked open and stitched together wrong. Beside him is the doctor— a balding older man with a gruff demeanor. He has a name tag on but I didn't bother to read it so I've been mentally calling him Dexter mentally.

Dexter ticks something off on the clipboard in his hands. "Your test results came out solid," he says. "You're a healthy man, Whittaker."

"Thanks?" Logan mutters.

"Hmm," Dexter hums. "Let's see…" 

He guides a gloved hand to Logan's neck, his fingers prodding near where Odessa's fangs had pierced him weeks ago. Logan flinches, and I can't tell if it's from pain or just the sheer discomfort of being touched. 

"Does this hurt?" 

Dexter's voice is bored and monotonous as he presses just above the faint scars from Odessa's bite. Logan winces, sucking in a breath. 

"Take that as a yes," he mutters, his pen scratching furiously on a clipboard. "When did this start?" 

Logan shifts uncomfortably on the exam table, his shoulders rigid. "A couple of weeks ago," he says. 

"And what happened a couple of weeks ago?" Dexter straightens, his tone almost accusatory. 

Logan hesitates, glancing at me like he's searching for backup. His jaw tightens before he finally mutters, "I was bitten. By a vampire." 

Dexter freezes, his pen hovering mid-air. Slowly, he sets it down and fixes Logan with a look that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. 

"A vampire," he repeats flatly. 

"Yes," Logan says, his voice defensive. 

"And I assume you let this vampire bite you?" the doctor asks, his tone dripping with disdain. 

Logan stiffens, his fists clenching on the edge of the table. "I didn't let her do anything," he snaps. "She—" 

Dexter cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't need the details. Back in my day, wolves had the sense to stay away from vampires. But now, with all this integration and inclusivity nonsense…" He shakes his head, his lips curling. "You practically put yourself in this mess." 

Finnian growls low in my mind, and I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping. Logan opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, the door swings open. 

"Dr. Walker," a voice says, smooth and steady. "I'll take it from here." 

The man who steps into the room is… startling. Even Finnian seems impressed, her voice low in my head. 'Well, he's easy on the eyes.' 

I press my lips together, trying to ignore her approval. 'Focus,' I think back, but even I'm distracted by the way Kieran's smile makes the sterile room feel warmer. He's tall, with warm brown eyes that seem to see right through you, honey-brown skin that glows under the harsh hospital lights, and a head of loose, curly hair that looks just barely tamed. He has a well trimmed, sleek moustache and there's an ease to the way he moves, like he's completely at home in his skin. 

Dexter aka Dr. Walker bristles, but he steps back, his irritation evident in the way his mouth twists. "Fine," he mutters. "Have fun cleaning up this mess, Dr. Saleh." With that, he storms out, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Dr. Saleh exhales and turns to us, offering a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry about him," he says, his voice calm and warm. "He's old-school, and not in the charming way." 

Logan grumbles something under his breath, and I see his fists unclench slightly. 

"I'm Dr. Kieran Saleh," the younger doctor continues, his gaze flicking to me for a moment before settling on Logan. "I was supposed to be in charge of your physical exam from the start, but I got held up making rounds. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." 

"Oh, of course not," Logan deadpans. "I just love getting judged and blamed for something I could've never predicted." 

Dr. Saleh lips grimaces slightly. "Well, let's fix that, shall we?" 

He steps closer, his movements efficient but never rushed. As he examines Logan, asking him to tilt his head this way and that, his voice is calm and steady. It's almost hypnotic, the way he talks—low and soothing, with a hint of dry humor that makes Logan relax by inches. 

"When did you first realise that you could no longer feel your wolf?" Dr. Saleh asks, glancing up from his tablet. 

Logan hesitates, his shoulders stiffening. "I'd rather not talk about it," he says finally. 

Dr. Saleh raises an eyebrow. "Look, I get it," he says gently. "This stuff is personal, and hospitals aren't exactly the coziest places to open up. But if we don't know the source of the problem, it's hard to figure out how to fix it." 

Logan's jaw tightens, and I can see the words building in his throat, ready to spill out harshly and defensively. 

"He was bitten by a vampire," I say, stepping in before Logan can snap. "About two weeks ago." 

Dr. Saleh's eyes flick to me again, and this time, something sparks there—recognition. "Noah Bennet?" A grin spreads across his face. "I thought that was you! I mean, I wasn't sure—" 

I blink, startled. "Do I know you?" 

His grin widens. "Oh wow, you probably don't remember me, but we used to live in the same neighbourhood. Went to the same kindergarten. Our moms were in the same book club." 

My stomach flips as the memory resurfaces. "Kieran? Little K with the missing front tooth?" 

"Hey, I grew new ones," he jokes, flashing a dazzling smile. 

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Wow. It's been… decades." 

I didn't recognise him at all. I don't really enjoy thinking about my childhood but, even with that, there's no way memories of K wouldn't remain. He was the short, pudgy, constantly wet eyed neighbourhood kid who indulged all my hair brained schemes and I was a scrappy brat who hated doing what he was told. The hijinks we got into were…

"You're all grown up now," I say, almost breathlessly.

That's one way to put it. He looks gorgeous!

"You too," his smile produces a dimple in his left cheek. Then that dimple disappears as his expression turns somber and his voice softens. "I was devastated when you and your mom moved. Believe it or not but five year old me thought we were going to be best friends forever." 

"Wow, how touching," Logan deadpans from his spot on the exam table. I'd forgotten he was in the room. "If it's not any bother at all, I'd like to know what's fucking wrong with me." 

Kieran professionally ignores him. "How is she anyway? Your mom?"

I hesitate, the familiar ache pressing against my chest. "She… passed away. Not long after we moved, actually." 

Kieran's face falls, and for a moment, he looks like that wet eyed, devastated kid again. "Noah, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." 

"It's okay," I say quietly, though it isn't. "It was a long time ago." 

He nods, his eyes holding mine for a beat longer before he turns back to Logan. "Alright, Mr. Whitaker," he says, his tone shifting back to professional. "Let's get back to it." 

"Yes, thank you for remembering I exist," Logan gripes.

"Logan…" I say warningly. 

I know that look in his eyes. That angry, hungry jealousy. Even sitting in a hospital without his wolf, he's still annoyed with a perceived 'competitor'. Typical Logan.

"I'm sorry about him," I tell Kieran.

Kieran chuckles. "It's fine. We'll be done with your physicals soon, Mr. Whitaker."

Logan huffs, his jaw tightening like he's biting back a comment, and Finnian's amused hum ripples through my mind. 'Jealousy looks good on him.'

 I roll my eyes. 'Not helpful.'

Kieran runs a series of tests with thorough but never invasive questions. When he finally steps back, his expression is thoughtful. 

"There's no physical damage that I can see," he says, glancing between Logan and me. "Your lab tests are clean and your body is functioning as it should, but… I'd guess this is psychological. Trauma can affect wolves in ways that aren't always obvious, and if your wolf is dormant, it might take some time—and help—to bring him back." 

"So, I really am broken," Logan grumbles.

"Of course not, Mr. Whitaker. You just need some time."

Logan's explosion comes as a surprise. "But I don't have time!" 

The room falls silent, the only sounds left are that constant, annoying buzz of the lights and wailing from some other part of the hospital. Logan hops off the exam table, mutters a frustrated 'excuse me' and storms off.

Kieran's gaze follows him out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend him," he closes his notebook, his tone soft but firm. "This isn't a permanent condition. With the right therapy and time, most wolves are able to reconnect with their other halves."

I sigh, exhausted. Logan and I drove straight to the hospital from training this morning. A training he, understandably, skipped but organising and coaching fourteen men is no small feat and I haven't even had breakfast yet. "It's a relief to hear he can recover from this," I glance at the door Logan just stormed out of. 

Kieran smiles at me, the warmth returning to his eyes. "Ask him to consider therapy. Being disconnected from your wolf can be a painful, disorienting feeling. It's no wonder your boyfriend is so frustrated." 

"Not my boyfriend," I say quickly. Then, "And it's not your fault. He's had a rough few weeks."

Kieran raises a brow. "Not your boyfriend?"

I can't help the chuckle that escapes my lips. "That's what you're latching on to?"

Kieran smirks and that dimple reappears like a punctuation to his smile. "I've just been reunited with a childhood friend and he looks… amazing. You have to pardon my curiosity."

 "Do you flirt with all your patients, Dr. Saleh?" I ask smoothly.

"You're not my patient, Noah Bennett" he replies, mischief glinting in his warm eyes.

Something in his tone makes my cheeks warm, and Finnian lets out a quiet, approving hum. Well played.

"Logan is a player on the baseball team I coach," I say, slowly walking up to Kieran. He opens his mouth to say something but I beat him to it, "No, I'm currently not dating anyone. My responsibilities are to my son and the team."

There's shock in his eyes that disappears as quickly as it appears. "Son?" 

I slide past him. "Thanks for your time, Doc. I need to go before Logan kicks a baby or something."

Kieran's hand catches my arm before I can leave the room. A shiver runs down my spine that both surprises me and excites me. "Yeah?" I look over my shoulder at him. 

"It was nice seeing you again, Noah," he whispers, all bright eyed and dimpled smiles.

"You know I'm only here because my… friend is sick and my job is on the line, right?"

That's a lie with multiple layers. For starters, Logan isn't my friend. He isn't my enemy either. He's… complicated and what we are is confusing. Still, I'm here because I care. Because even if the Coyotes weren't on the verge of being sold, I'd still be here, worrying.

"Well, as a doctor I don't think I'm allowed to say what I'm thinking right now," he replies.

But his eyes say it all; 'I'm glad he brought you here.'

"Huh," I say.

He smiles, his grip sliding away from my hand. "If you ever want to chat— or just someone to reminisce about your embarrassing kindergarten days with—give me a call." 

He scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to me. His number. 

I smile and tuck the paper into my pocket, trying not to laugh. "I think I'll hold you to that."

---

By the time I leave the hospital, Kieran's number is saved in my phone, and Logan is leaning against a broken lamppost outside, his hands jammed into his jacket pockets. He's staring at the cracked pavement like it's insulted him. 

"You okay?" I ask as I approach. 

"Fine," he mutters, his voice clipped. "Done sucking face with the cute doctor?" 

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Real mature, Lo." 

"Real mature?" He snaps, his eyes flashing as he straightens. "I'm a wolf without his wolf. Do you get that, Noah? Fenrir's gone, and I don't know if he's coming back. And while I'm trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, you're busy playing catch-up with Little Harry from first grade!"

"His name is Kieran and it's kindergarten!" I snap. I don't mean to. I want to be kinder, gentler, more understanding of his situation. But I've been understanding and Logan knows exactly what buttons to push to bring out the worst in me. "You heard him! This isn't permanent. Fenrir is going to come back. You're just being dramatic!"

Finnian growls softly. Disapprovingly. And I know immediately that I shouldn't have said that.

Logan freezes, the anger draining from his face and leaving raw, vulnerable hurt in its place. "Dramatic?"

"Logan…" I sigh, softening my tone. "I didn't mean it like that." 

He looks away, his jaw tight. "Whatever." 

A heavy silence falls between us, thick with all the things we're not saying. I want to fix it, to tell him I understand, but the exhaustion is bone-deep now. 

"I know another place we could try," I say eventually. "There's a witch who might be able to help you." 

He scoffs bitterly, his voice low. "Let me guess—another one of your childhood friends?" 

I let the comment slide. "I know you're in a hurry to feel better—" 

"I don't want to feel better," he interrupts, his voice sharp. "I want to feel normal." 

A taut silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Finally, he mutters, "I'll see you tomorrow at practice." 

"There's no practice tomorrow," I say. "I'm giving the team the day off." 

He turns back to me, his eyes narrowing. "Are you doing this for me? Holding me with kid gloves because I lost my wolf?" 

 "No," I say firmly, ignoring the way Finnian lets out a low growl of frustration. 'Liar,' she reprimands, but I ignore her. "I want to spend a quiet Sunday with my son."

It's only half the truth. All the training and taking care of Logan means I've only seen less and less of my boy over the past few weeks and I miss him. I miss his happy giggles and the feeling of his small hand wrapped around my fingers.

But I'm also tired of dealing with Logan Whitaker. 

He stares at me for a long moment, then exhales sharply. "Fine. Enjoy your day off." 

He walks away without another word, leaving me standing there, wondering how much longer I can keep this delicate balancing act from falling apart.