The Rule of Two

CHAPTER 6: THE WAIT IS OVER

Dr. Vane’s clear, unambiguous command, while startling in its directness, was a sudden, unexpected relief. There was no social nuance to decipher, only a single, actionable instruction.

She instinctively winced at his first touch as the cold metal mirror tapped against her tooth. The sudden proximity and the unexpected sensation caused a full-body flinch.

However, as the check-up continued, she realized something astonishing: he was much more gentle than her last dentist. His touch was light, controlled, and very precise. He worked with meticulous, structured efficiency, checking every surface, stating the familiar random letters and words and moving with a focused intensity that mirrored her own approach to the supermarket shelves.

He finished the check and, without changing his blank expression, gave his next instruction. “I will perform your usual teeth cleaning now."

This was a usual procedure, a predictable step in the overall script, which offered Winter a small, firm grounding point. As the assistant turned the suction on, Dr. Vane reached behind him and picked up a pair of plastic safety glasses.

"Put these on," he stated simply, handing them to her.

With the glasses in place, Winter was forced to look at him as he leaned in to begin the deep clean. The harsh light of the dental lamp was now refracted through the lenses, and her gaze finally settled on his face. She watched as he focused intently on her teeth, his attention entirely absorbed by the small, measurable task.

It was in this moment of intense, non-judgmental concentration that she saw his eyes. They were a rich, clear chocolate brown and, to her surprise, beautiful. She had never seen eyes like it before—they weren't trying to convey warmth or judgment; they were simply focused, radiating a quiet intensity that matched her own internal demand for perfection.

This unexpected observation triggered a complex, intricate feeling within Winter. Yes, she was still scared, and the noise still caused pain, but the overall experience was totally different. His movements were efficient, his lack of small talk eliminated a huge source of anxiety, and the small acts of direct control, like the safety glasses and clear instructions, were deeply comforting.

She felt a profound sense of security knowing that he was not looking at her with pity or false cheer, but with a detached, methodical professionalism that mirrored her own mind.

Because every part of the procedure was done with such respect for her needs—no patronizing touch, no questions she hadn't prepared for, only precision—she felt no extreme distress. The noise was an inescapable factor and she knew she would pay for that later. The panic from the waiting room subsided, replaced by the strange, new comfort of being treated like a complex, solvable problem rather than a fragile emotional object.

Dr. Vane worked with methodical, gentle strokes until the cleaning was complete. He didn't seem to notice Winter looking at him; his eyes were simply locked onto the measurable task of her teeth. His focus was absolute.

He put down the cleaning tool, dropping it with a quiet clink onto the tray. "Examination finished," he stated simply, his voice low and level.

Before Winter could fully process the satisfying, smooth finish of the cleaning procedure, the assistant's voice cut in. “You’ll need to go back downstairs to reception now, dear, to book your next check-up appointment.”

Winter gave a small, automatic nod. She knew this instruction by heart; going back downstairs to schedule the next appointment was the fixed, obligatory final step in the dental routine. It was always a struggle—a minor social hurdle she braced herself for—but she always completed it.