Growing into the Job, Post 501: A Day at Far Horizons: Geriatrics (FHMA), p3

A memo from the main office: Didja ever get the feeling that something was missing? That there's a great big hole where there should be some, I dunno, other chapter? We here at theBasic have been feeling like this over the past week or so. So, we've gone back in our files and found this lost gem - well, not really lost, just overlooked. It was supposed to be Post 501, but got swept behind the watercooler. So, please, dear readers if you will, interject this little offering BETWEEN the scene where Dr. J was reading DM's from Rina, then getting summoned to Melissa's office (Post 500), and the scene of Dr Chou going over her notes from the couple's first visit to the Regression Clinic (the new Post 502, which was originally presented as Post 501. Ooops.) Sorry for the confusion, and we'd like to say it won't happen again but it probably will.

Enjoy.

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I stood just inside Melissa’s office, feeling small. I mean, I always felt small these days - because I was small. I was just a few inches over four feet. So, yeah - small. Short. Scrawny. But here? In this vast, brightly modern space? I felt even smaller.

Everything, as always, was white, sleek, immaculate. The towering windows behind her desk stretched almost floor to ceiling, showcasing a panoramic view of the city in the distance. Natural light flooded the office, reflecting off the pristine white leather couch beside the entrance, the minimalist glass shelving, the gleaming chrome hardware. It was elegant, almost clinical, and yet, somehow, it was unmistakably hers, and she was here. 

I knew because I could smell her.

That soft, creamy-vanilla-amber scent that clung to her skin and curled into my lungs every time I was near her, or just in this building. That scent that - without me even realizing it - had become something comforting. Something important. Something <shudder> necessary.

i didn’t, though, have time to dwell on that. I was here for a reason. A reason that, if I was being honest with myself, I was still trying to remember.

Melissa had sent me that bubbly, misspelled direct message through our new EHR telling me to come to her immediately because we had an appointment together at noon.

An appointment. Together, I wracked my brain, trying to recall, And it’s basically Noon already.

My stomach twisted.

I could have asked what it was about. I could have checked the schedule that she kept updated for me. But instead, I’d rushed over here, flustered and anxious, because…well, because she told me to. And I didn’t want to be late. 

I shifted uneasily, scanning the office while she finished up some order form she’d told me she needed to sign, something about new overalls for monkeys. I was stalling while my mind scrambled to piece things together. And that’s when I noticed it. Something new, something kinda…odd. A small desk.

It was set up in the corner, near the window, tucked neatly beside the built-in shelving. A tiny, simple white desk with a matching chair - low to the ground, proportioned for someone… someone little. Like, child-sized.

A small laptop sat on its surface, its screen blank, waiting. A cup of sharpened pencils - were some of those colored pencils? - was arranged neatly beside it. A weird knot formed in my stomach. That hadn’t been here before, had it? I’d been through her office over the weekend, and this wasn’t here.

Was it..? No. Right?

I quickly shoved the thought of what it could be for away, trying to ignore the way my chest tightened as I turned back to Melissa.

Her.

There she is, sitting behind her desk, lips glistening and eyes gleaming like an impossible dream. I mean, I knew she was a beautiful woman, insanely so, but I was with her nearly every day. Why did the sight of her still affect me like this, every time?

She was wearing white today, a breathtaking, skin-tight pencil dress, tailored to the absolute limits of professional decorum, and hugging every impossible curve with engineered precision. Its plunging but squared, structured neckline was deep enough to hint at her impossible bust, but still gave just enough plausible deniability for a professional setting. 

A cropped white blazer completed the look - sharp, structured also, cinched at her insanely tiny waist, the sleeves fitted and powerful. And below the desk, peeking out from beneath the gleaming surface? White designer stilettos, six-inch heels. As if - once she stood up - she’d need to be any taller. This was the look of an executive, a CEO. Exactly what she wanted for her first day in the new gig. 

I swallowed hard.

She was too much. She was always too much. And yet, somehow, I could never get enough. My eyes could not be any wider, as much as I’d have loved them to be so I could just drink in more and more and more of the vision that was my girlfriend. 

That’s when she looked up at me. 

Melissa was typing something into her own sleek, all-white desktop, her lush brunette waves spilling over one shoulder, her full lips slightly pursed as she worked. Her fingers - long, delicate, powerfully manicured - paused over the keyboard as she turned her attention back to me.

And then - that smile. That slow, warm, oversized and indulgent smile that was a superpower unto itself. Remember: this was a woman that could - among other things - bend steel and shake the ground with her footsteps. Her smile made these seem like parlor tricks. It was a smile that, no matter how much I tried to fight it, always made something in me go soft, something else go hard. But I wasn’t here for smiles.

I was here because - because…

Shit.

What was our appointment for?

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the need to ground myself. Something familiar, something logical: I knew I needed to say something. So I went with what had been bothering me since this morning.

“So,” I said, shifting on my feet, “I, uh… tried to get into my office this morning...”

Melissa blinked. Then - her brows lifted slightly, like she’d been expecting this but had hoped I wouldn’t bring it up.

“Oh?”

I exhaled sharply, crossing my arms. “Yeah. The new security system? It’s, like, biometric, right? My fingerprint wasn’t opening the door.”

Melissa let out a soft, “Mmm.”

Mmm.

I knew that Mmm. That was her thinking about how to phrase something in a way that wouldn’t upset me. Bad sign.

I pressed on. “Do I need to register it somewhere, my fingerprint? With you or, like, with Olivia?”

Melissa’s eyes softened. That was an even worse sign. “Oh, baby,” she cooed, folding her hands on her desk. “I meant to talk to you about that.”

My stomach twisted. Oh no. No, no, no.

I forced a small laugh, even as my skin started to prickle. “Right. And, uh, when does my new nameplate come in? For my office door?”

Melissa hesitated. She cocked her head at me. She blinked, and smiled again.

Not good. Not good At all. I felt the back of my neck go hot. “MeLISSa,” I tried again, my voice too tight, cracking, “What’s going on?”

She sighed softly. 

I felt my pulse pick up.

She’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

My office.

She’s about to tell me something about my office.

I knew that look - warm, careful, practiced. The way she pressed her lips together just slightly, the way her jewel-green eyes softened as they scanned my face, the way her fingers twined gently together on her desk like she was bracing herself.

“Jay, come closer.”

This wasn’t Melissa the steamroller, the overgrown teenager with too much authority and not enough restraint. This was Melissa the nurturer, the gentle mother-figure of the office. Which, frankly, right now, was even worse. Because it meant she already knew I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

I felt my fingers curl into my scrubs, heart drumming in my throat. And I stepped up to her desk, across from her. It came up to my fucking chest. 

“Jay…” she began gently, tilting her head and looking down towards me, “…sweetie, about your office.”

I stiffened. No. No, no, no.

Melissa sighed softly. “We had to… reformat things a little.”

Reformat. Where’d she get that word?

I swallowed hard. “Reformat?”

She nodded, and tossed her thick brunette waves over one shoulder. “Yeah.” A small, almost apologetic smile. “We needed the space, honey. We had to turn it into a shared Hot Desk area.”

The air left my lungs. “A shared…what?”

Melissa’s expression stayed soft, steady. “A shared workspace. You know, for the whole clinic. Jewel, Lakshmi, the other new medical assistants. Anyone can sign in and use it when they need to.”

I blinked. “So…so it’s not my office anymore?”

Melissa exhaled, and I saw it in her eyes - that flicker of regret. But also something else. 

“Jay, give me your hand…”

I offered it. I knew she didn’t really didn’t want to hurt me with this, but it was also another thing that made me smaller in this world, and I knew there was part of her that got a thrill seeing that. I could tell she understood, though, how it made me feel - she could read me like a book. It stung, and she was sorry for that, but she also wasn’t changing her mind.

“No, baby.” She reached across the desk, resting a warm, delicate, huge hand over mine. “It’s not your office any more.”

I stared at her hand.

I should’ve known, I lamented, I should have seen this coming.

The new locks, Aubrey’s awkward little smile when I asked. The signs were all there - except, of course, for the one with my name on it on my office door. But somehow, hearing her say it out loud made it real. My office - the space I had built my practice in, the space I had spent years in, the space that, until just now, had been mine - was now some kind of communal free-for-all. A ‘hot desk’.

I swallowed thickly. “So… where am I supposed to work?”

Melissa squeezed my fingers gently. “Oh, sweetie.”

I didn’t like that tone. I really, really didn’t like that tone, like she was about to tell me something she was excited about, but about which I knew I’d feel just the opposite.

Melissa straightened in her chair, her full lips curving just slightly, and gestured across the office to her left - to the tiny desk nestled in the corner. “Right here, honey,” she said brightly. “With me.”

I followed her gaze, to it. The small, white desk. The child-sized chair. The fucking colored pencils.

My stomach dropped. No.

Melissa squeezed my hand again, and her voice was filled with warmth. “I set up a little workstation for you right here, baby.”

I swallowed. Hard. My pulse hammered in my head.  It wasn’t even just that the desk was small. It was that it was next to hers, in her office. It was that she had already decided this for me.

Melissa was still watching me, her gorgeous face lit up in this soft, almost glowing way. She was trying to contain it, but I could see it. Part of her was thrilled. And somewhere deep inside me, I knew why. Melissa didn’t want me to be alone in an office. Melissa wanted me here. With her. 

Close. Where she could keep an eye on me, and she would have my attention. Where she could take care of me, and I couldn’t get away from my need for her. The idea excited her. I could see it in the way she was holding herself, in the way her eyes gleamed, in the way she was barely containing her anticipation. She had turned a little corner of her own office into a space for me. Because she didn’t see me as a boss anymore, or even a colleague. She saw me as hers.

I could barely breathe. I felt my face go hot.

Melissa’s green-gold eyes searched mine, waiting for me to light up the way she had. Was she waiting for me to be grateful? Waiting for me to smile?

No.  Instead, all I could do was stare at the tiny desk in absolute fucking horror. This isn’t happening.

My mouth opened. Something needed to come out, I knew it - a protest, a question, anything that made sense. Instead, what actually came out was:

“…but where will I put my… uh…”

Jesus Christ.

Melissa blinked, tilting her head, clearly waiting for me to finish whatever idiotic thing I was trying to say.

“…uh…my… my files?” I blurted, my ears burning, “I h-have so much to…to do..!”

Melissa’s lips twitched. And then - oh no, that smile. Soft. Patient. A little too amused. Like she thought I was being adorable. Like she was indulging me. Like I was a toddler asking where my coloring books would go.

I felt something dark and hot crawl up my throat.

Melissa exhaled, squeezing my hand again. “Oh, sweetie.” That tone. That awful, gentle, placating tone that came when breaking bad news to a child. Her green-gold eyes softened, and she took a breath, like she was gearing up to explain something gently.

I braced.

“It’s just that…” Melissa started, choosing her words carefully, “…your role here has changed, honey.”

I stiffened.

She smoothed her palm over the back of my hand, her fingers warm, steady, unbearably soft, covering me completely. “You’re not really handling much administration anymore, baby.”

Baby. ‘Baby’.The word made my stomach twist. Not because I didn’t like it - but because I did. And that was the fucking problem.

Melissa pressed on, her voice soothing, reassuring, as if she were just explaining simple facts. “So, Olivia and Sheryl just thought, you know, with your reduced responsibilities…”

I swear to god I almost blacked out.

“…it didn’t really make sense for you to have a whole office all to yourself.”

I just stared at her.

“…wh-whhat?”

Melissa pouted, her full, painted lips curving downward just slightly, like this was hard for her to say. “I know, baby. I know.”

No. No, you don’t know. Everytime you turn around someone is handing you something new, something better and more important, more money. Every day you wake up you’re bigger, stronger, richer. You’re growing, in every way, and I’m-

She kept stroking my hand. Like she was softening the blow. Like she was comforting me. Like I was something fragile. “But,” she continued, suddenly brightening, “when I suggested that I have you work right next to me, they just loved that idea!”

‘Loved it’. Of course they loved it, Olivia and Sheryl. They were probably over the fucking moon about this, seeing me emasculated to within an inch of my life. She, Melissa was happy about this too. Ecstatic, even. Her eyes sparkled, her smile grew, her warm fingers squeezed mine as if this was something I was supposed to be grateful for.

Instead, I felt physically ill.

“I mean,” she went on happily, “I don’t even know how much time I’ll actually get to spend over here in the old wing, you know? There’s just so much happening in Women’s Health and Wellness now.”

My stomach dropped even further. She meant her wing. The new wing. The one I wasn’t really part of.

“r-right,” I muttered, my voice hoarse.

Melissa beamed, but was not completely oblivious to my internal meltdown.

“When I am over here, though, still in an office on this side?” she continued, her smile softening again, her voice turning warm and syrupy, “Of course I want my favorite little guy right beside me.”

‘My favorite little guy’? I wanted to crawl into the floor and die.

I tried to breathe through my nose, tried to find some footing, but my brain was short-circuiting too hard to allow me to function.

And then - oh, because of course this wasn’t over - Melissa gestured at the tiny desk. “And if you don’t like the way it’s set up right now,” she chirped, “we can totally adjust it, sweetie.”

I blinked numbly. “Adjust it… how?”

Melissa’s eyes gleamed, like she was so happy I asked.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully and looking at the desk, “right now, the way it’s facing, you’re kind of turned toward the wall, right?”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

Melissa’s smile grew. “So if you don’t like that, we could turn it around, adjust the angle…”

I felt a glimmer of hope.

“…so that way you could look at my legs instead.”

Hope gone. Brain melted.

Melissa brightened at her own suggestion, like it was the most helpful thing in the world. “Would that make it better, baby, turning you from the wall?” she said, turning to face me again with those huge, searching eyes, “Want to face my legs instead?”

I made a strangled noise.

Melissa pouted, still thinking. “Or-! We could get you a little footstool?”

I stared.

“A footstool?”

“Yeah, sweetie! So your little feet don’t dangle when you’re sitting.”

Kill me. Fucking kill me now.

Melissa sighed happily, rubbing my hand. “Just want you to be comfy, sweetheart.”

I couldn’t breathe. The world around me blurred, my vision fuzzing at the edges. Melissa’s office - so big, so white, so pristine - suddenly felt too bright, too clinical, too much.

My tiny desk. My missing office. My nameplate, gone. And Melissa, beaming at me, so proud of her new arrangement, so thrilled to have me right next to her. It was like I could feel something slipping away, something I wasn’t going to get back.

I need to say something. I need to-

But I couldn’t. Instead, I sat there, frozen, overwhelmed, numb.

Melissa’s eyes flickered over my face, and - just like that - her smile softened. She saw it. She saw me shutting down. And for a moment - just a moment - her voice was nothing but warmth. “Oh, sweetie…” Her fingers squeezed mine, her thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles over the back of my hand.

I swallowed hard, trying to force myself to speak, to think, to breathe.

Melissa tilted her head, her dark hair falling in a soft wave over one shoulder, her massive bust rising with a slow inhale before she leaned just a fraction closer.

“…I know this is a lot. And, honestly, you having an desk here only has to be until my new office is ready in the new wing.”

My face brightened, for a moment. Maybe this was temporary? “And…I’ll have my own space there?”

“Oh…” she said, so patient and perceptive, “...you’ll see. You’ll love it.”

My throat tightened. Her voice was so gentle. Too gentle. Like she was calming me down. Like she was settling me in. Like she was helping me process something inevitable.

“But we can talk more about it later, okay?”

My stomach dropped.

That wasn’t comforting. That was final.

Melissa smiled: bright, soft, affectionate - and then, just like that, her gaze flicked to the clock on her desktop and I felt it, the shift. The empathy didn’t disappear, but it was suddenly running alongside something else. Something bubbling, something thrilled. Something very, very eager.

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed, “we gotta go.”

I blinked. “w-what?”

Melissa’s eyes widened, then rolled playfully. “Our appointment, silly! We’re already late!”

Appointment. Something nagged at me. Something about - something about-

Melissa’s grin turned knowing. “Regression Clinic, honey.”

My blood turned to ice. Oh. Oh, no. I opened my mouth, but Melissa was already moving.

She stood, towering, stretching, smoothing down her impossibly tight white dress, adjusting her massive bust, flipping her long hair back. It was a show, every motion deliberate, unhurried, her towering presence utterly unbothered by my impending breakdown.

Melissa grabbed her bag, her jewelry jingling, her perfume flooding my lungs. She straightened her skirt over her glorious legs and then - just as easily - she came around the desk  to me. “Come on, baby,” she purred, “let’s go.”

She reached for me.

I flinched.

She noticed.

And - oh, no - she thought it was adorable. Her smile curled, and she tilted her head. “Awww, Jay.”

My stomach twisted.

She lowered herself, just a little, bending at the waist, her enormous chest hovering, her golden-green eyes locking onto mine. “Sweetie, do you wanna hold my hand?”

No. No, no, no.

She was already reaching for me, I was already too frozen to move. And before I could even register what was happening, her warm, delicate fingers slid around mine and - oh, god - she squeezed, like I was hers, like this was normal. Like this was exactly how things were supposed to be.

Melissa grinned. “There we go.”

And then, just like that, she was leading me out the door.

Following Melissa through the Geriatrics Clinic was like following a storm front, being in its wake. She moved with purpose, grace, certainty - her enormous, impossible body commanding the space around her, womanly ass swaying, the thunderous click of her towering heels a metronome against the polished floors.

And then there was me. Trailing half a step behind, my shorter stride struggling to keep up, my fingers still lightly tangled in hers. She wasn’t dragging me, not quite, but she wasn’t giving me a choice, either.

I felt the stares. The patients passing by? Watching. Aubrey and the other receptionist at the front desk? Watching. Even the cluster of gorgeous new medical assistants at the nurse’s station - chatting, giggling, nudging each other? Watching.

And why wouldn’t they?

Melissa Monroe - 6’11 ½”, stunning, powerful, built like some divine wet dream - striding down the hall in a dress that looked poured onto her body, her lush, impossible curves swaying with every movement. And next to her?

Me. - 4’3”, practically scurrying to keep up, my entire existence reduced to a small presence at her side. A fraction of her. An accessory. And then—

“Doctor J!”

A voice. A rough, older man’s voice.

I blinked, looking up just in time to see Mr. Green, one of my long-time patients, standing up in the waiting room, just as we were about to exit.

Melissa paused, sighing softly, turning toward him with the polite patience of someone very, very busy.

Mr. Green, mid-eighties, silver-haired, dressed in his usual slightly-too-big cardigan, squinted at me. Did he not believe his own eyes? 

“Where are you going?” he asked. “I thought I was going to be seeing you, Dr. J.”

Before I could answer, Melissa smiled and stepped towards him, smoothing a hand down the front of her immaculate dress. He may be an old duffer, but his eyes went exactly where she wanted them.

“Wow, you’re a big one, aren’t you?” Mr. Green marveled.  Spindly, he was a tall guy. Over six feet, if I remember. 

But Melissa still towered over him.  “Oh, sweetie, you’ll be seeing the new PA today,” she said. 

Mr. Green frowned. “The new what? ‘PA’?”

Melissa’s smile twitched, just slightly. “Yes, our new Physician's Assistant.” 

I saw it in her, the briefest moment of amusement. Because she was thinking about Jewel.

And then suddenly I was thinking about Jewel.

And we both knew that the moment Mr. Green laid eyes on his new, six-four (before heels), absurdly curvy, devastatingly beautiful physician’s assistant? Well…let’s just say he wasn’t going to be complaining. In fact, I’d probably just lost another patient to the new breed of young, capable women that seemed to be taking over medicine. I’d seen it already, even before Jewel, even before I’d hired Melissa back in the summer. Any patients of mine that had a visit with Vida, or Morgan, one of the female practitioners here? Men and women, didn’t matter the gender, they didn’t tend to show up on my schedule again. Did they just see the female practitioners as more competent? The way women generally were these days? Or did they just like the scenery, down a blouse or in a tight pencil skirt? Because Jewel Montgomery, PA-C certainly had a lot of that. Mr. Green probably wouldn’t complain.

Melissa tilted her head, looking down at him. “I think you’ll like her very much.”

“Mmmmm,” Mr. Green murmured, not yet looking like a man easily convinced. “But is she gonna be able to help me with…this?”

And then, before either of us could react, he was pulling up his sleeve.

Melissa did not wince; I did. Because good lord a decent portion of the entire length of his forearm was covered in an absolutely horrific rash. Red. Swollen. Cracked. Almost bleeding in places, oozing in others.

I’d seen it before, at his last visit. Autoimmune-related dermatitis, compounded by poor circulation. We’d been managing it for months, with limited success. But this? This was bad. And it was not what I wanted to be looking at right now.

“Jeez, Mr. Green,” I breathed. “Didn’t I tell you to keep up with your-”

But before I could even finish, before I could suggest a prescription adjustment, before I could even think to do anything-

Melissa reached out - effortlessly, casually, like it was nothing. She reached out and laid her hands over the wound.

I stopped breathing, Mr. Green stilled.

Melissa stood there, her long but delicate fingers resting over raw, inflamed flesh, her expression calm.

For a beat, nothing happened. Then - a pulse. A glow, just beneath the skin of her hands. Warm. Golden. Barely visible, but there. And then - It was gone.

Melissa lifted her hands. And underneath it? Perfect. Clear. Untouched skin. No rash. No cracks. No bleeding. Slightly red, like just from a warm bath, but healthy, smooth, unblemished flesh.

Mr. Green stared, I stared.

“M-Melissa?” I croaked.

Melissa just sighed. “There,” she murmured, brushing her fingertips together, as if wiping off dust. “All better.”

WHAT.

Mr. Green made a strangled sound.

“I - but - what-?!” I was still staring, my brain scrambling for any logical explanation, anything that made sense. 

Melissa just smiled, like she’d just done something totally normal, like she’d just adjusted his tie for him. “Okay, we really gotta go, babe,” she said, already reaching for me again. Her fingers curled around mine, firm and warm, and before I could even protest, she was pulling me forward, leading me back down the hall.

I stumbled, barely keeping up, my brain still short-circuiting. I looked back at my patient. Behind us, Mr. Green was still gawking down at his arm. I barely registered the murmurs from the front desk staff, the gasp from a patient’s wife - Mrs. Kowalczyk - also waiting for their husband’s appointment..

Because Melissa Monroe had just casually performed a fucking miracle, without - it seemed - barely even thinking about it.

Melissa squeezed my hand, bringing me back to task, opening the door from the waiting room and out to the Atrium.

“You’re gonna love your therapy, baby. Regression is the best new thing.”

I felt my stomach churn.

I had a feeling I really, really wasn’t.

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