Beyound the schedule

I leaned back against the examination table, staring up at the bright white ceiling, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights that always made everything in these clinics seem sterile, cold, and overwhelmingly dull.

My fingers tapped restlessly against my thighs, impatience already crawling beneath my skin.

God, I hated these monthly check-ups.

I mean, I got it—I was an athlete. My body was my job, my entire career wrapped up in making sure every muscle, joint, and bone was perfectly fine-tuned.

But I never got injured—well, hardly ever—and I definitely wasn't the type who needed someone fussing over me constantly, poking me, prodding me, asking a million unnecessary questions.

It was just so damn tedious.

Doctor Bennett stepped closer, calmly adjusting his glasses as he began taking my blood pressure. His movements were methodical, slow, annoyingly patient, his voice calm as he instructed me to sit still and breathe steadily.

The cuff tightened around my upper arm, squeezing gently at first, then harder and harder until it almost felt uncomfortable. My fingers twitched, and I resisted the urge to yank it off.

"How have you been feeling lately, Freya?" Doctor Bennett asked evenly, checking the monitor with practiced ease.

I exhaled slowly. "Perfectly fine. Better than fine. Never been healthier."

Doctor Bennett raised a skeptical eyebrow, jotting something down on his clipboard. "No recent issues? Fatigue, dizziness, muscle pain?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nope. None. Perfect health, peak performance, zero complaints."

At that, Lydia, who had been standing quietly in the corner, arms folded across her chest, cleared her throat softly. My eyes immediately flicked toward her, irritation bubbling to the surface as I took in her perfectly composed expression.

"Just listen to the doctor, Freya," she said smoothly, "and it'll go faster."

I gave her a dramatic sigh, glaring half-heartedly. "He asked a question. I answered it. What more do you want from me?"

Lydia tilted her head slightly, completely unfazed by my frustration. "Maybe just a little less complaining."

I groaned loudly, throwing my head back, feeling like a kid being scolded by their overly strict parent.

Doctor Bennett merely smiled politely, moving to check my reflexes, tapping lightly on my knees. Each little tap caused an involuntary twitch, and I scowled deeper each time.

"Your reflexes seem fine," he said gently.

"I know," I muttered. "Because I'm fine."

Doctor Bennett calmly wrote more notes, nodding patiently. He moved to examine my breathing next, pressing the cool metal stethoscope gently against my chest and instructing me to take deep breaths.

I complied begrudgingly, inhaling and exhaling loudly, exaggerating just slightly to make sure Lydia could hear exactly how ridiculous this whole thing felt.

I knew I was being childish. Of course, I knew. But something about Lydia's relentless perfection—her endless professionalism—made me want to rebel against every rule, every piece of advice, every carefully-planned part of my day.

"All clear," Doctor Bennett finally said, stepping back slightly. He checked a few more things off his list before looking up at me again. "Last thing—let's check your mobility. Stand up for me."

I stood up reluctantly, stretching slightly, my muscles feeling restless from having sat still too long.

He watched carefully as I bent, stretched, twisted, and moved in every direction he instructed. Of course, I passed every single test perfectly, my body responding without hesitation or pain, as usual.

When it finally ended, he nodded approvingly, jotting down one final note on his clipboard.

"Everything looks great, Freya. You're in excellent shape, as always," he announced pleasantly. "Keep it up, and you'll have another strong season."

"See?" I said loudly, turning pointedly toward Lydia. "Told you I was fine."

Lydia's green eyes met mine steadily, unimpressed as ever. "No one said you weren't fine, Freya. But these check-ups are mandatory for a reason."

I groaned again, louder, practically throwing my hands up. "Mandatory. Sure. But totally unnecessary. I'm literally indestructible. This is just a waste of everyone's time."

She sighed, clearly resisting the urge to roll her eyes at my theatrics. "Better safe than sorry."

"I'm never sorry," I shot back instantly, and Lydia gave me a flat stare that somehow felt more judgmental than words ever could.

Doctor Bennett chuckled softly, clearly amused by our exchange. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling so confident," he said lightly. "Keep listening to Lydia, and you might just stay that way."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "You're on her side now?"

He smiled easily, raising his clipboard defensively. "I'm not picking sides, Freya. But she does seem to know what she's doing."

I let out a huff of annoyance, grabbing my hoodie from the chair and pulling it roughly over my head. "Great. You've both ganged up on me. That's fantastic."

Lydia merely stepped forward, thanking Doctor Bennett politely for his time, effortlessly steering the conversation away from my dramatics. As she moved toward the door, clipboard already back in her hand, she glanced at me pointedly.

"Can we leave now?" I asked, sulking openly.

"Yes," she answered smoothly, clearly not at all bothered by my attitude. "Let's go. We still have a schedule to stick to."

I followed behind her slowly, dragging my feet, making sure to sigh dramatically at least three more times before we finally reached the front doors of the clinic.

Lydia moved quickly and gracefully, heels clicking neatly against the pristine tiles, her professional calm completely unwavering even in the face of my best efforts at chaos.

As we stepped out into the fresh air, I took a deep breath, stretching my arms overhead dramatically, basking in the freedom. Lydia simply checked her watch, completely immune to my attempts at getting under her skin.

"You're impossible, you know that?" I said, falling into step beside her as we walked back toward the car.

"You've mentioned it once or twice," she replied dryly, clearly unbothered.

"I mean it," I insisted, grinning despite myself. "Absolutely impossible."

She glanced at me briefly, a flicker of something close to amusement in her eyes before she quickly masked it again behind her usual professional expression.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, unlocking the car and sliding into the driver's seat.

I got in slowly, buckling my seatbelt with exaggerated reluctance. "Of course you would."

She ignored me, starting the car smoothly and pulling out of the parking lot without another word.

The silence lasted barely a minute before I leaned my head back dramatically against the seat again, sighing loudly.

"Where to next, boss?" I asked sarcastically.

Lydia didn't even flinch. "Media obligations."

I groaned loudly. "Oh, come on. Haven't I suffered enough today?"

She kept her eyes on the road, calm as ever. "You've barely started."

I stared at her, mouth slightly agape. She had to be kidding. But of course, she wasn't. She was Lydia Whitmore—efficient, relentless, unbreakable Lydia Whitmore—and she had every single second of my day planned out perfectly.

"You're really not going to ease up, are you?" I asked, half-serious, half-joking.

She glanced briefly at me, her eyes perfectly steady, her expression entirely unreadable. "Absolutely not."

And somehow, despite my best efforts, despite every attempt at chaos and rebellion, I felt a tiny grin forming at the corner of my lips.

Lydia was infuriating, impossible, completely unbearable—and yet, I found myself enjoying this constant battle, this endless push-and-pull far more than I ever thought I could.

"Fine," I said finally, leaning back into the seat again, relaxing slightly. "Lead the way."