Snippet #2817782

Even with the sedatives starting to slow his heart rate, Noah couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be there, that he didn’t belong there. He was a doctor in a room of soldiers, a room of heroes, and he had only ever just been doing his job. There were tens of other doctors out there who had done as much or more and who went unnoticed, and Noah would have given the world to be one of them right now. Apparently in his rush to escape, he’d even left the trophy behind him. He only missed it once Gabriel handed it back to him, before ending up wrapped up in a conversation with some important looking guy that Noah vaguely recognised as one of the council members. Not a conversation Noah particularly wanted to be a part of, so he found himself drifting towards the bar and just standing, watching the room. He nearly jumped out of his skin as someone said hello directly to him, but a wave of relief washed over him as he spotted it was Ryan.

“Hi.” He replied, his brain immediately going blank as to what to say next. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you too.” They’d only seen each other a handful of times since the fighting ended and never in a situation like this, where they were both clearly uneasy. “Good to know I’m not the only one afraid of breaking this thing,” he said, laughing a little awkwardly and indicating his own trophy. He didn’t have a cat to break the trophy, but he felt that if he did, it probably wouldn’t last more than a few hours knowing his luck. He didn’t even really want it, but he’d still feel bad if it got broken that quickly.

Camilla Rhodes seemed to appear from almost nowhere, although maybe that was because Noah was desperately avoiding making eye contact with everyone right now. He shook her hand as she held it out, but he got the impression her question about whether or not it was Mister or Doctor wasn’t one to be answered. As she remarked that he didn’t quite meet her expectations, Noah forced a laugh that sounded as forced as it was and glanced away, not wanting to rise to her bait.

He wasn’t sure whether or not she knew that he saw or whether or not she cared, but he knew that her “crossing her arms” was a cover to just tip the remnants of her glass of wine over Ryan, and she basically nearly threw herself against the table in order to knock his trophy. He was about to say something, about to call her out on it, but the words died on his lips. He was only going to stammer, only going to embarrass himself more, and make things worse for both him and Ryan, and neither of them wanted that. “I’ll grab some more napkins,” he mumbled, before shooting Camilla a look and stepping away briefly, heading for the nearest table of canapes and retrieving a handful of napkins. God, they’d shown the photo of him staring down a gun, and here he was, unable to say anything to an overconfident, entitled pop star who had probably never even seen a gun, let alone held one. He returned back and found Camilla still lingering, the smugness written all over her face.

“Were you looking for something, Miss Rhodes?” He asked, his tone calm and polite, but his expression set.