"No Harm, No Foul" - A Short Snippet

Based on the commission, "Anything with Saxon <3" and "I just want to watch Saxon and Grey have a bitch fight tbh."

For clarification, Dr. Saxon's husband is Dr. Seth Calinao. 

You are only here because you love your husband.

Frankly, you’d rather be home – finishing up a research grant, brushing your cat, or even baking a cake since your beloved spouse thinks that you have so much free time. Instead, you are on the back lawn of Citadel, watching Seth give you a thumbs up as you give him a scowl back.

“I am sorry about this,” Peter says, and your grimace deepens.

It’s bad enough that Seth dragged you here to participate in Citadel’s…whatever-the-fuck, you don’t really pay attention. But, to be roped into a three-legged race and paired with Peter? Soft, bleeding-hearted Peter? Who’ll hear any residents sob story and instantly take them under his wing?

Please.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you mutter, testing the rope tying the two of you together. You’ll really have to coordinate if you even want to make it to the finish line (and you are going to make it to the finish line, because you are Anthony Saxon and you don’t lose).

Damn Peter and his long legs.

“Just so you know,” Peter says, and you narrow your eyes—you don’t miss the flash of unhappiness that darts across his face. “They’ll be photographing us. Well, mostly me. But, since you’re with me…”

Of course. Citadel would never pass on a good photo-op featuring their golden boy. You’re half-tempted to ruin this for him, but then again…Peter owing you a favor would be a nice compensation for the trouble your husband’s put you through today.

“Just keep up,” you say.

You don’t even need to look at Peter to know that he’s holding in the world’s longest sigh. “We’ll need to work together.”

Just when you think Peter’s about to launch into some kind of game-plan, the airhorn sounds out, cutting off whatever he was going to say. You launch forward with your right foot, expecting Peter to get it, but he moves his right too instead. You feel your left leg get yanked out from underneath you, and before you know it you’re clinging to Peter’s T-shirt with the force of a mountain-climber, just barely avoiding slipping onto the wet grass and mud below.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you hiss. “I said keep up.”

“You did not make it clear,” Peter bites back, and you see the rare trace of frustration cross his face. “What part of working together did you miss?”

Around you, you see other pairs slowly but steadily making their way to the finish line. A couple have fallen, but you also spot Seth happily ambling with his partner, another pediatric surgeon, their arms slung around each other like coordination is the easiest thing in the world. You don’t need to look around to know that there’s more than a couple camera lenses trained on you and Peter—just waiting for a perfect moment. You also know that Citadel's not above publishing a photo of you falling on your face, with Peter helping you up—and no fucking way are you ending up on some publicity site like that.

“We’ll have to count,” you say, righting yourself. “We move separately on one—my right, your left. We move together on two. Got it?”

Peter nods, his jaw set. He doesn’t want to lose either.

Good.

It takes a few steps to adjust. Well, more than a few steps. But, the two of you figure it out—Peter with his long, loping steps, you half-hopping to keep up. Before you know it, you’ve pulled ahead—when you pass by Seth, you can’t help but look back (his face, delighted; your face, smug).

You and Peter surge to the finish line, and you instantly gulp in a deep breath, your hands on your hips. Peter, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered—his mussed up hair the only sign of strain.

Seth and his partner cross the finish line soon enough, and they walk toward you—Seth, beaming.

“Congratulations!” he says, slinging a happy arm around your shoulders. “I knew the two of you could do it.”

“Knew?” you huff, and you’re sure it dawns on you at the same time it dawns on Peter. “You rigged this.”

“Me?” Seth grabs his chest in mock-hurt, while his partner stifles a laugh. “No.”

“To be honest, we didn’t even think you’d finish the race,” his partner says. “No offense Peter, Anthony.”

“We?” You look from Seth to his partner. “Don’t tell me…”

“Just a little peds prank, that’s all,” Seth says. “But—if you ask me—I knew the two of you could do it.”

You look over to Peter, who finally lets out a sigh—one that he’s probably been holding in since the start of the race when the two of you were first paired together.

“No harm, no foul,” he finally says.

Later, after the organizers have untied the two of you, and Peter’s gone off with Sloan (now there’s someone who dislikes you even more than Peter does), you lean in close to Seth’s ear, your grip on his waist just tight enough for him to know.

“I hope you’re ready for later,” you murmur, your teeth—just barely—scraping his earlobe. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten anything.”

“Of course not.” Seth smiles, a mischievous look on his face. “I wouldn’t dare.”