Annieishere

Welcome to my Blog! MDNI, I write for almost anything. I just never post my works, but im trying to start clearing out my drafts, so just ask

[anniewasnothere]

Annie's Garden!

Series -Y/N L/N, never thought she would ever even consider moving to Pittsburgh, but when her favorite attending (her pseudo brother) tells her he's switching hospitals and would love his favorite senior resident to come with him (is he serious??), she can't say no, which leaves her here, moving from hot Miami beaches to windy, cold Pittsburgh, and where does she end up?, PTMC. pairings= Rabbot x reader

Ch 1: Baby, I Tried to Call You.

Ch 2: Off Like a Bad Habit.

Ch 3: But I keep comin' back

Ch 4: Like, a revolving door (Part 1)

Ongoing Series! ↑

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[secondlina]

Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.

[plagued-roses]

MAGIC POTATO GO!🥔

[thaumbody]

here we go again

reblogging the golden potato

hoping it will work

that my life will get a perk

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Always reblog the potato.

[wreneddieilysm]

Rebloged.

[my-cup-of-coffeee]

oh god i’m back in the building

[anniewasnothere]

Lord aang is so fine😛

[anniewasnothere]

No one is probably going to vote on this, but if you had to pick, would you rather me update the jack x reader x Robby fanfic OR would you rather me post the one piece various X reader and also write chapter 5 and post that as well

Poll

Robby x reader x jack

One piece various x Pokemon trainer reader

Voting ended onApr 14

[anniewasnothere]

Soooo, this is probably going to get like 0 traction BUT, let’s say I was posting a separate fanfic on Quotev this whole time, and it’s a One piece x Pokemon trainer reader how would we feel if I posted it on here

[blond-shell]

not now sweetie mommy’s blogging about something that 5 people care about

[anniewasnothere]

"Like a revolving door" Part 1

CHAPTER 4, CROSS POSTED ON AO3.

Summary: You start your first shift, and you start to slowly dread the fact that your brother was right, you do have a type when it comes to guys, and sadly, that type is your boss.

Notes:

Heyyy im backkk, the issue is thankfully resolved, and im sorry I was gone for so long. Again, this fic won't have an upload schedule, even if I start with a chapter a week for the first three chapters. I will try to write more chapters, but I usually spend 3-4 hours writing one chapter, then edit and post it. This process takes a lot out of me for some reason. I will do my best to communicate when I will post, rather than leaving everybody in the dark.

August 5th, 7 am.

“As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,” he says, voice steady.

He scans the room for a moment before speaking again.

“Starting with introductions.”

Your pulse is still not normal.

Not even close.

It’s loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second too long, and you have to actively force yourself to focus—on the room, on the people, on literally anything that isn’t the fact that this man is your attending.

Great. Fantastic. Love that for you.

“Next up, we have second-year resident Dr. Melissa King, fresh from the VA,” Robby says, turning slightly toward her.

The woman beside you shifts immediately, like the attention physically unsettles her. “Everybody calls me Mel,” she says, offering a small, slightly awkward smile. She fidgets as she speaks, twisting her hands together like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

There’s an endearing nervousness to her. Not unprofessional—just… human.

“I’m so happy to be here.”

You nod faintly, mostly to yourself. At least you’re not the only one trying not to combust on the spot.

Robby gives a short nod, already moving on.

The group’s attention shifts to a girl with short brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stands a little straighter than the rest of you.

“Trinity Santos, intern,” she says, quick and confident.

Your chest tightens again—not in panic this time, but something sharper. Comparison, maybe.

You straighten slightly without realizing it.

Next to her, another woman steps forward just enough to be acknowledged.

“Victoria Javadi, MS3.”

Calm. Collected. Unlike you, who is currently sweating buckets under your scrubs.

You’re starting to feel like the only one internally spiraling.

Robby barely pauses before shifting his attention again.

“Uh, Dennis Whitaker, MS4,” the next guy says, his voice just a little unsure, like he second-guessed himself halfway through.

Okay. Not just you.

That helps. A little.

And then—

You feel it before it even happens.

The shift.

The attention.

Everyone turns.

Toward you.

Oh.

Right.

Your turn.

Your fingers twitch slightly at your side, the lingering urge to fidget crawling back under your skin. For a split second, the panic tries to spike again—tries to drag you back into your head, into the overthinking, into the what if you mess this up spiral.

Not today.

Absolutely not today.

You straighten your posture, forcing your shoulders back, locking them in. If you’re going down, it’s not going to be because you choked on a basic introduction.

“Y/n L/n,” you say, voice steady, thank God. “Third-year resident.”

Short. Clean. Controlled.

Exactly how you practiced it in your head a thousand times.

You hold it for half a second longer, just enough to look composed, before letting the moment pass.

No rambling. No over-explaining.

You internally pat yourself on the back for not fuckig it up.

For a brief second, there’s nothing.

Then Robby gives a small nod, like he’s mentally checking a box.

“Alright.”

And just like that, the attention shifts away from you.

The tension in your chest loosens—but not completely.

Because you’re actually here.

And there’s no backing out.

Robby speaks up again, “Welcome to the pitt—”

“We’ve got two Tarumas from the T. Five minutes out.”

The voice cuts clean through the moment.

You glance past Robby to see Dana already moving, her posture shifting instantly from casual authority to full control. The entire energy of the room changes with her words—like someone flipped a switch.

Robby turns without hesitation. “Okay, copy that.”

There’s no panic. No rush. Just… immediate adjustment.

Then he turns back to all of you, like this is just another normal morning—which, apparently, it is.

He points toward Dana.

“Actually, this is the most important person that you're gonna meet today. This is Dana—she’s our charge nurse, and she is the ringleader of our circus. Do what she says, when she says it.”

You glance at her again, really taking her in this time.

Yeah. That tracks.

There’s something about her presence—sharp, unshakable—that makes it very clear she runs this place just as much as anyone with “doctor” in their title.

Robby pauses.

And then—

His gaze lands on you.

Direct.

Unmoving.

Your breath catches for half a second, your fingers threatening to curl into your palm again. You force them still at your side, locking your posture in place like that alone will keep you grounded.

Why does it feel like he keeps looking at you?

“As you can see, our house is always packed, and our department is mostly clogged up with boarders,” he continues, voice steady. “Those are admitted patients waiting for a room upstairs, sometimes for days. Beds are a very precious commodity around here, so please be quick and efficient with your work-ups… what else?”

Your brain is trying to keep up—processing every word, filing it away—but part of you is still stuck on that look.

Focus.

You’re here to work. Not to be ogling at your attending. He glances around again.

And somehow—

Finds you. Again.

“We treat the sicker patients back here, but please keep your eye on the waiting room. Make sure nobody’s going to die out there.”

A few people nod immediately.

You follow a second later, a little slower, but just as firm.

The weight of that sentence settles somewhere deep in your chest.

No pressure or anything.

Robby looks over the group one more time before continuing.

“Your senior residents are Dr. Collins and Dr. Langdon.”

There’s a brief shift in the group—subtle, but noticeable—as attention flickers toward them.

Then—

He turns to you.

Fully this time.

“As well as Dr. L/N, but since they are new like you all, please give them some grace for today at the very least.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops.

That was… not what you expected.

At all.

You can practically feel the shift in attention again—quieter this time, more curious than before—but it’s there.

Great.

Fantastic.

So much for blending in.

You keep your expression neutral, though, lifting your chin just slightly like you’re completely fine with this. Like your brain didn’t just short-circuit.

You’re a third-year.

Act like it.

“You report to your senior residents, and they report to me, okay?”

Everyone nods.

You nod too—once, controlled.

“Alright, amazing. Senior residents, you’ve got your sign-outs?”

“Yup,” Dr. Collins answers easily.

Robby gives a short nod.

“Ok, let’s do this.”

And just like that—

The briefing is over.

The shift begins.

And there’s no more time to think.

Notes:

Ok so the format is going to change a bit, so i dont have to spend hours writing for one episode bcs I watch the episode im writing for to get canon dialouge i will spilt each episode up into 3-4 parts so this is 7 am part 1, It will make it longer and this chapter is only 1k words but i didn't want to overwhlem myself. I promise every chapter after this one will be a minimum of 2k words, like how it usually is. AGAIN, THIS IS THE INTRO TO EP 1 AND THANK YOU FOR READING!

[anniewasnothere]

"Like a revolving door" Part 1

CHAPTER 4, CROSS POSTED ON AO3.

Summary: You start your first shift, and you start to slowly dread the fact that your brother was right, you do have a type when it comes to guys, and sadly, that type is your boss.

Notes:

Heyyy im backkk, the issue is thankfully resolved, and im sorry I was gone for so long. Again, this fic won't have an upload schedule, even if I start with a chapter a week for the first three chapters. I will try to write more chapters, but I usually spend 3-4 hours writing one chapter, then edit and post it. This process takes a lot out of me for some reason. I will do my best to communicate when I will post, rather than leaving everybody in the dark.

August 5th, 7 am.

“As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,” he says, voice steady.

He scans the room for a moment before speaking again.

“Starting with introductions.”

Your pulse is still not normal.

Not even close.

It’s loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second too long, and you have to actively force yourself to focus—on the room, on the people, on literally anything that isn’t the fact that this man is your attending.

Great. Fantastic. Love that for you.

“Next up, we have second-year resident Dr. Melissa King, fresh from the VA,” Robby says, turning slightly toward her.

The woman beside you shifts immediately, like the attention physically unsettles her. “Everybody calls me Mel,” she says, offering a small, slightly awkward smile. She fidgets as she speaks, twisting her hands together like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

There’s an endearing nervousness to her. Not unprofessional—just… human.

“I’m so happy to be here.”

You nod faintly, mostly to yourself. At least you’re not the only one trying not to combust on the spot.

Robby gives a short nod, already moving on.

The group’s attention shifts to a girl with short brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stands a little straighter than the rest of you.

“Trinity Santos, intern,” she says, quick and confident.

Your chest tightens again—not in panic this time, but something sharper. Comparison, maybe.

You straighten slightly without realizing it.

Next to her, another woman steps forward just enough to be acknowledged.

“Victoria Javadi, MS3.”

Calm. Collected. Unlike you, who is currently sweating buckets under your scrubs.

You’re starting to feel like the only one internally spiraling.

Robby barely pauses before shifting his attention again.

“Uh, Dennis Whitaker, MS4,” the next guy says, his voice just a little unsure, like he second-guessed himself halfway through.

Okay. Not just you.

That helps. A little.

And then—

You feel it before it even happens.

The shift.

The attention.

Everyone turns.

Toward you.

Oh.

Right.

Your turn.

Your fingers twitch slightly at your side, the lingering urge to fidget crawling back under your skin. For a split second, the panic tries to spike again—tries to drag you back into your head, into the overthinking, into the what if you mess this up spiral.

Not today.

Absolutely not today.

You straighten your posture, forcing your shoulders back, locking them in. If you’re going down, it’s not going to be because you choked on a basic introduction.

“Y/n L/n,” you say, voice steady, thank God. “Third-year resident.”

Short. Clean. Controlled.

Exactly how you practiced it in your head a thousand times.

You hold it for half a second longer, just enough to look composed, before letting the moment pass.

No rambling. No over-explaining.

You internally pat yourself on the back for not fuckig it up.

For a brief second, there’s nothing.

Then Robby gives a small nod, like he’s mentally checking a box.

“Alright.”

And just like that, the attention shifts away from you.

The tension in your chest loosens—but not completely.

Because you’re actually here.

And there’s no backing out.

Robby speaks up again, “Welcome to the pitt—”

“We’ve got two Tarumas from the T. Five minutes out.”

The voice cuts clean through the moment.

You glance past Robby to see Dana already moving, her posture shifting instantly from casual authority to full control. The entire energy of the room changes with her words—like someone flipped a switch.

Robby turns without hesitation. “Okay, copy that.”

There’s no panic. No rush. Just… immediate adjustment.

Then he turns back to all of you, like this is just another normal morning—which, apparently, it is.

He points toward Dana.

“Actually, this is the most important person that you're gonna meet today. This is Dana—she’s our charge nurse, and she is the ringleader of our circus. Do what she says, when she says it.”

You glance at her again, really taking her in this time.

Yeah. That tracks.

There’s something about her presence—sharp, unshakable—that makes it very clear she runs this place just as much as anyone with “doctor” in their title.

Robby pauses.

And then—

His gaze lands on you.

Direct.

Unmoving.

Your breath catches for half a second, your fingers threatening to curl into your palm again. You force them still at your side, locking your posture in place like that alone will keep you grounded.

Why does it feel like he keeps looking at you?

“As you can see, our house is always packed, and our department is mostly clogged up with boarders,” he continues, voice steady. “Those are admitted patients waiting for a room upstairs, sometimes for days. Beds are a very precious commodity around here, so please be quick and efficient with your work-ups… what else?”

Your brain is trying to keep up—processing every word, filing it away—but part of you is still stuck on that look.

Focus.

You’re here to work. Not to be ogling at your attending. He glances around again.

And somehow—

Finds you. Again.

“We treat the sicker patients back here, but please keep your eye on the waiting room. Make sure nobody’s going to die out there.”

A few people nod immediately.

You follow a second later, a little slower, but just as firm.

The weight of that sentence settles somewhere deep in your chest.

No pressure or anything.

Robby looks over the group one more time before continuing.

“Your senior residents are Dr. Collins and Dr. Langdon.”

There’s a brief shift in the group—subtle, but noticeable—as attention flickers toward them.

Then—

He turns to you.

Fully this time.

“As well as Dr. L/N, but since they are new like you all, please give them some grace for today at the very least.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops.

That was… not what you expected.

At all.

You can practically feel the shift in attention again—quieter this time, more curious than before—but it’s there.

Great.

Fantastic.

So much for blending in.

You keep your expression neutral, though, lifting your chin just slightly like you’re completely fine with this. Like your brain didn’t just short-circuit.

You’re a third-year.

Act like it.

“You report to your senior residents, and they report to me, okay?”

Everyone nods.

You nod too—once, controlled.

“Alright, amazing. Senior residents, you’ve got your sign-outs?”

“Yup,” Dr. Collins answers easily.

Robby gives a short nod.

“Ok, let’s do this.”

And just like that—

The briefing is over.

The shift begins.

And there’s no more time to think.

Notes:

Ok so the format is going to change a bit, so i dont have to spend hours writing for one episode bcs I watch the episode im writing for to get canon dialouge i will spilt each episode up into 3-4 parts so this is 7 am part 1, It will make it longer and this chapter is only 1k words but i didn't want to overwhlem myself. I promise every chapter after this one will be a minimum of 2k words, like how it usually is. AGAIN, THIS IS THE INTRO TO EP 1 AND THANK YOU FOR READING!

[anniewasnothere]

"Like a revolving door" Part 1

CHAPTER 4, CROSS POSTED ON AO3.

Summary: You start your first shift, and you start to slowly dread the fact that your brother was right, you do have a type when it comes to guys, and sadly, that type is your boss.

Notes:

Heyyy im backkk, the issue is thankfully resolved, and im sorry I was gone for so long. Again, this fic won't have an upload schedule, even if I start with a chapter a week for the first three chapters. I will try to write more chapters, but I usually spend 3-4 hours writing one chapter, then edit and post it. This process takes a lot out of me for some reason. I will do my best to communicate when I will post, rather than leaving everybody in the dark.

August 5th, 7 am.

“As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,” he says, voice steady.

He scans the room for a moment before speaking again.

“Starting with introductions.”

Your pulse is still not normal.

Not even close.

It’s loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second too long, and you have to actively force yourself to focus—on the room, on the people, on literally anything that isn’t the fact that this man is your attending.

Great. Fantastic. Love that for you.

“Next up, we have second-year resident Dr. Melissa King, fresh from the VA,” Robby says, turning slightly toward her.

The woman beside you shifts immediately, like the attention physically unsettles her. “Everybody calls me Mel,” she says, offering a small, slightly awkward smile. She fidgets as she speaks, twisting her hands together like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

There’s an endearing nervousness to her. Not unprofessional—just… human.

“I’m so happy to be here.”

You nod faintly, mostly to yourself. At least you’re not the only one trying not to combust on the spot.

Robby gives a short nod, already moving on.

The group’s attention shifts to a girl with short brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stands a little straighter than the rest of you.

“Trinity Santos, intern,” she says, quick and confident.

Your chest tightens again—not in panic this time, but something sharper. Comparison, maybe.

You straighten slightly without realizing it.

Next to her, another woman steps forward just enough to be acknowledged.

“Victoria Javadi, MS3.”

Calm. Collected. Unlike you, who is currently sweating buckets under your scrubs.

You’re starting to feel like the only one internally spiraling.

Robby barely pauses before shifting his attention again.

“Uh, Dennis Whitaker, MS4,” the next guy says, his voice just a little unsure, like he second-guessed himself halfway through.

Okay. Not just you.

That helps. A little.

And then—

You feel it before it even happens.

The shift.

The attention.

Everyone turns.

Toward you.

Oh.

Right.

Your turn.

Your fingers twitch slightly at your side, the lingering urge to fidget crawling back under your skin. For a split second, the panic tries to spike again—tries to drag you back into your head, into the overthinking, into the what if you mess this up spiral.

Not today.

Absolutely not today.

You straighten your posture, forcing your shoulders back, locking them in. If you’re going down, it’s not going to be because you choked on a basic introduction.

“Y/n L/n,” you say, voice steady, thank God. “Third-year resident.”

Short. Clean. Controlled.

Exactly how you practiced it in your head a thousand times.

You hold it for half a second longer, just enough to look composed, before letting the moment pass.

No rambling. No over-explaining.

You internally pat yourself on the back for not fuckig it up.

For a brief second, there’s nothing.

Then Robby gives a small nod, like he’s mentally checking a box.

“Alright.”

And just like that, the attention shifts away from you.

The tension in your chest loosens—but not completely.

Because you’re actually here.

And there’s no backing out.

Robby speaks up again, “Welcome to the pitt—”

“We’ve got two Tarumas from the T. Five minutes out.”

The voice cuts clean through the moment.

You glance past Robby to see Dana already moving, her posture shifting instantly from casual authority to full control. The entire energy of the room changes with her words—like someone flipped a switch.

Robby turns without hesitation. “Okay, copy that.”

There’s no panic. No rush. Just… immediate adjustment.

Then he turns back to all of you, like this is just another normal morning—which, apparently, it is.

He points toward Dana.

“Actually, this is the most important person that you're gonna meet today. This is Dana—she’s our charge nurse, and she is the ringleader of our circus. Do what she says, when she says it.”

You glance at her again, really taking her in this time.

Yeah. That tracks.

There’s something about her presence—sharp, unshakable—that makes it very clear she runs this place just as much as anyone with “doctor” in their title.

Robby pauses.

And then—

His gaze lands on you.

Direct.

Unmoving.

Your breath catches for half a second, your fingers threatening to curl into your palm again. You force them still at your side, locking your posture in place like that alone will keep you grounded.

Why does it feel like he keeps looking at you?

“As you can see, our house is always packed, and our department is mostly clogged up with boarders,” he continues, voice steady. “Those are admitted patients waiting for a room upstairs, sometimes for days. Beds are a very precious commodity around here, so please be quick and efficient with your work-ups… what else?”

Your brain is trying to keep up—processing every word, filing it away—but part of you is still stuck on that look.

Focus.

You’re here to work. Not to be ogling at your attending. He glances around again.

And somehow—

Finds you. Again.

“We treat the sicker patients back here, but please keep your eye on the waiting room. Make sure nobody’s going to die out there.”

A few people nod immediately.

You follow a second later, a little slower, but just as firm.

The weight of that sentence settles somewhere deep in your chest.

No pressure or anything.

Robby looks over the group one more time before continuing.

“Your senior residents are Dr. Collins and Dr. Langdon.”

There’s a brief shift in the group—subtle, but noticeable—as attention flickers toward them.

Then—

He turns to you.

Fully this time.

“As well as Dr. L/N, but since they are new like you all, please give them some grace for today at the very least.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops.

That was… not what you expected.

At all.

You can practically feel the shift in attention again—quieter this time, more curious than before—but it’s there.

Great.

Fantastic.

So much for blending in.

You keep your expression neutral, though, lifting your chin just slightly like you’re completely fine with this. Like your brain didn’t just short-circuit.

You’re a third-year.

Act like it.

“You report to your senior residents, and they report to me, okay?”

Everyone nods.

You nod too—once, controlled.

“Alright, amazing. Senior residents, you’ve got your sign-outs?”

“Yup,” Dr. Collins answers easily.

Robby gives a short nod.

“Ok, let’s do this.”

And just like that—

The briefing is over.

The shift begins.

And there’s no more time to think.

Notes:

Ok so the format is going to change a bit, so i dont have to spend hours writing for one episode bcs I watch the episode im writing for to get canon dialouge i will spilt each episode up into 3-4 parts so this is 7 am part 1, It will make it longer and this chapter is only 1k words but i didn't want to overwhlem myself. I promise every chapter after this one will be a minimum of 2k words, like how it usually is. AGAIN, THIS IS THE INTRO TO EP 1 AND THANK YOU FOR READING!

[anniewasnothere]

UPDATE

Might not be able to update this week(sorry), I ended up getting involved With the police because one of my best friend’s, friend’s (I have no idea how to write that) Ended up having a journal describing in vivid detain how to kill both of us, because he had a big fat crush on our other friend and he rejected him and for some unholy reason he thought we were manipulating him into not liking him (I felt like I was back in high school wtf) and yea we got the police involved and I don’t even know what’s next but my friend is trying to get a restraining order done so um yea

Sorry guys no chapter this week maybe next week hopefully 🤞

[anniewasnothere]

If I have to predict small Mel/langdon moments I hope Garcia calls Mel ER Barbie because if she does that’s basically hinting at kingdon (let me be delusional)

ALSO the posts on TikTok portraying Mel as Rapunzel and Langdon as Flynn are everything to me

[anniewasnothere]

Because there was no Mel/Langdon interaction in ep 5 I started writing a fic about them last night currently 1k words in. I actually need them to interact next episode or I will implode😭😔

[anniewasnothere]

"Supposed to be an Adult, but fuck it, I need a minute."

A/N: 3RD CHAPTERRR, I actually really liked writing this one (probably because I got to write other characters but wtv, HAVE FUN READING!)

CHAPTER 3 SUMMARY: Arriving in Pittsburgh makes your anxiety go through the roof as you realize you'll have to start working 12-hour shifts with people you don't know anything about. It's mostly pre-work jitters, but you can't stop mulling over the what-ifs? But at least you have a nice apartment and aren't living with that gremlin of a Brother (you're kind of, not really related to?)

Word Count: 2260 (I lied about it being longer than ch 1, and 2 never trust authors)

"But I keep comin' back."

-September 4th, 2025.

The boxes littering the floor of your brand-new apartment are starting to piss you off. You knew moving would be hard, but you’ve been here for almost two days already, and you swear you didn’t bring this much stuff. Sure, you like shopping for clothes in your free time—or the occasional cute piece of furniture, but you donated most of what you didn’t need when it came time to pack. (You choose to ignore the fact that Carlos complained earlier that you still should’ve gotten rid of more. That strawberry vase was way too cute to part with.)

Two loud grunts pull you out of your spiral of annoyance. You glance toward the open apartment door, also surrounded by boxes, shockingly, to see your brother hauling in the last two, muttering curses under his breath.

“Hey, N/N,” Carlos groans, dropping them with a heavy thud. “Why do all your boxes feel like you filled them with bricks just to spite me?”

You grin at the look of betrayal on his face. “Guess we won’t know until you open them,” you say, laughing at the way his shoulders sag.

“But I thought we were done,” he says, pouting dramatically.

"God, I wish, but we start at PTMC tomorrow, and I really don't want to come home to a messy house after a 12-hour shift. I think I would genuinely kill myself," you say in a sarcastic tone, looking up at the ceiling

Carlos hisses and slaps you hard on the shoulder.

“OW—what the hell, man?” you say, rubbing your arm and shooting him an annoyed look.

“Enough with the dark jokes,” he says firmly. “People let it slide back at MFMC because they knew you weren’t serious, but if the wrong person hears that—and then looks at your chart, you’re benched. Maybe worse. Just… ease up, okay?”

You study him for a moment before shrugging. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll dial it back,” you promise, turning toward the nearest box and starting to unpack.

“Thank you,” he says with a relieved sigh, bending down to help you tear through the rest of them.

By the time you’re finished, the sun is already starting to set, and your back is absolutely wrecked. Still, a sense of calm settles over you as you take in the now-clean living room. Thank God Carlos had the sense to pay someone to assemble the furniture beforehand; unpacking the essentials was exhausting enough.

“Well,” he says, grabbing the backpack he left by the door, “I’m heading out. See you tomorrow, Dr. L/N.” He flashes a cheeky smile.

“Have a good night, Dr. Cruz,” you reply, just teasing.

As he steps out, you call after him, “Hasta mañana, Carli.”

He smiles and glances back. “Hasta mañana, N/N,” he says before taking the stairs instead of the elevator, because of course he does.

You close the door and make your way to your bedroom. The far-right wall is lined with bookshelves, packed tightly with every kind of literature imaginable, mixed in with your medical books. You sigh, taking in the stark white walls and the bare wooden floors. For a moment, you consider ordering rugs, or even hiring someone to install plush carpeting—but you brush the thought aside, deciding to let future you deal with that.

After going to the bathroom and changing into your pajamas, reality finally catches up to you. Holy crap, I have work tomorrow, you blurt out. You’ve known this day was coming—hell, you’ve been counting down the seconds ever since Carlos asked you to leave and come to Pittsburgh with him. You’ve spiraled about tomorrow more times than you can count, so it doesn’t make sense that it still managed to sneak up on you.

You try to slow your thoughts. It’s not that you hate socializing or meeting new people, if anything, you thrive on it. Most of your friends and coworkers would call you a social butterfly. And yet, first impressions have always been your weakness. Around people who aren’t your brother, you struggle to speak freely, to be yourself. Real connection, for you, would mean letting them see the baggage you carry, and you’re nowhere near ready for that.

You hate being negative. It happens more than you’d like, but you try your best to stay optimistic about most things, or at the very least, you force yourself to.

You make your way to your ridiculously comfortable king-size bed, catching the clock just as it flips to 12:00 a.m. Seven hours of sleep, if you’re lucky. You don’t give yourself the chance to overthink it. You close your eyes, let the anxiety pass through you, and slowly drift into a deep, restless sleep.

—

Your alarm goes off at six on the dot, Loud and unforgiving.

You groan, rolling onto your side, eyes burning as you fumble to shut it off. Everything feels slow and foggy.

You move through your morning on autopilot, shower, then scrubs. The thought of food makes your stomach twist, so you skip breakfast like you always do, settling instead for coffee. Strong. Necessary. You lean against the kitchen counter while it brews, mind already racing ahead of you.

In your jittery haze, you miss a step. Completely forget your meds.

You don’t realize it—yet.

Coffee in hand, you check your phone and immediately regret it. Carlos has been busy.

Are you awake? 6.12 a.m. Hello?? 6:15 a.m. I’m at the hospital early af trying to learn the ropes. I feel like a med student again. 6:17 a.m.

And then-

Dude. I am so serious when I say this. I just met a guy who is, like, exactly your type, point blank. 6:20 a.m.

You almost spit your coffee straight back into the mug. “What?” you mutter, rereading it just to be sure. The time catches your eye next—6:30 a.m.

You’re not late, but on your first day, anything less than fifteen minutes early might as well be. Panic kicks in instantly. You grab your keys, abandon the coffee on the counter, and rush out the door, heart already pounding as the lock clicks shut behind you.

The elevator ride down feels longer than it should. You lean back against the cool metal wall, keys clutched in your hand, leg bouncing despite your best efforts to stop it. The doors slide shut with a soft ding, sealing you in with your thoughts.

You’re fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before.

The elevator hums as it descends, each floor ticking past a reminder that time is, in fact, moving forward whether you’re ready or not. When the doors finally open, you step out into the lobby and push through the front entrance, the early morning air hitting you like a wake-up slap.

The parking lot is already half-full. Staff coming off night shift, others arriving early like you. You spot your black Jeep where you left it and make a beeline for it, unlocking the door and sliding into the driver’s seat with a quiet exhale. For a brief second, you just sit there, hands resting on the steering wheel.

Then you start the engine.

The screen lights up as you pull out of the spot, fingers tapping in the route to PTMC. The GPS chirps to life, and you pull onto the road as the city slowly comes into focus.

Traffic is light, but your thoughts are anything but. Every red light feels like a bad omen. Every minute ticking by makes your chest tighten just a little more. When the hospital finally comes into view, your stomach flips.

You pull into the staff parking lot and glance at the clock.

6:47 a.m.

Early. Good. Still, nerves bloom anyway. You sit there for a moment longer, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, before forcing yourself to stop. You take a deep breath. Then another.

In. Hold. Out. Hold

You grab your bag, lock the car, and start toward the entrance, pulling your phone out as you walk.

I’m here, you text Carlos. About to head in.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Med-Surg unit. Got pulled into a case not even 25 minutes after I got here.

Then a second message follows.

Sorry, I can’t do introductions with you. We’ll cross paths soon, though, promise.

You huff out a small breath, shaking your head fondly. Figures.

Go save lives, you text back. I’ll survive.

The hospital doors slide open, and you step inside, greeted by the familiar mix of antiseptic, coffee, and low morning chatter. You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and make your way to the front desk, where a woman with sharp glasses and a stressed expression on her face is typing furiously at a computer.

“Hi,” you say, offering a polite smile. “I’m Dr. L/N. Today’s my first day.”

She looks up immediately, expression softening just a fraction. “Ah—right. Welcome. You’re one of the new residents starting today, right?”

“Third year,” you confirm.

She nods, already clicking through screens. “I’m Monica. You’ll want to check in here first before going in, especially since it's your first time here." She hands you a clipboard. “Just verify your information, then I'll notify your assigned attending and senior resident about your arrival."

You take the clipboard, skimming, name, department, badge number, nothing you haven’t filled out a dozen times already. You hand it back, resisting the urge to fidget.

Monica gives a glance over the information, then buzzes the double doors on the right to let you in.

You thank her and push the doors open, stepping into the controlled chaos. The ED is… everything you expected. Monitors beep constantly, nurses are shouting updates to each other, the night shift is still present, and starting to hand off cases to the day shift.

You glance at your phone. 6:55 a.m. Not late. Technically. But your chest is already doing that annoying tight thing, and your hands are itching to fidget.

You take a deep breath, shove your bag strap higher on your shoulder, and move toward the central station in the middle of the ED.

Okay. You’ve got this. You think.

“Hey! You lost, sweetheart?” a woman calls out, tilting her head like she’s sizing you up. Her accent is soft but teasing, almost like she’s amused by your flustered face. You blink, trying to process her before you manage a somewhat shaky, “Uh… first day, im the new resident coming in from MFMC."

“Ohhh, gotcha,” she says, voice gentle now, softening. “Sorry, hon. My internal clock’s all kinds of messed up with the new med students coming in. Robby’s gonna be here in a minute, though. Lemme show you where to stash your stuff and your locker.”

She gestures down the hall, and as you follow, another woman steps up beside her, called Dana. She comes off strong with a Pittsburgh accent, sharp and commanding. "You must be the newbie, “Nice t’meet ya." she calls you only have time to nod at her before Lena rushes you away.

You both walk through the ED, and wow—this place is bigger than the one at MFMC. That’s a plus. You let your gaze linger a second, filing away the layout in your brain.

By the time you reach the locker room, Lena’s still chatting, soft but brisk. She gestures at a locker at just the right height. “Here you go, code is ****. Fingerprint scanner at the bottom of the long, round lock to open. You’ll get used to it.

You slide your stuff inside, tucking your bag away, and stepping back from the locker, closing it. Lena gives you a small, approving nod. “All set. Let’s head back to the station,” she says, falling into step beside you. As you walk, you can feel your nerves coming back in full force, so you begin to dig your nails into the palm of your hand.

Back at the charge nurse station, the ED hums with life. Four people get buzzed in and move toward a trauma room, one leading the rest like they know exactly where they’re going. The others trail behind, glancing around nervously, trying not to fall behind. You can’t talk to them yet, but you know that jittery feeling all too well.

Lena leans slightly closer, voice low and brisk. “If you need anything, go to Dana. And… try not to be so nervous, okay?”

You nod, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a bit.

The four people come out of the trauma room, heading toward where you’re standing. Someone brushes past you, and you look up. A man—tall, calm, with a quiet confidence, and for a second, you freeze.

Oh fuck.

Something about him clicks in your brain. The way Carlos texted you this morning about meeting someone that's “your type”? Yeah. This has to be it. You connect the dots almost too quickly, and your chest tightens in a way that feels both familiar and entirely wrong.

“As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,” he says, voice steady.

He scans the room for a moment before speaking again. “Starting with introductions,” he says, voice steady. “I’m Dr. Robinovich, but just call me Robbie.”

It hits you then—slowly, painfully, like a punch you didn’t see coming. He’s your attending. For the rest of your time here.

Your brain screams. Your stomach flips. And all you can think is…

Double fuck.

[anniewasnothere]

I swear every time I proof read my fic and finish editing it new typos pop up. IM LOSING MY MIND😭😣

[anniewasnothere]

"Supposed to be an Adult, but fuck it, I need a minute."

A/N: 2ND CHAPTER WRITTEN (I powered through writing this its like 300 words less than last ch), but I promise ch3 will be longer, and I just needed more backstory on the reader! But ch 3 will introduce some PTMC members by the end, at the very least, remember this is a slow—burn.

Word count: 2395

Off like a Bad Habit

-August 25th, 2025

The bright lights of your apartment building snake closer as you pull into your parking spot. You can’t remember the last time you actually came home just to sleep. Your last episode was eight months ago, right after your brother asked you to uproot your entire life and move to Pittsburgh with him.

You’ve been… okay. All things considered.

What bothers you now is the number of orange prescription bottles lining your bathroom counter. You know they’re supposed to help. You know they’re keeping you functional-normal, if that word even means anything. But fuck if you really know.

Bupropion quiets the thoughts about… everything you’d rather not think about. It dulls the edges. What it doesn’t fix is the restlessness. The constant fidgeting. The buzzing under your skin that never stops.

As a doctor—or a future one, at least—you’re supposed to be steady. You’re supposed to be dependable. And when Carlos isn’t in the room, and you're attending, the one with the inflated ego (Simon, of course) is nowhere to be found, everyone looks to you. For answers. For reassurance. For direction.

It’s exhausting.

You spend half your shifts acting like an attending while knowing damn well you’re not one. Was it an ego boost at first? Absolutely. For a few months, it felt good to be trusted. Needed. Then it got old. Fast. The bare minimum they could offer for carrying everyone else’s weight would be a pay raise.

There was a point—a while ago in your life—everything felt like too much and not enough at the same time. You got used to the numbness. To not feel anything at all. That was your baseline, your entire being. Until the thoughts got louder. Until they got bad enough that Carlos stepped in and forced your hand.

So you got help.

Help came in the form of therapy appointments squeezed between shifts and small orange bottles you pretended fixed everything, because admitting otherwise meant questions. Paperwork. Evaluations. Maybe being benched. Maybe being locked away somewhere you didn’t want to think about. Therapy had always been there, anyway. Since you were four, when it was “anger management. Then it became “ADHD.” And finally, at sixteen, the big ones: MDD and insomnia. At the time, the diagnoses didn’t mean much. They explained why you always felt like an anomaly compared to other kids, sure—but explanations didn’t make things easier.

They just gave everything a name.

But everything really changed after one shift. She wasn't even supposed to be in the E.R. Her mother told me she had a doctor's appointment in about a week, since she didn't know what was wrong with her baby girl. Her name was Angela, a 13-year-old girl, barely a month into high school, still wearing a backpack that looked way too big for her shoulders.

She came in because of “stomach pain.” At least that was what the nurse told you.

She sat on the gurney, swinging her legs like she didn’t quite know what to do with them yet. Polite. Soft-spoken. Answered questions the way kids do when they’re trying not to be a problem. Her mom did most of the talking. Angela just nodded along, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

You notice things, of course—you always did. The way she flinched when her mother spoke for her. How she hesitated before answering anything about sleep. How she shrugged when you asked about school. like it already felt heavier than it should have.

But nothing was enough.

You had no plan, no reason to keep her, everybody would just write it off as a scared, socially anxious kid, so you tried your best. You spoke to her alone for a few minutes anyway. Asked her how she was really doing. Told her high school was hard and unfair and that it didn’t mean there was something wrong with her. She smiled at that—small, quick—like she didn’t quite believe you, but appreciated the effort.

She promised she was okay.

So, you discharged her.

A week later, you’re standing outside the EMS bay, just like every other day, waiting for an incoming patient. hands tucked in your pockets, trying to ignore the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. The day has been long, the floor chaotic, but nothing out of the ordinary. You take a slow breath, waiting.

The ambulance screeches to a halt, tires squealing against tile. Doors swing open. And then you see her, or, rather, you see the mother first. The woman from that night, the wail that haunted your memory, pressed against the stretcher with desperation written across every line of her face.

Your chest drops. Your heart stutters. You know her before your brain can even catch up.

And then you look down.

The child on the gurney. The dark brown, almost black, pin-straight hair. The hot pink bracelet was snug on her wrist.

Angela.

Your stomach twists. You’re only a PGY-1, an intern, and every instinct tells you to stay calm, to focus, to act. But you can't help but internally panic as your makeshift trauma team grabs the gurney and makes a run for it to trauma room 13, hands moving, touching everything on her body.”

“Vitals?” Simon barks as he strides in, hands on his hips. Not cruel, just sharp, commanding.

You lock in, trying to steady your hands. “BP eighty over fifty,” you call. “Pulse weak, tachycardic.”

“Give me a line, stat! Intubation if needed!” Simon directs. His presence sharpens you, keeps the chaos contained, but it doesn’t make the fear leave. You push, you adjust, you follow every step of your training, But it isn’t enough. Her vitals continue to fall. Her pulse thins. Oxygen plummets. You push harder, shouting orders, tracking numbers, but the truth hits you like a punch. Simon lowers his hand. “Time of death, 14:37,” he says quietly, and the words hang in the air like a crushing weight on your ribs.

The mother cries out, spewing incoherent babbles that you can't even begin to translate as you stand there disconnected you feel like your going to puke. you dont know what to do with you hand's or if your even breathing right. All you understand is that in the next second you sprint to the bathroom clutching your arms to your chest as you start shaking and breaking down.

A few minutes pass. Maybe more

Cold water runs over your wrists as you lean against the sink, breathing like you were taught — slow, deliberate, counting each inhale like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room. Your reflection looks hollow. Eyes rimmed red. Hands still shaking, but steadier than before.

Eventually, you pull yourself together enough to leave the bathroom.

The hallway outside is quieter now. The chaos has moved on, because it always does. Another patient. Another emergency. Another reason the world refuses to stop spinning just because yours did. You find her mother sitting by Angela’s bed, shoulders curled inward, hands folded in her lap. She looks small. Fragile. Like someone who’s lost the center of their universe and doesn’t know where to place their grief.

You clear your throat. Your voice wobbles despite your best effort. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” you manage. “I know this isn’t fair. If there’s anything I can do-”

She looks up at you. Really looks at you.

Then she looks back down at her daughter. Her hand tightens, just a little. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, steadier than you expect. “She didn’t think she mattered,” she says. “She didn’t think she had a reason to stay.”

Your chest tightens.

The woman turns back to you, eyes shining but sharp with understanding. “You do,” she says softly, like it’s a fact, not an opinion. “I can see it. You care too much not to.”

You swallow hard, your voice cracking as you try to respond. “I’m just… doing my job.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “You’re here. And that means something. She glances at her daughter one last time, then back at you. “Whatever it is that keeps you going,” she continues gently, “don’t let go of it. Give yourself a reason. Any reason to live.

Your eyes burn. You nod because it’s the only thing you can manage. She stands slowly from the chair, steps forward, and wraps her arms around you.

You almost break.

Instead, you hold her back, pressing your face into her shoulder, breathing through the ache in your chest. For a moment, it’s just the two of you—grief and understanding tangled together—and the weight of Angela Brown settles somewhere permanent inside you.

Later, much later, those words will follow you.

Give yourself a reason.

Your chest still feels tight, your hands tingling from holding back everything, when the memory begins to fade. The sound of the fluorescent lights in your apartment snaps you back, and the room feels impossibly quiet compared to the chaos in your head.

You glance at the clock. An hour has passed. An hour you didn’t even notice slipping away. Your eyes drop to your arm. Inked there, permanent and unshakable, are the words: Give yourself a reason. It might seem corny, or sad but it helps to remeber on bad days.

A reminder that some things matter, that even when everything falls apart, some pieces of you stay intact.

Your gaze drifts around your apartment. Moving boxes stacked in haphazard towers, half-packed, half-forgotten. The chaos mirrors your mind perfectly. Then, your phone buzzes. Missed calls. Ten of them. From Carlos. Your thumb hovers over the screen, dazed. You finally tap his name and press the call button, your mind foggy but the words on your wrist a quiet anchor.

"Hey, wanna explain why my future roomie, is currently ignoring my entire existence?" Carlos says with an amused tone while staring directly at the camera.

You smile, "Haven't been ignoring you, you're just a Drama Queen and i already told you if were going to Pittsburgh we are not living togther." you say with a mocking tone back. Carlos looks at you with an unamused expression before talking again.

"Whatever, i still dont get why you're so iffy on living togtether space case" Carlos said bringing up the old nickname you had when you where still a med student becuase you "zoned out" too much.

"Ok, what's with the nickname? At least be original, i dont need people on my case for thinking i possibly slept with my attending, I cant risk my rescidency no matter how much i may love you" you continue while giivng him a deadpanned face at the rumors then start cackiling when he fake gags on the other side of the facetime call.

"Ugh, dont even speak that into existence i mean why do people even think that?" he says in a disgusted voice, while looking far into the distance.

"Ok don't sound too disgusted i would be a pleasure to be wth, but maybe because where alwasy around eah other 24/7 and always knows where the other is??" you say in a condecending tone.

"Okay, you got me there but still ew," he says while shifting the camera.

"Alright you big baby, change the attitude why did you call me," you say with a big grin on your face.

"Well, out first day in Pittsburgh is going to be September 5th, so its almost time and I needed to finalize a few things like our flight, apartment searching and other boring, like really boring things" he says in an annoyed tone while huffing.

"Yup, its nice that you actual learning to be an adult," you say with a laugh.

"Hey, im going fine that you very much". he says, you look at him with a serious expression beffore saying "Dude your pushing forty."

"Mind your business, im still young," he says trying to defend his ego, you laugh beofre continuing

"Your back pain, tells us otherwise old man." You say while laughing histerically.

"Okay, moving on from this conversation," he says as you start to calm down slightly. "We need to pick a place for you and me. I know, I know—separately if you want—and then talk about flights, because we need to be there before the 5th to move in. So I’m thinking the 2nd of September… or the 3rd if we unpack fast and get everything resolved."

You freeze. Your brain stutters. Eight days? Eight days to uproot your entire life and land somewhere completely new? Time passed way too fast.

Carlos watches your face and, of course, sees the panic setting in within three seconds flat. "Okay, calm down," he says, voice easygoing but steady. "We knew this was going to happen eventually, but we have to make a decision."

You suck in a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. You finally manage to get words out, though they stumble over each other. “Carlos… eight days? That’s… that’s not even enough time to think, let alone pack everything, figure out leases, and-"

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupts gently, holding up his hands. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But it’s doable, and we’ll handle it together. You’re not alone in this.”

You pace a little, running your hands through your hair. “It’s just… my whole life is here. My apartment, my work, patients, I’m halfway through following up with… And Pittsburgh? It’s so… different. I don’t even know what to expect there. What if I hate it? What if everything falls apart?”

He steps closer, voice calm but firm, like he always does when he wants you to feel grounded. “Hey. Look at me. I’m not saying it’s going to be perfect, or that it won’t be scary. But it’s not about being perfect. It’s about starting. You’ve done hard things before—tougher than this—and you made it through. We’ll figure it out. Step by step.”

You bite your lip, your chest tight, eyes flicking to the piles of moving boxes around your apartment, the phone buzzing with missed calls. “Step by step, huh?” you murmur.

He nods, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Step by step. I promise, we’ll survive this… together.”

The panic doesn’t leave entirely, but it eases just enough that you can think. You can plan. You can breathe. Hopefully, make it out of this somewhat sane.

[anniewasnothere]

I did post this at a really bad time; everybody was either at work or doing something else, so my bad. Im going to try and write as much as possible but if ch 3 doesn't come out tomorrow then expect it by the end of this week ;)

[anniewasnothere]

"Supposed to be an Adult, but fuck it, I need a minute."

A/N: 2ND CHAPTER WRITTEN (I powered through writing this its like 300 words less than last ch), but I promise ch3 will be longer, and I just needed more backstory on the reader! But ch 3 will introduce some PTMC members by the end, at the very least, remember this is a slow—burn.

Word count: 2395

Off like a Bad Habit

-August 25th, 2025

The bright lights of your apartment building snake closer as you pull into your parking spot. You can’t remember the last time you actually came home just to sleep. Your last episode was eight months ago, right after your brother asked you to uproot your entire life and move to Pittsburgh with him.

You’ve been… okay. All things considered.

What bothers you now is the number of orange prescription bottles lining your bathroom counter. You know they’re supposed to help. You know they’re keeping you functional-normal, if that word even means anything. But fuck if you really know.

Bupropion quiets the thoughts about… everything you’d rather not think about. It dulls the edges. What it doesn’t fix is the restlessness. The constant fidgeting. The buzzing under your skin that never stops.

As a doctor—or a future one, at least—you’re supposed to be steady. You’re supposed to be dependable. And when Carlos isn’t in the room, and you're attending, the one with the inflated ego (Simon, of course) is nowhere to be found, everyone looks to you. For answers. For reassurance. For direction.

It’s exhausting.

You spend half your shifts acting like an attending while knowing damn well you’re not one. Was it an ego boost at first? Absolutely. For a few months, it felt good to be trusted. Needed. Then it got old. Fast. The bare minimum they could offer for carrying everyone else’s weight would be a pay raise.

There was a point—a while ago in your life—everything felt like too much and not enough at the same time. You got used to the numbness. To not feel anything at all. That was your baseline, your entire being. Until the thoughts got louder. Until they got bad enough that Carlos stepped in and forced your hand.

So you got help.

Help came in the form of therapy appointments squeezed between shifts and small orange bottles you pretended fixed everything, because admitting otherwise meant questions. Paperwork. Evaluations. Maybe being benched. Maybe being locked away somewhere you didn’t want to think about. Therapy had always been there, anyway. Since you were four, when it was “anger management. Then it became “ADHD.” And finally, at sixteen, the big ones: MDD and insomnia. At the time, the diagnoses didn’t mean much. They explained why you always felt like an anomaly compared to other kids, sure—but explanations didn’t make things easier.

They just gave everything a name.

But everything really changed after one shift. She wasn't even supposed to be in the E.R. Her mother told me she had a doctor's appointment in about a week, since she didn't know what was wrong with her baby girl. Her name was Angela, a 13-year-old girl, barely a month into high school, still wearing a backpack that looked way too big for her shoulders.

She came in because of “stomach pain.” At least that was what the nurse told you.

She sat on the gurney, swinging her legs like she didn’t quite know what to do with them yet. Polite. Soft-spoken. Answered questions the way kids do when they’re trying not to be a problem. Her mom did most of the talking. Angela just nodded along, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

You notice things, of course—you always did. The way she flinched when her mother spoke for her. How she hesitated before answering anything about sleep. How she shrugged when you asked about school. like it already felt heavier than it should have.

But nothing was enough.

You had no plan, no reason to keep her, everybody would just write it off as a scared, socially anxious kid, so you tried your best. You spoke to her alone for a few minutes anyway. Asked her how she was really doing. Told her high school was hard and unfair and that it didn’t mean there was something wrong with her. She smiled at that—small, quick—like she didn’t quite believe you, but appreciated the effort.

She promised she was okay.

So, you discharged her.

A week later, you’re standing outside the EMS bay, just like every other day, waiting for an incoming patient. hands tucked in your pockets, trying to ignore the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. The day has been long, the floor chaotic, but nothing out of the ordinary. You take a slow breath, waiting.

The ambulance screeches to a halt, tires squealing against tile. Doors swing open. And then you see her, or, rather, you see the mother first. The woman from that night, the wail that haunted your memory, pressed against the stretcher with desperation written across every line of her face.

Your chest drops. Your heart stutters. You know her before your brain can even catch up.

And then you look down.

The child on the gurney. The dark brown, almost black, pin-straight hair. The hot pink bracelet was snug on her wrist.

Angela.

Your stomach twists. You’re only a PGY-1, an intern, and every instinct tells you to stay calm, to focus, to act. But you can't help but internally panic as your makeshift trauma team grabs the gurney and makes a run for it to trauma room 13, hands moving, touching everything on her body.”

“Vitals?” Simon barks as he strides in, hands on his hips. Not cruel, just sharp, commanding.

You lock in, trying to steady your hands. “BP eighty over fifty,” you call. “Pulse weak, tachycardic.”

“Give me a line, stat! Intubation if needed!” Simon directs. His presence sharpens you, keeps the chaos contained, but it doesn’t make the fear leave. You push, you adjust, you follow every step of your training, But it isn’t enough. Her vitals continue to fall. Her pulse thins. Oxygen plummets. You push harder, shouting orders, tracking numbers, but the truth hits you like a punch. Simon lowers his hand. “Time of death, 14:37,” he says quietly, and the words hang in the air like a crushing weight on your ribs.

The mother cries out, spewing incoherent babbles that you can't even begin to translate as you stand there disconnected you feel like your going to puke. you dont know what to do with you hand's or if your even breathing right. All you understand is that in the next second you sprint to the bathroom clutching your arms to your chest as you start shaking and breaking down.

A few minutes pass. Maybe more

Cold water runs over your wrists as you lean against the sink, breathing like you were taught — slow, deliberate, counting each inhale like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room. Your reflection looks hollow. Eyes rimmed red. Hands still shaking, but steadier than before.

Eventually, you pull yourself together enough to leave the bathroom.

The hallway outside is quieter now. The chaos has moved on, because it always does. Another patient. Another emergency. Another reason the world refuses to stop spinning just because yours did. You find her mother sitting by Angela’s bed, shoulders curled inward, hands folded in her lap. She looks small. Fragile. Like someone who’s lost the center of their universe and doesn’t know where to place their grief.

You clear your throat. Your voice wobbles despite your best effort. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” you manage. “I know this isn’t fair. If there’s anything I can do-”

She looks up at you. Really looks at you.

Then she looks back down at her daughter. Her hand tightens, just a little. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, steadier than you expect. “She didn’t think she mattered,” she says. “She didn’t think she had a reason to stay.”

Your chest tightens.

The woman turns back to you, eyes shining but sharp with understanding. “You do,” she says softly, like it’s a fact, not an opinion. “I can see it. You care too much not to.”

You swallow hard, your voice cracking as you try to respond. “I’m just… doing my job.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “You’re here. And that means something. She glances at her daughter one last time, then back at you. “Whatever it is that keeps you going,” she continues gently, “don’t let go of it. Give yourself a reason. Any reason to live.

Your eyes burn. You nod because it’s the only thing you can manage. She stands slowly from the chair, steps forward, and wraps her arms around you.

You almost break.

Instead, you hold her back, pressing your face into her shoulder, breathing through the ache in your chest. For a moment, it’s just the two of you—grief and understanding tangled together—and the weight of Angela Brown settles somewhere permanent inside you.

Later, much later, those words will follow you.

Give yourself a reason.

Your chest still feels tight, your hands tingling from holding back everything, when the memory begins to fade. The sound of the fluorescent lights in your apartment snaps you back, and the room feels impossibly quiet compared to the chaos in your head.

You glance at the clock. An hour has passed. An hour you didn’t even notice slipping away. Your eyes drop to your arm. Inked there, permanent and unshakable, are the words: Give yourself a reason. It might seem corny, or sad but it helps to remeber on bad days.

A reminder that some things matter, that even when everything falls apart, some pieces of you stay intact.

Your gaze drifts around your apartment. Moving boxes stacked in haphazard towers, half-packed, half-forgotten. The chaos mirrors your mind perfectly. Then, your phone buzzes. Missed calls. Ten of them. From Carlos. Your thumb hovers over the screen, dazed. You finally tap his name and press the call button, your mind foggy but the words on your wrist a quiet anchor.

"Hey, wanna explain why my future roomie, is currently ignoring my entire existence?" Carlos says with an amused tone while staring directly at the camera.

You smile, "Haven't been ignoring you, you're just a Drama Queen and i already told you if were going to Pittsburgh we are not living togther." you say with a mocking tone back. Carlos looks at you with an unamused expression before talking again.

"Whatever, i still dont get why you're so iffy on living togtether space case" Carlos said bringing up the old nickname you had when you where still a med student becuase you "zoned out" too much.

"Ok, what's with the nickname? At least be original, i dont need people on my case for thinking i possibly slept with my attending, I cant risk my rescidency no matter how much i may love you" you continue while giivng him a deadpanned face at the rumors then start cackiling when he fake gags on the other side of the facetime call.

"Ugh, dont even speak that into existence i mean why do people even think that?" he says in a disgusted voice, while looking far into the distance.

"Ok don't sound too disgusted i would be a pleasure to be wth, but maybe because where alwasy around eah other 24/7 and always knows where the other is??" you say in a condecending tone.

"Okay, you got me there but still ew," he says while shifting the camera.

"Alright you big baby, change the attitude why did you call me," you say with a big grin on your face.

"Well, out first day in Pittsburgh is going to be September 5th, so its almost time and I needed to finalize a few things like our flight, apartment searching and other boring, like really boring things" he says in an annoyed tone while huffing.

"Yup, its nice that you actual learning to be an adult," you say with a laugh.

"Hey, im going fine that you very much". he says, you look at him with a serious expression beffore saying "Dude your pushing forty."

"Mind your business, im still young," he says trying to defend his ego, you laugh beofre continuing

"Your back pain, tells us otherwise old man." You say while laughing histerically.

"Okay, moving on from this conversation," he says as you start to calm down slightly. "We need to pick a place for you and me. I know, I know—separately if you want—and then talk about flights, because we need to be there before the 5th to move in. So I’m thinking the 2nd of September… or the 3rd if we unpack fast and get everything resolved."

You freeze. Your brain stutters. Eight days? Eight days to uproot your entire life and land somewhere completely new? Time passed way too fast.

Carlos watches your face and, of course, sees the panic setting in within three seconds flat. "Okay, calm down," he says, voice easygoing but steady. "We knew this was going to happen eventually, but we have to make a decision."

You suck in a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. You finally manage to get words out, though they stumble over each other. “Carlos… eight days? That’s… that’s not even enough time to think, let alone pack everything, figure out leases, and-"

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupts gently, holding up his hands. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But it’s doable, and we’ll handle it together. You’re not alone in this.”

You pace a little, running your hands through your hair. “It’s just… my whole life is here. My apartment, my work, patients, I’m halfway through following up with… And Pittsburgh? It’s so… different. I don’t even know what to expect there. What if I hate it? What if everything falls apart?”

He steps closer, voice calm but firm, like he always does when he wants you to feel grounded. “Hey. Look at me. I’m not saying it’s going to be perfect, or that it won’t be scary. But it’s not about being perfect. It’s about starting. You’ve done hard things before—tougher than this—and you made it through. We’ll figure it out. Step by step.”

You bite your lip, your chest tight, eyes flicking to the piles of moving boxes around your apartment, the phone buzzing with missed calls. “Step by step, huh?” you murmur.

He nods, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Step by step. I promise, we’ll survive this… together.”

The panic doesn’t leave entirely, but it eases just enough that you can think. You can plan. You can breathe. Hopefully, you can make it out of this somewhat sane.

[anniewasnothere]

"Supposed to be an Adult, but fuck it, I need a minute."

First Chapter!!! i did cross post this on ao3 aswell, under my ao3 account called anniewasnothere143. ENJOY THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FANIC

Summary: Y/N L/N, never thought she would ever even consider moving to Pittsburgh, but when her favorite attending (her pseudo brother) tells her he's switching hospitals and would love his favorite senior resident to come with him (is he serious??), she can't say no, which leaves her here, moving from hot Miami beaches to windy, cold Pittsburgh, and where does she end up?, PTMC.

word count: 2,676

Baby, I tried to call you:

You've never had trouble adapting to your brother's random bullshit. You're an ER doctor for Christ's sake, you can take a bit of change, you're a big girl. But walking into work, you swear you can already feel how bad today's going to be. Now you know you're no oracle, not by a long shot, but today just feels like doom and despair wrapped up in a blanket. So imagine your surprise when you bump into a tall, built figure.

"There you are, I've been waiting for you for like 30 minutes," says a suspiciously familiar voice.

You look up to see that it's your brother who is looking up at you with the most disturbing smile a man can make at 7 in the morning. "I'm too good at my job for you to give a damn, and also, there was traffic since you forgot we live in a tourist-infested city," you say, looking up at him with a deadpanned face and a sarcastic tone.

"I missed you and your positive outlook on life. Did I ever tell you how much of an Amazing resident you are, and how you're my favorite sister forever and ever?" He says with a sly grin, looking at you, like he didn't just try and sweet talk you.

"Carlos, what the fuck are you on? It's seven fifteen in the morning-" he cuts you off by shoving a suspicously large sized iced coffee from your favorite coffee place downtown, right in your face. "Do you know how much I love you and your...presense" you say quickly as you grab the iced coffee and make your way around him to the locker room to put your duffle bag away."

"That's the reaction I wanted, now just hear me out and don't freak out...or hit me." You stop mid hallway, dread crawling up your spine. "Carli, what. did. You do." You turn, slowly shifting your head to glare at him. You've known Carlos Cruz since birth; your parents made sure of that since your grandparents were best friends, then your mother and his father were best friends, and now you're basically stuck with him because of generational bonding, it's like having a built-in best friend, but with all this information, it means you know him better than you know yourself so you know when he's up to absolutly no good.

"Why do you assume I did something? I'm not always the problem, you know," he says with an overly dramatic, exasperated voice while running a hand through his blonde curls.

"Yeah, all your exes would beg to differ," you say, trying to read him for any signs of what might come out of his stupid mouth.

"Jesus, knew you came in irritated, but didn't know it was this bad. I would've brought donuts too, or some Xanax pills to calm you down," he says with a smile. Your face starts to form a grin, but you quickly remember that he’s currently deflecting. "Okay, not funny, and you know why, so stop asking and just tell me what you did so I can fix your mess like always," you say in a frustrated voice.

"How would i now whats got your panties in a twist- Oh....." he looks up for a second like a though just rammed straight into his head at 90 miles an hour, "Shit- I forgot, your dad right? he still in the hospital?" he says with a gentle tone leading me down the hall to the break room instead of the locker room.

"Yup, another one of his guilty conscience calls begging me to come see him, still no apology though, which is funny because even on his deathbed that old man still can't see that he's wrong," you say in exasperation. looking around and taking in the chaotic ER, floor as nurses and other doctors run across the room like headless chickens, attending to traumas and other patients. You forgot it's winter break, and everybody, for some ungodly reason, wants to travel to Miami to escape the cold, chilling weather of wherever they might have come from. That's the one reason you prefer Miami, Florida, the weather, sure it would be Nice to have seasons every once and awhile hut better than freezing your ass off. 

"He's a miserable old man, who is starting to regret not being in your life up until now, since everyone's already left him, just remember you owe him nothing, okay, and I'm ten toes behind you, if you need anyhting just ask." he says in a serious tone, staring at me with an affectionate expression.

"Thanks, but enough with the depressing stuff. What did you have to tell me, hot-shot?" you say, glancing up at him since you finally made it to the break room.

"Nothing much, just got a call from someone called Gloria in Pittsburgh, and she gave me an offer to come and work for her." You stay and stare at him for thirty seconds before breaking out in a smile and tackling him with a hug.

"Oh my God, Carli, that's amazing! why didn't you tell me before, you big idiot?" you say with a huge grin on your face. "Sad you're going to leave me here to deal with all this crap though," you say in a thoughtful tone before continuing, turning around to pick up your duffle bag you flung in the air due to excitement, "But that's life i guess dont worry ill man the fort while your gone." you about to continue until you turn around and see literal death and misery stare back at you with a happy grin.

"You won't have to man anything, because you'll be coming with me!" he says in a cherry tone and squeals while you feel your heart drop to your ass.

"What?" you say in a shocked and numb voice. There is no way, you heard that right, you, him, PITTSBURGH???. You know you said you wanted to move at some point in your life, but not to pittsburgh thats like giving up Cocaine for dollar store vapes, okay, you will admit not the best analogy, but you get the point.

"Before I stab you in the eye, with a scpale please, for the love of everything good and well, tell me I didn't hear you right," you say with your hand rubbing your eyes furiously.

"Nope, last i checked your hearing was 100% normal so you heard me nice and clearly, You, Me and a one way trip to Pittsburgh for however many years we decide to work their, i get a fully funded deparement and a nice pay raise and you get to continue you fellowship away from family drama, i think thats a win-win," he says in a extaic voice, hands waving ammicably in the air while talking.

"Carlos, I cannot go to Pittsburgh!" you say, dropping your duffel bag and grabbing a fistful of your hair while turning away from him in panic.

"I pinky swear it will be good for us!" he says, chasing after you with a pep in his step. "we despreatly need a change of pace, and you know it, you've been going off your meds more and more, and you're having more episodes!"

You turn abruptly, "Don't you dare call them that im not fucking psycho!" you say fianlly fucking done with all this nonsense. You feel a hand grab your shoulder and manhandle you to face him,

"Please, look at me, listen i know it's not ideal, and I'm sorry for being impulsive, but we need. this you're not crazy, and you're a grown 27-year-old woman who can make her own choices, but you know I wouldn't get involved unless it was bad, and I'm not leaving you here alone to pick yourself up again like last time," he ends quickly and out of breath while staring at your panicked face.

"I-" you start, but before you can even get a word out, the door bursts open and a day shift nurse rushes into the room "Dr Cruz, Dr L/N, we need you Ambulance’s five minutes out, car crash, high-speed collision, male, mid-30s, unconscious, GCS seven, massive chest and leg trauma, hypotensive, tachycardic, suspected pneumothorax and internal bleeding. EMS says vitals are unstable, trauma team’s prepping.”

You turn quickly to Carlos, "Well, talk about this later," you say out of breath before speed walking out of the room, past the nurse you think is called sarah and into the locker room at breakneck speed and change into your black scrubs. and rush out of the room to head towards the EMS bay.

You grab a gown and are about to tie it on when you feel hands grab it for you. You glance back a bit to see Carlos.

"Listen i know-"

"Carlos, i dont care. We can talk about it later, alright?" you say in an annoyed tone. You can hear him let out a sigh and feel a little guilty, but quickly push that feeling away. You hear the ambulance before you see it, and start to get butterflies in your stomach. The one thing about the ER that never stops is the bursts of adrenaline you get right before a trauma.

You feel Carlos come to stand right beside you; it feels reassuring even when you hate his guts right now. The ambulance skids to a stop right in front of you and Carlos, tires squealing slightly on the wet pavement. Doors slam. EMTs leap out, a stretcher in tow, shouting vitals as they wheel the patient toward the ER doors.

“Male, mid-30s, MVC, GCS seven, hypotensive, tachycardic, massive chest and leg trauma, suspected pneumothorax and internal bleeding!” the EMT calls over the chaos.

You and Carlos met them halfway, eyes snapping to the gurney as the patient’s blood smeared the stretcher sheets. The team had already started moving: four nurses, two med students, a respiratory tech, all converging in Trauma room 3.

“Bed clear!” one nurse yelled.

You counted down, voice steady. “On three-one, two, three!” The patient was lifted and shifted onto the trauma bed with a jolt. Blood soaked the sheet beneath him, and a faint metallic scent hung in the air.

“Airway?” Carlos barked, hands moving to check tubes.

“ET tube in place,” you responded, glancing over the monitors.

“BP eighty over forty, pulse 140, massive external hemorrhage left leg and chest!” a nurse shouted.

“Two large-bore IVs running, fluids started,” you called back.

One of the med students squinted at the cardiac monitor. “Uh…is that…maybe a third-degree AV block? I mean, the rhythm looks-”

"You crouched slightly, calm but precise. “Close. It’s a sinus tach with frequent PVCs. Keep watching-we don’t treat it like a block right now. Good eye, though, notice the irregularity.”

Carlos smirked faintly. “Who knew you were such a good teacher?"

“Shut up...” you muttered, turning back to the patient. “FAST scan shows free fluid in the abdomen-likely internal bleeding.”

“GCS seven, pupils unequal,” the other med student called out.

“Right,” you said, nodding. “Unequal pupils could indicate rising intracranial pressure, but nothing we intervene on surgically just yet. Keep your eyes on vitals and bleeding.”

Alarms blared, monitors beeped frantically. Blood streaked the bed, the patient’s chest rising in shallow gasps. You moved quickly, coordinating lines, fluids, and airway while Carlos assessed wounds and instructed the nurses. “Vitals holding for transfer,” Carlos said. “General Surgery paged, OR is free. He’s going up.”

The team readied the stretcher, nurses, and med students, helping to secure the patient for transport. IVs and monitors followed. You glanced at Carlos, expecting him to go with the team, but he stayed put, arms crossed, watching as the trauma room cleared.

“Carlos…?” you muttered under your breath, a mix of confusion and curiosity, as the last nurses wheeled the patient toward the OR.

"We need to talk," he says, looking at me seriously.

"We." I say, pointing back and forth from him and me, "We are not doing this right now." You're about to walk out, but Carlos blocks the door.

"No we are talking about this right now, because if not it'll take all day for us to talk and by then our shift will be over and you'll be too burnout and numb that you'll just go home without giving me a second glance, so yeah where talking right now," he says shoulder staright and feet planted firm a determined look on his face.

You can feel the fight leave your body, "Fine, but this doesn't mean I'm saying yes," you say quickly, wanting to get this conversation over with. When you meet his eyes, you can see them soften at you, and that breaks your resolve just a little, but you would never admit it.

Carlos smirks, like he’s won a small battle. “You don’t have to say yes yet. Just…consider it. Think about it like…a weird, slightly insane adventure.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Adventure, huh? Right. Moving my entire life to a freezing city because you can’t resist a pay raise, just great."

He steps closer, soft but firm. “I don’t need a yes yet. Just…hear me out. Think about it, not as us leaving everything behind, or leaving our mess that we call lives, think of it as a chance. For both of us.”

You huff, crossing your arms, trying to hold onto every bit of stubbornness left. “A chance? You mean freezing my ass off in a city I didn’t even want to live in, for how many years?”

He shrugs, eyes warm. “Yeah. That. But also…a chance to work together, to make things…better. And I want you there. With me.”

Something twists in your chest. You hate admitting it, but he’s right. Part of you does want this, a fresh start, a new ER, the chaos, the adrenaline. And the thought of doing it with him makes it…slightly easier.

You take a deep breath, finally letting some of the fight go. “Okay,” you mutter, voice tight but resigned. “I’ll…consider it.”

Carlos smiles, just a small, quiet smile. “That’s all I need for now.”

You look away, biting your lip, letting the tension ease just a fraction. The thought of Pittsburgh still terrifies you, but the idea of facing it with him doesn’t seem impossible anymore.

Carlos steps closer, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. "Remember… cuna a la tumba, I’m right there with you.”

You blink, staring at him for a second. The phrase lands-familiar, warm, a little funny in his serious tone. His hand brushes yours briefly, and somehow it steadies everything spinning in your head.

The rest of the day drags by. Patients come and go, monitors beep, lines run, consults call, one thing barely finished before the next begins. The ER isn’t chaotic, not in that explosive way, but it’s exhausting in that relentless, teeth-grinding way that leaves your muscles sore, your brain foggy, your chest heavy. You patch wounds, stabilize vitals, run labs, and at every step, Carlos is right there-quietly checking, coordinating, catching the things that almost slip through the cracks.

Finally, the last patient before the end of your shift is wheeled into the OR. You drag yourself and Carlos into the locker room, scrubs sticking to your skin, gloves tossed somewhere, sweat and fatigue clinging to every inch. He leans against the lockers, calm, steady, watching you with that look that makes it impossible to lie.

You drop your bag with a thud and exhale as if it might never stop. “Yeah…sure. Why not, dude?” The words feel heavy, tired, almost sarcastic, but there’s a spark buried in there, a tiny, reluctant relief that maybe this move isn’t as impossible as you thought.

Carlos’s smile is quiet, small, and proud. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You lean back against the lockers, close your eyes for a second, letting yourself feel it-exhaustion, relief, uncertainty-and for once, it doesn’t feel terrifying.