Chapter 7: The Flirting Coach
The frantic beep-beep-beep of the monitor finally settled into a steadier rhythm, echoing the slow, deliberate breaths Ty forced into his lungs. The cool air still brushed his bare skin, but the paralyzing shame had vanished, replaced by a strange, buzzing clarity. Lily’s hipbone remained a firm anchor against him, the worn cotton of her scrub pants rough against sensitive skin. He didn’t pull away. He met her dark, assessing gaze head-on.
"I want her," he repeated, the words firmer this time, resonating deep in his chest. "Chloe. Badly."
Lily’s triumphant smirk widened, sharp and dazzling. "Finally," she breathed, the word laced with pure satisfaction. She didn’t move away either. Her eyes flickered down, acknowledging the undeniable pressure against her waistband, then snapped back up, locking onto his. "Good. Now, Banks, here’s the cold, hard truth." Her voice dropped, low and conspiratorial. "You, standing here like a startled gazelle who just won the genetic lottery, are not ready." She gestured pointedly downwards. "That," she said, her tone utterly matter-of-fact, "is impressive. But it’s not a personality. Chloe Henderson deserves more than a guy who panics and hides behind his own shadow… or his own impressive equipment."
Ty swallowed, the buzzing clarity momentarily dimmed by a fresh wave of nerves. "So… what do I do?" The question was raw, pleading.
Lily leaned back, just an inch, breaking the electric contact. The sudden absence of warmth against his hip was jarring. She crossed her arms, tapping a finger against her bicep. "You learn. You practice." Her gaze swept over him, still utterly clinical, yet now tinged with a fierce determination. "Right here. Right now."
Ty blinked. "Practice? Practice what? Here?" He glanced down at his nakedness, the gown pooled around his ankles like a discarded ghost. The monitor beeped a little faster.
"Flirting, Banks!" Lily rolled her eyes, the exasperation back, but laced with amusement. "Conversation! Not stammering like a malfunctioning robot whenever she brings you pudding! You need to sound like a guy who knows he wants her, not a guy terrified of his own… assets." She uncrossed her arms, planting her hands on her hips. "Consider this your crash course in Charm 101. Patient Edition."
He stared at her, utterly bewildered. "But… I’m…" He gestured helplessly at himself.
"Naked? Yeah, I noticed," Lily deadpanned.
Her gaze remained steady, professional, but a flicker of something else—amusement, maybe exasperation—danced in her dark eyes. Ty felt the heat crawl back up his neck, prickling under her unwavering assessment.
He scrambled backwards, bare feet slipping slightly on the cool linoleum. "Right! Gown! Definitely need a gown!" His voice cracked, high-pitched with panic. Lily didn't move, just watched his frantic retreat towards the folded stack of fresh linens near the sink.
Her hand shot out, snagging a crisp, blue gown from the top. She tossed it towards him without ceremony. "Here. Before you trip over your own dignity." Ty caught the fabric mid-air, a blur of motion.
He didn't need instruction. The gown unfurled, a flimsy shield. He practically vibrated with urgency, arms plunging into the sleeves, hands fumbling only slightly behind his back to tie the flimsy strings. It was done in seconds, a record-breaking feat of modesty restoration. The cool cotton settled against his flushed skin, a profound relief.
He practically leapt backwards onto the narrow hospital bed, scrambling under the thin sheet. The mattress springs groaned in protest. Lily watched, one eyebrow arched impossibly high. "Super sonic speed, huh? Impressive reflexes, Banks." A smirk tugged at her lips. "For hiding, anyway."
She grabbed the hard plastic visitor's chair, its legs scraping loudly against the floor. She dragged it close to the bed, positioning it squarely facing him. The scent of antiseptic momentarily overwhelmed by the faint ozone smell of the chair's plastic. She dropped into it with a sigh, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees.
"Okay," she stated, her voice dropping into a business-like tone, though her eyes held a mischievous glint. "Lesson one: Eye contact. Not terrified-rabbit-in-headlights contact. Confident, interested contact." She locked her dark eyes onto his hazel ones, intense and unwavering. Ty swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look away, feeling absurdly exposed despite the gown and blanket.
"See?" Lily continued, her gaze softening slightly. "It's not torture. It's connection. Now, imagine I'm Chloe." She tilted her head, a playful challenge in her expression. "You see her walk in. What's the first thing you say? Not 'Uh... hi.' Think. Charm."
Ty took a shaky breath, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He focused on Lily's face, trying to superimpose Chloe's softer features, her quiet smile. "H-hey, Chloe," he started, voice thin. Lily shook her head sharply. "Nope. Too weak. Try again. Like you mean it. Like you're genuinely happy to see her."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, gathering courage. When he opened them, he aimed for Lily's determined gaze. "Hey, Chloe," he said, firmer this time. A small, genuine smile touched his lips as he pictured the shy nurse. "How's your shift going?" The words came out smoother, warmer than he expected.
Lily blinked, her professional mask slipping for a nanosecond. "Okay," she breathed, surprise softening her usual sharp tone. "That… that wasn’t terrible, Banks." She tapped her chin, considering him like a complex puzzle he’d almost solved. "Smoother. Less panic-stricken chipmunk. Points for the smile, too. Genuine.”
A flicker of hope warmed Ty’s chest. He shifted under the thin sheet, the gown rustling. "Really?"
"Really," Lily confirmed, leaning back slightly in the plastic chair. It creaked. "You sounded like you actually cared about her answer. Key improvement." She paused, her dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "But." The single word hung in the antiseptic air.
Ty’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "But?" he echoed, bracing himself.
Lily leaned forward again, invading his personal space just enough to feel intensely real. "It’s still… safe." She waved a hand dismissively. "‘How’s your shift going?’ is nurse small-talk 101, Banks. Bland. Predictable. Chloe hears that fifty times a day from patients trying to be polite." She held his gaze, her expression serious. "It shows you noticed her, sure. But it doesn’t show why you noticed her. It doesn't show you."
Ty frowned, pushing his glasses up. "I… I don’t wanna be weird. Or scare her off." His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Like before."
"Being bland is scarier," Lily countered bluntly. "It screams ‘I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing.’ Chloe deserves something specific, something that proves you actually see her, not just the uniform." She gestured towards him. "Think! What makes Chloe, Chloe? What’s different about her?"
Ty stared at the ceiling tiles, searching his scattered memories. The quiet efficiency. The way her nose crinkled when she concentrated. The faint scent of lavender hand soap she used. The tiny, almost invisible Star Trek insignia pin clipped to her ID badge. His heart skipped. "Her pin," he murmured.
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. "Her pin? What pin?" Interest sharpened her features.
"The one on her lanyard," Ty said, gaining confidence as the detail solidified. "The Starfleet insignia. From The Original Series." He met Lily’s eyes, a shy spark of enthusiasm igniting. "I noticed it the first hour. Subtle. But… cool." He paused, picturing Chloe’s face. "I’d really like to know if she’s a Kirk girl or a Spock purist."
He delivered the line without stammering. Warmth infused his tone, real curiosity replacing the generic pleasantry.
Lily stared. Her mouth opened slightly, then clicked shut. The sharp, clinical nurse-instructor persona evaporated. "Her... what?" she managed, her voice losing its usual confident edge. The Starfleet insignia? Kirk? Spock? This was leagues away from "How's your shift?"
Ty’s unexpected confidence didn’t waver. He pushed his glasses up. "The pin. On her ID badge. It's small, silver. Classic Starfleet." A genuine, nerdy enthusiasm warmed his words, completely disarming. "It’s subtle, but it means something. To her. To fans."
The sterile hospital room felt suddenly charged, different. Lily blinked rapidly. Her carefully constructed lesson plan dissolved. This wasn't bland small talk. This was specific. Observed. Deeply, weirdly personal. And delivered with a quiet certainty she hadn’t seen in him before. "Okay," she breathed, leaning back in the creaky plastic chair. "Okay, wow. That... that actually works."
She rubbed her temple, a small smile breaking through her surprise. "Damn, Banks. Left field. Major left field." Her dark eyes met his, reassessing. "And yeah, shockingly effective. Because it’s real. It’s you. Not some rehearsed line."
Her gaze flickered downwards, just for a split second, towards the thin hospital blanket. The outline beneath wasn't subtle anymore, a distinct tenting near his hip. Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. Not for you, Chen, she reminded herself sharply, forcing her eyes back to his face. He hadn't noticed her glance. He was still riding the high of saying something right.
"You see?" Lily pressed, her voice regaining some of its firmness, though her cheeks felt warm. "That’s the stuff! Specific. Shows you pay attention." She gestured vaguely. "The pin. The... Starfleet thing." She waved a hand dismissively. "I don’t know squat about that stuff, but it doesn't matter. You do. And Chloe clearly does."
Ty practically glowed. The nervous tension drained from his shoulders, replaced by a burgeoning excitement. "So... that's good? Asking about it?"
"Good?" Lily snorted, a genuine laugh escaping. "Banks, that's gold! Pure, uncut Ty Banks gold." She leaned forward again, her elbows digging into her knees. "Chloe walks in, you give her that slightly-crooked smile you just did, look her right in the eye – none of the rabbit-in-headlights crap – and you say..." She paused, prompting him.
Ty took a slow breath. He pictured Chloe, her quiet efficiency, the shy way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The tiny pin gleaming. He met Lily’s intense gaze, channeling that new-found confidence. "Hey Chloe," he began, his voice steady, warm. "I couldn't help noticing your pin. Classic choice. So... Kirk or Spock? Who's your captain?"
He nailed it. The delivery was smooth, infused with authentic curiosity and that nerdy spark Lily found unexpectedly... charming. The heart monitor beeped a fraction faster. Lily stared at him. His eyes, behind the glasses, were alight with a passion she hadn’t seen before. Not anxiety. Not fear. Interest. Knowledge. He looked... compelling.
"Hell yeah," Lily whispered, momentarily forgetting her role. Her own pulse seemed to echo the monitor’s quickening rhythm. She cleared her throat, shifting in the hard chair. "Perfect. Exactly like that." She bit her lip, studying him – the sharp line of his jaw, the surprising definition of his shoulders under the thin gown, the focused intensity in his hazel eyes. "Damn," she murmured under her breath, the word barely audible over the hum of the room. "Who knew?"
The words hung between them, charged and strangely intimate despite the sterile surroundings. Lily blinked, shaking her head as if clearing static. "Who knew?" she repeated softly, more to herself this time. The clinical detachment she’d worn like armor felt suddenly thin, fraying at the edges.
Ty beamed, a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes behind the glasses. He practically vibrated on the thin mattress, the earlier panic replaced by a buoyant energy. "So, that’s it? That’s the move?" He ran a hand through his messy hair, dislodging a strand that fell across his forehead.
"Damn right it is," Lily managed, forcing her voice back into its usual brisk register. She shifted in the hard plastic chair, the movement sharp. "But Banks, flirting isn’t a one-question interrogation. It’s a conversation." She leaned forward again, her dark eyes intent, trying to reclaim the instructor role. "Okay, hotshot. She answers. She says... oh, let's say she's a Spock girl. Pure logic."
Ty’s eyes lit up. "Fascinating," he murmured, his voice dropping into a surprisingly decent approximation of the Vulcan’s flat tone.
Lily snorted, a surprised laugh escaping. "Okay, okay, don’t push it, Nimoy." She waved a hand. "But see? She answers. Now what? You can't just sit there grinning like you won the lottery. You gotta keep it rolling. Engage." She tapped her temple. "Think. What’s the next question? The follow-up that keeps her talking, shows you’re listening, keeps that spark alive?"
Ty’s brow furrowed in genuine concentration. The monitor’s steady beep punctuated the quiet. He pushed his glasses up, a familiar gesture that now seemed less nervous, more thoughtful. The thin hospital blanket shifted slightly over his lap as he adjusted his position. Lily’s gaze flickered down for a microsecond – the distinct outline was impossible to ignore – then snapped back to his face. Her own breath felt tight in her chest.
"Well," Ty started slowly, his gaze fixed on the wall behind Lily as if picturing Chloe. "If she prefers Spock... that tells me something." He met Lily’s eyes again, that spark of nerdy enthusiasm flaring. "I’d ask... what episode made her a true believer? Was it 'Amok Time'? The sheer discipline? Or 'The City on the Edge of Forever'? The sacrifice?" His voice warmed, earnest and engaged. "Because that reveals why the logic resonates. Does she admire the control... or the hidden heart underneath it?"
He stopped, looking at Lily expectantly, a slight flush high on his cheekbones. The question hung in the antiseptic air – specific, deeply personal, revealing his own passion. It wasn't just flirting; it was an invitation into his world.
Lily stared. The carefully constructed lesson plan disintegrated completely. He wasn’t just asking another question; he was weaving a connection, drawing Chloe deeper with genuine curiosity about her connection to something he loved. It was disarming. Intimate. Her knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the plastic chair. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The persistent hum of the fluorescent lights suddenly seemed very loud.
A rogue thought, sharp and unbidden, sliced through her focus: What if she asked him about his favorite episode? The image of Ty leaning forward, animated and passionate, explaining some obscure Trek lore specifically to her, flooded her mind. Her lips parted slightly. She caught herself, biting down hard on her lower lip. The sting was sharp, grounding. For Chloe. This is for Chloe.
"That..." Lily finally rasped, her voice strangely thick. She cleared her throat, forcing lightness she didn't feel. "Banks, that’s... dangerously good." She managed a weak approximation of her usual smirk, but her eyes stayed locked on his, wide and slightly dazed. The flutter in her chest wasn't just surprise anymore; it was a frantic drumbeat against her ribs, echoing the phantom rhythm she imagined beneath the thin blanket.
The frantic flutter beneath Lily’s ribs intensified, a hummingbird trapped against bone, its rhythm echoing the insistent beep-beep-beep of Ty’s monitor. His eyes, alight with nerdy fervor, held hers, waiting for approval she couldn’t quite form into words. The air crackled, thick with antiseptic and something else, something sharp and sweet and dangerous.
"Okay, wow," Lily breathed, forcing her gaze away from his intense hazel eyes and the very distinct rise beneath the thin blanket near his thigh. Her knuckles were white on the plastic chair arm. "Dangerously good, Banks. Seriously, that... that lands." She cleared her throat, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Chloe would probably melt into a puddle of logical goo. But..." She leaned forward again, needing the momentum, needing to break the spell his unexpected passion had woven.
"Pro tip," she said, her voice regaining a fraction of its usual snap, though it felt thin. "Don’t just rapid-fire geek questions like it’s trivia night. Conversation, remember? Back-and-forth." She tapped her temple. "You ask about the pin, she answers Spock, you ask why... then you listen. Actually hear her." Her gaze locked back onto his, serious now. "Then maybe... maybe you share why you love the episode she mentions. Make it personal. Connect the dots. But Banks..."
She paused, letting the silence stretch, punctuated only by the monitor and the distant clatter of a cart in the hallway. Her eyes narrowed slightly, sharpening her focus past the distracting warmth pooling in her stomach. "You’re asking about Star Trek. Cool. Specific. Shows you noticed something about her." She tilted her head. "But Chloe Henderson isn’t just a Starfleet badge, right? She’s a person. Outside this place." Lily gestured vaguely towards the door. "What else do you know? What have you noticed that’s... just her?"
Ty blinked, the bright spark of nerd-dom dimming slightly. He pushed his glasses up, his brow furrowing in genuine thought this time, not just fandom recall. He shifted on the bed, the sheet rustling, the movement drawing Lily’s gaze down for a microsecond – the defined outline remained impossible to ignore. She wrenched her eyes back up.
"Just her..." Ty murmured, staring past Lily at the sterile white wall. His fingers plucked absently at the edge of the thin blanket. "She... she hums." He said it quietly, almost shyly. "When she thinks no one’s listening. While she’s changing the IV bag or checking the chart." A small, tender smile touched his lips, completely different from his earlier Trek enthusiasm. "It’s... soft. Melodic. Never the same tune twice. Last week it sounded like... maybe jazz? Something old."
Lily felt a peculiar pang – unexpected, unwelcome. Jealousy?No. Recognition. He saw Chloe. Really saw her. Not just the uniform, or the pin. He saw the quiet musician humming to herself under fluorescent lights. It was profoundly intimate. "Yeah?" Lily prompted, her voice softer than she intended. "What else?"
He hesitated, the vulnerability back, but laced with this new determination. "She... she has this little frown. Not mad. Concentrated. When she’s reading the vitals monitor or figuring out med dosages." He mimicked it slightly, a tiny furrow appearing between his own brows. "Her nose kind of... crinkles." He flushed. "It’s... it’s kind of adorable." The admission hung in the air, raw and sweet.
Lily’s breath hitched. Okay, wow. This wasn’t just flirting practice anymore. This was Ty Banks unexpectedly disrobing Chloe Henderson with quiet, devastatingly specific observations, stripping away the nurse to reveal the woman beneath. The drumbeat in her chest became a frantic tattoo. She swallowed, her throat dry. "Adorable," she echoed, the word tasting strange. "Okay. That’s... that’s gold, Banks. Pure, observational gold."
She leaned closer, the hard plastic chair creaking. The scent of hospital soap on his skin mixed with the faint, clean smell of her own scrubs. "Now," she whispered, her voice low and intense, holding his gaze captive. "Next time she hums... instead of just noticing, say something. 'Hey Chloe, what’s that tune? Sounds familiar.' Or when she’s got that concentrated frown... 'Deep thoughts? Looks serious.'" Lily’s eyes gleamed, the matchmaker momentarily overriding the confusing flutter inside her. "Show her you see her, Ty. Not just the uniform. Not just the Spock pin. Her."