Pazzi (WNBA Paige x Nurse Azzi)
Summary: Paige tries to prove herself in the kitchen, resulting in a cut to her hand and a necessary trip to the ER. After being stitched up by the world's most stunning, and evidently uninterested nurse, Paige finds herself ending up in the same ER multiple times with unnecessary concerns about incredibly insignificant injuries just to see Azzi again, much to the nurse’s annoyance.
Warnings: language, blood, brief descriptions of injury
a/n: i know it's been a minute, but i hope you guys enjoy this one shot that i could potentially be convinced into making a part 2 of :)
Paige Bueckers had always been naturally gifted. It didn’t tend to matter what it was she was doing, she excelled at just about everything she tried.
Cooking, as it turned out, was one of the very few exceptions to that self attributed fallacy.
She’d had just about enough of the relentless teasing from Dijonai, constantly mocking her for her lack of production in the kitchen. Today had been the final straw, Paige, never one to back down from a challenge. Always ready to prove she could, whenever anyone told her she couldn’t.
Dijonai had made some offhand comment about her “lack of skill” and “overall, general helplessness in the kitchen” earning a few laughs from the players still lingering in the locker room when Paige finally snapped.
“Bro, I can cook,” Paige had said, indignant.
Dijonai had just leveled her with a disbelieving stare. “P, you literally started a fire in the microwave. That shouldn’t even be possible,” she retorted with a laugh.
“That was one time,” Paige grumbled out. “You know what? I’m gonna chef it up tonight, just wait. You can come supervise or whatever you call that thing you do where you watch me in the kitchen.”
“I call it babysitting,” she quickly shot back. “And it’s more for my own self preservation than anything else.”
“Man, whatever,” Paige said as she rolled her eyes, unable to help the smile off her face as she attempted to feign annoyance. “Just come over. S’gonna be gas, trust.”
“Fine,” Dijonai finally relented. Paige beamed, feeling victorious. Ready to prove her wrong. They grabbed their bags, making their way to the exit doors. “I’m only coming to make sure you don’t end up killing yourself, okay?”
“You got no faith in me, I swear.”
“Damn right I don’t, look at your history, P!” Dijonai teased with a cackle.
“Nah, just wait. You’ll see. Imma chef it up tonight," voice dripping in unearned confidence. "I’ll let you know when to slide. You can bring dessert.”
“You sure I shouldn’t bring a fire extinguisher instead?” Dijonai taunted.
Paige just shoved her, sending her off balance as she laughed at Paige’s expense.
As they left the building, the two women split off, heading in opposite directions to their respective cars. Just before she was out of earshot, Paige heard Dijonai call out her name, halting her in her steps. She turned to face her from half way across the lot.
“I’m taking the batteries out of your fire alarm. You set it off every time you’re in that kitchen, and it makes you all panicky.”
Paige responded with a swift and effective middle finger.
Paige had ultimately decided to make chicken and rice, with some sauteed vegetables. Simple enough, but not so simple that it could be argued that it didn’t count as “real cooking”. By 7:30pm, Dijonai was perched on a stool at the kitchen island. The sun was just beginning to set beneath the Dallas horizon, casting a warm, golden hue through the floor to ceiling windows of her apartment.
The chicken was sizzling on the stove, and the rice was nearly ready. Paige focused diligently on evenly chopping her vegetables with a knife far too sharp and expensive for someone who cooked so infrequently.
The apartment was filled with the soft sound of her playlist coming out through the built in kitchen speakers. The smell of garlic, spices, and residual smoke lingered in the air. Dijonai did not end up removing the batteries from her smoke detector. And Paige had indeed set off the fire alarm, having left a towel too close to the open flame of the stove.
The incident had left Dijonai far too smug, and Paige slightly on edge. A heady mixture of panic and adrenaline flowing through her veins as she tried to finish up.
See, half of cooking was timing. Something Paige was still struggling to master in the kitchen. The rice was just about finished, the chicken needed to be flipped, and she still hadn’t finished slicing her veggies. She needed to get them in a pan immediately. Dijonai had offered to help, but Paige was stubborn. She wanted to prove she could do it on her own.
The self imposed pressure resulted in her movements with the knife becoming less and less careful, mind wandering to the next thing she was supposed to be doing.
She’s not sure exactly how it happened. One moment, she was hurriedly slicing the last of the onion, taking a quick peek at the chicken to determine whether it needed to be tended to immediately, or if it could wait just another few seconds until she finished with her current task. The next moment, she was pulled out of her pondering by a sharp and painful sensation to her left hand.
“Ow – fuck!” she yelped, dropping the knife onto the cutting board with a loud clang. Her right hand immediately clutched the wrist of her left, but the pain still shot sharp, pulsing up her through arm.
Dijonai, who had been invested in something on her phone, looked up at the commotion, eyes going wide at the sight in front of her.
“Jesus, P! What the hell did you just do?” she shouted, quickly rounding the island and making her way to the blonde's side. Her voice filled with a mix of distress and disbelief.
Paige carefully lifted her hand to inspect the extent of the damage. A deep gash, at least three inches long, carved across the soft webbing between her thumb and forefinger. She only saw a clear view of the laceration for a second before blood poured out fast and messy, pooling in her palm in crimson rivers before spilling down her fingers and onto the counter in thick droplets.
“Oh that…that’s bad,” Dijonai stated the obvious, quickly ripping off a wad of paper towels and shoving them towards Paige. “Put pressure on it. Now.” She was officially in mom mode.
Every heartbeat made it throb as she pressed the towels against it, soaking through instantly.
“I didn’t even know I had that much blood in my hand, bro,” Paige muttered. Her head was spinning, panic starting to settle in as the bleeding somehow seemed to get worse. It was borderline grotesque.
She looked down at the cutting board.
“Dammit, I ruined the veggies. Will you still eat them if I just rinse them off?” she asked, playing it off as a joke, but she was being entirely serious.
“Paige,” Dijonai deadpanned. “No. That's disgusting. And literally the least of your worries. Dinner’s off. You need to go to the hospital.”
She grabbed another wad of paper towels, motioning to Paige to switch out the new ones for the thoroughly saturated first batch.
The panic that had been steadily flooding through Paige was quickly replaced by disappointment. She had worked so hard on this dinner. Had talked herself up so much.
“Nah,” she immediately protested. “I probably just need a bandaid. It’ll be fine. We can still eat the rest, we don’t have to eat the veggies.” Her argument might have been a bit more convincing if she wasn’t already soaking through the second round of paper towels.
“Absolutely not.” Dijonai was quick to shut any argument down. “That’s deep. And it’s bleeding like a motherfucker. You’re probably gonna need stitches. You’re going to the hospital.”
“No. Don’t even try to argue with me. Let’s go. I’ll drop you off and can come back and clean up while they fix you.”
Paige looked back down at the mess of her hand before huffing. “Fine,” she finally relented.
Dijonai quickly shut off the stove, tossing paige the dishtowel that had partially caught fire earlier. “Put that on there, it’ll last longer than your shitty papertowels.” She made her way to the front door, grabbing her keys off the counter on the way.
“My paper towels aren’t shitty. They’re bounty. They’re super absorbent. I know you’ve seen the commercials,” Paige pouted, trailing after her vet like a petulant child.
The emergency room at 8:45pm was nothing short of chaotic. Phones ringing, voices overlapping, someone puking into an emesis bag way too loudly, a baby crying between coughs, and the ever present smell of hospital disinfectant.
Paige stood at the intake desk, clutching the rapidly reddening, half charred rag to her hand like it was a life threatening injury.
The intake nurse glanced at the desktop in front of her, then at Paige herself. Recognition flickered in her eyes, but it wasn’t necessarily the flattering kind.
“Dallas Wings, right?” the nurse asked flatly.
Paige brightened immediately. “Yeah! Paige Bueckers. Do you watch our–”
“Take a seat. We’ll call you when we can.”
Paige blinked. “Oh. Okay. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
She made her way over to a chair as far away as possible from the loud vomiter. She tried not to look as embarrassed as she felt about the events leading her here, as she stared at the burnt, bloodied towel. I’m still a good cook, she told herself. It was just a fluke. Could’ve happened to anyone.
She was pulled out of her thoughts a few minutes later by the sound of her name being called.
A med tech stood waiting with a tablet tucked beneath his arm. He didn’t not look annoyed.
Paige jumped up a little too eagerly at the sound of her name. “That’s me! I uh…got into it with a knife.”
“...Right,” he said. “You can follow me.”
After taking a quick set of vitals, he walked her through several too-bright hallways as Paige cracked jokes he didn’t laugh at even once. Damn, does this hospital have a no-fun policy? She thought to herself.
He pulled back a curtain to a small room, and motioned her to a hospital bed. “Someone will be with you shortly.” He left promptly, pulling the curtain shut behind him.
Paige sat down on the bed. Stood back up. Then sat back down again. Sitting still wasn’t her strong suit. She could still feel her heartbeat in her hand beneath the towel. It almost felt rude, like it was mocking her culinary incompetence.
She tried not to die of boredom and embarrassment.
Then she heard the rap of knuckles against the frame of the open door, and the curtain pulled back.
Paige suddenly forgot how to breathe. The pain in her hand forgotten.
The nurse that walked in was stunning in a way that made the blonde’s brain short circuit. She may have just been the single most beautiful woman that Paige had ever seen in her life. Her dark curls were pulled back into a messy bun, a few tendrils having fallen free, framing her face. Resting against sharp cheekbones and smooth skin. Her scrubs fit her in a way that should have been criminal, highlighting her curves. How is a nurse that ripped? Paige thought to herself. She might be more jacked than I am. It was safe to say, Paige was nothing short of astonished.
Her badge read Azzi Fudd, RN.
“Paige Bueckers?” she confirmed, a natural, subtle rasp to her voice that had Paige swooning.
Paige could only nod dumbly in response.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t soften at all. Just looked at Paige, dropped her gaze to the bloody towel, then back at Paige with the world’s most judgemental eyebrow raise.
“And what did you do to yourself?” she asked, voice smooth, but clearly indifferent.
Paige opened her mouth to respond, but her brain seemed to go blank around the woman.
“Uh–knife. Onion. Knife–onion...typa situation,” she finally managed to stutter out.
Azzi snapped on a pair of grey nitrile gloves. Paige watched the motion like a woman possessed. She was suddenly jealous of the fact that those gloves got to wrap themselves around her long and elegant fingers.
“Let me see,” Azzi said, reaching for Paige's hand.
Paige offered it up abruptly, lacking her usual finesse. Azzi eyed the bloodied rag, eyes lingering on the charred end furthest from her injury.
“Was there a fire ‘typa situation’ too?” she mocked Paige’s prior, ineloquent explanation of her injury. “Or can you just not afford new towels on a WNBA salary?” Azzi questioned.
Paige felt heat rise across her face. “Nah, that wasn’t really a situation, even. More like…a…blink and you miss it type thing. It honestly barely caught fire.”
Azzi lifted her wrapped hand delicately, revealing the frayed, blackened, crispy edge. She stared at it, then back at Paige. Her face was unreadable, except for the way her left eyebrow slowly inched higher.
“This,” she said slowly, “is what you consider barely?”
Paige’s laugh came out high and awkward. She tried desperately to save face. “Yeah. It was like the tiniest of flames. A baby flame.”
Azzi looked wholly unconvinced. “Mhm.”
“I mean, technically, the smoke alarm overreacted,” she doubled down, shoulders shrugging as she feigned nonchalance. “Kinda dramatic, if you ask me.”
Azzi’s eyes flicked up, expression deadpan. "Yeah, I'm sure the smoke alarm was the dramatic one." The nurse continuing to eye the towel.
“Wait.” Paige’s mind finally caught up with the second part of her question. "You know who I am?” Paige’s eyes widened with surprise.
Azzi leveled her with an unimpressed look. “You’re on multiple billboards downtown, including one across the street."
Paige grinned sheepishly. “Those were not my idea. Or choice, really. It’s all a part of the contract.”
“Mm.” Azzi didn’t look impressed. “At least you're better with a basketball than a knife," She mumbled. "And open flames, apparently.”
Paige didn’t know how to respond. I think I’m in love with you was all her mind could conjure up.
Azzi returned her focus to the wound, peeling the towel away carefully. Paige winced as fresh air hit the gash and fresh blood began to steadily seep out, albeit slower than it had earlier.
“Yup,” Azzi murmured, assessing the laceration with a practiced eye. “Definitely a knife-onion situation.”
Paige’s laugh came out breathless. “Right? I told you,” she said, just to keep the conversation going.
Azzi didn’t acknowledge her response. Instead, she pulled a treatment table in front of the blonde, grabbed a bottle of saline and a stack of gauze pads and began to irrigate the wound. The first splash of saline hit raw skin and Paige jerked involuntarily.
“Ow.” It hissed out of her mouth before she could stop it.
Azzi didn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Does it hurt when you slice yourself open?” she asked, tone impossibly dry. “That’s shocking information. Truly. I’ll have to inform the medical board.”
Paige opened her mouth, closed it again, then finally landed on, “...I have a very low knife tolerance, okay?”
Azzi huffed. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was the closest thing Paige had gotten to one. “Clearly,” she murmured.
Their eyes met for a moment. Paige’s wide and pleading for approval, Azzi’s cool and unreadable. Azzi broke the moment, reaching for the gauze like Paige was just another nuisance of a patient on what was surely a long shift.
But Paige swore she saw the corner of Azzi’s mouth threaten a smile before she schooled her features back to casual indifference as she pressed fresh gauze firmly against the cut.
“Ow. Okay. That’s – yep. That stings,” Paige said through clenched teeth.
Azzi looked up at her again, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “I can get you a lollipop when we’re done if it helps.”
Paige gasped in pure shock. “Are you – are you calling me a baby?”
Azzi swapped the now sodden gauze out for a new one, slightly gentler this time, but still firm in it's pressure. “If the boo-boo fits.”
Paige just stared at her, mouth hanging open, before a massive, slow grin overtook her face. “You’re kinda mean.”
“You’re kind of dramatic,” Azzi countered.
“But in a charming way, right?” Paige asked optimistically.
Azzi wiped the blood from her fingertips before applying a local anesthesia to the site, waiting for it to kick in before she could begin with the sutures. Her expression was once again pure professionalism, except for the smallest spark of amusement hiding behind her dark eyes.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she retorted.
The attention of Azzi and her quick wit was enough to make Paige forget the sting. Even the embarrassment. She essentially forgot every coherent thought around the woman. But suddenly, the pain wasn’t so bad. Not if it meant Azzi Fudd was the one taking care of her.
Silence stretched between them as Azzi focused on beginning the stitches. Paige couldn’t help but to admire the concentration on her face. The way her tongue poked out ever so slightly between her plump lips. Her lips. They were perfect. They looked so soft, and utterly kissable. Paige’s internal monologue started to run wild. Is that filler? No. There’s no way. Those are the kind of lips people show their plastic surgeon as a reference photo, but can never actually recreate. They’re just too perfect to be made in a lab. Only god could create something so immaculate. Fuck, what I would give to feel–
“So…” Paige began, clearing her throat. She was desperate to receive any form of attention from the woman in front of her and distract herself from her current, increasingly inappropriate train of thought. The only issue was that Paige’s was brain had been rendered complete mush in the nurse's presence. “Do you come here often?”
The hands that had been working steadily against her own paused, and Azzi looked up at her, her perfectly sculpted brows shooting into her hairline. She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to, a look of you can’t be serious, written all over her face before bringing her eyes back down to the task at hand and resuming her work.
Paige had to physically refrain herself from face palming. Idiot. She chastised internally. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Do you come here often? Are you kidding me? That's like...the worlds worst pickup line. There's no way I just said that. She just laughed awkwardly, immediately trying to recover.
“I mean, obviously you do. ‘Cause, like, you work here, duh,” she began to ramble, unconsciously pulling her injured hand – the one the nurse was actively trying to repair – out of Azzi’s grasp, both of her hands flying around emphatically, as if they were trying to keep up with her thoughts. “I just meant like, do you work a lot? What are nurse hours like? It’s usually twelve hour shifts right? At least that's what I’ve seen on Grays Anatomy, is that what it’s actually li–”
“You should stop talking,” Azzi interrupted, gently grabbing her bloodied hand from where it was thrown out in front of her in the midst of her rant, and placing it back on the treatment table so she could get back to stitching her up.
“Damn,” she pouted lightly. “Was just tryna conversate, my bad.”
“Most people don’t need to use their hands that much when they converse,” her voice soft but firm, accompanied by a roll of her eyes. “You’re making my job harder. And you’re making a mess.”
Paige looked down, realizing she had indeed made a bit of a mess, blood now spilling down her arm, droplets scattered across the bed and her lap.
“Oh shit, my bad.” She let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle.
Azzi grabbed some spare gauze, gently wiping away the blood that had spilled down her arm before returning her attention to mending her open wound.
“So, can I talk if I promise not to use my hands?” She countered, a sheepish, yet hopeful, smile tugging at her lips.
Azzi let out a deep sigh before meeting Paige’s eyes once again. She held eye contact for a moment before responding, making Paige’s heart rate pick as a result of the intensity in her eyes.
“If you must,” she responded, voice tinted with something that made it feel like Paige has been the single most draining patient of Azzi’s entire career, despite her relatively simple injury. But Paige swore she could make out the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Azzi’s eyes. It might’ve been Paige’s hopeful delusion, but she considered it a win.
“So,” Paige continued, making a concerted effort not to move her hands as she spoke. “What are your nurse hours like? If it’s twelve hours you don’t gotta come in five days a week right? ‘Cause that’d be crazy.”
Azzi continued stitching her up methodically as she responded, never lifting her eyes from where they were ever so focused on her work.
“Twelve hour shifts,” she spoke slowly, refusing to break concentration. “Three days one week, four the next.”
She was nearly halfway finished, and Paige felt a sense of panic overwhelm her, knowing their time was coming to an end. Azzi was barely giving her the time of day, but she wasn’t ready to give up on getting more out of the stunning woman in front of her.
“Are all the days in a row? Or is it like every other day so you get a break in between?”
“In a row,” Azzi responded with a disinterest Paige pointedly ignored.
“And what day are you on right now?” Paige asked.
“Fourth,” Azzi replied robotically, finishing up the last couple of sutures.
“Ah,” Paige tsked. “Yup, that explains it,” she said with an air of certainty.
That made Azzi pause, head cocking to the side as her dark eyes found Paige’s blue, a hint of a warning in the lilt of her voice as she clocked Paige’s incoming tease.
“Explains what?” she challenged, eyes sharp as they subtly squinted at her in suspicion.
Paige’s answering smirk was immediate. It was lazy, lopsided, and far too cocky for someone who was actively bleeding.
“Explains why you look like you're this close to quitting because of me,” she answered, leaving the smallest sliver of space between the thumb and index finger of her good hand to illustrate her point.
Azzi blinked at her. Once. Twice. Lips pursed together as if she were trying to force back a smile, or a grimace. Paige decided to assume it was the former.
“I don’t quit,” she said at last, tone one of finality. Like that was that, and there was no room for argument. But Paige always found room to argue. Especially with a pretty nurse who seemed particularly irritable with Paige’s incessant commentary. The blonde had always been especially inept at annoying her way into people's hearts.
Paige leaned in just a fraction, just enough to make Azzi notice.
“Even when a very charming, somewhat clumsy basketball player tests your patience?” Paige challenged, heart beating frantically against her chest at the proximity as her eyes traced over the features of the nurse's face, trying to gauge a reaction.
Azzi tied off the last stitch with careful precision.
“I think the word you're looking for is arrogant, not charming,” she shot back, entirely deadpan, but a hint of amusement lay buried deep beneath. Very, very deep beneath. But Paige had been searching for it.
“Confident,” Paige retorted, her heart doing somersaults in her chest.
Azzi cut the excess thread, setting her tools to the side as her expression returned to that perfectly practiced, unreadable neutrality.
“Cocky,” Azzi countered again, with an unconscious twitch of her eyebrows. Her tone was cool, but Paige heard the crack of something warmer beneath it.
“Cocky can pay off,” Paige said smugly, eyes shining with mirth.
“Not when it bleeds on my shoes.” Azzi glanced down pointedly at the dark red droplets quickly drying dark against the blue of her scrubs.
Paige winced “...I can Venmo you?”
Azzi shook her head, incredulous, loose curls falling into her face with the motion. Paige was suddenly overcome with the urge to lift her uninjured hand and sweep them out of the way for her.
“Please never say that to a healthcare worker again.” She carefully applied a thin layer of ointment to Paige's stitches before wrapping the wound in a dressing to keep it clean and protected with practiced ease.
“Noted." Paige raised her good hand, as if swearing an oath. "Never again,” she said solemnly before breaking out into a grin that hadn’t seemed to leave her face for more than a second around the nurse.
Azzi straightened to her full height. Close enough that Paige was engulfed by the sweet, warm scent of her shampoo, and the remnants of whatever perfume she must have been wearing at the start of her shift. Paige was sure she looked like an idiot as she gazed up at her, admiration written all over her face as her eyes tracked Azzi’s every move.
“You’re all stitched up. Shouldn’t leave too much of a scar. The stitches will dissolve on their own in about a week,” she said. “Don’t get them wet. Avoid using that hand. Stop by the charge desk for your discharge papers. You can go.”
Paige nodded, but didn’t make a move to leave. “I should come back if something goes wrong though, right? Like…with the stitches?” She was aiming for casual. Definitely missed the mark.
Azzi’s eyes softened just a fraction. Nearly unnoticeable, but Paige’s eyes hadn’t left the woman since she first walked into the small room. She detected the subtle give and felt her heart rate double. She was suddenly incredibly grateful she wasn’t hooked up to any monitors so there wouldn’t be tangible proof of her physiologic reaction.
“Only if something actually goes wrong,” she emphasized. Azzi removed her soiled gloves, tossing them in the trashcan beside her.
Paige grinned, feeling victorious in her own delusion. “Oh it probably will. I’m pretty dependent on my left hand. And if tonight's taught me anything, it's that I might be a little clumsier than I thought.”
Azzi leveled her with a glare that attempted – and ultimately failed – to hide her amusement.
“Paige…try not to be.” She sounded exasperated.
Paige hopped off the table, stumbling slightly as her foot caught the brake lever. Azzi reached out instinctively, one hand steady at Paige’s waist, the other at her elbow. The contact lasted no more than a second, but it was enough to leave her skin tingling and her brain short circuiting.
“See?” Paige asked triumphantly, voice coming out gravelly. Nearly a whisper. “It’s like fate wants me to keep coming back.”
Azzi had pulled away like the touch burned, tucking a stray curl behind her ear with composed professionalism.
“I think ‘fate’ wants you to slow down. And maybe stay out of the kitchen.”
Paige walked backwards towards the exit, as if her body refused to turn her back to the nurse, gaze never straying. “Nah. Slowing down’s not really my thing.” She decided to ignore the second half of Azzi’s statement.
Azzi exhaled – a quiet unwilling laugh slipping through.
Paige paused at the doorway.
“Goodnight, Nurse Azzi,” she said. Voice soft and filled with hope.
Azzi didn’t look up from where she was charting. “Goodbye, Paige.”
But Paige didn’t miss the way her name fell from Azzi’s lips. Like maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind saying it.
Paige was incredibly proud of herself. In fact, she was currently convinced that she might just be one of the smartest people she knew. She felt like her college education had officially paid off, because she figured out Azzi’s work schedule. Truth be told, it really wasn’t that difficult to piece together, but she was proud of herself none the less. Two days after her run in with the world's most attractive and borderline hostile nurse, Paige was determined to find a way to see her again.
She didn’t know Azzi’s exact hours, but she knew the day she visited had been the fourth day of her alternating three and four day work weeks. So she just had to work backwards from there. She officially knew the days she worked each week, so knew she’d be there on those days if she just so happened to need a trip to the emergency room in the future.
Plus, she may or may not have called the hospital pretending to be a potential hire and asking a few scheduling questions along the lines of, “do shift days and hours tend to stay the same week to week?” She was very pleased with the answers she received. Even more pleased with herself for her newfound sleuthing abilities.
Dijonai had called her creepy, Paige preferred to call herself dedicated. The blonde had no choice but to fill her teammate in on the entire interaction with Azzi after she picked her up. Dijonai had been almost frightened by how giddy she was after receiving 35 stitches and being told she wouldn’t be able to use her left hand for at least the next week or so – a serious hindrance to her playing abilities that would have normally devastated Paige.
Dijonai pulled up to where Paige was waiting for her in the parking lot around 10pm.
“Why do you look so happy? Did you not need stitches? Or did you slip in a puddle of your own blood and hit your head?” she asked immediately upon Paige entering the car.
“No,” Paige said with a smile that wouldn't leave her face. “Had to get 35 of ‘em actually, it was pretty deep. Can’t use my left hand for a while. That’s what I get for buying like a full on chef’s knife I guess.”
“So…you did slip and hit your head then?” she challenged, seemingly uneased by the pure joy written across the blonde's face despite the bad news she was telling her.
“No,” Paige sighed. “I’m in love.”
Dijonai slammed on the brakes, sending Paige lurching forward in the passenger seat.
“Excuse me?” she exclaimed.
“Damn, Nai,” Paige chastised lightly. “Be careful bro, you’re transporting precious cargo.”
“No, no, no. Explain yourself. Right now. Did they give you morphine? What do you mean you're in love? What the hell happened in there? You were literally on your own for less than ninety minutes.” She was staring at Paige dumbfounded.
So Paige filled her in. Every detail, even the embarrassing rambling and stupid accidental horrific pickup line. When she was done, she simply said, “I think I’m gonna marry her. It’s basically a done deal.”
Dijonai had just laughed at her, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and a sliver of concern all shining through. “Does the grumpy nurse know that?” She started driving again.
“She’s not grumpy,” Paige defended. “She’s…fiesty. And sarcastic. And ridiculously pretty,” she amended with a dreamy look on her face.
Dijonai groaned. “Ugh fine, okay. Does the feisty, sarcastic, pretty nurse know she’s going to be stuck as your wife one day?”
“I mean, not yet. But I’m sure she kinda knows deep, deep…deep down,” Paige said with far too much false confidence. “Besides, I’ll worm my way into her heart. I grew on you didn’t I?”
“Yeah, like a wart. Or an infectious disease,” Dijonai mumbled with love disguised as disgust. “Did you get her number?” They stopped at a light, waiting for it to turn green.
Paige’s face fell. “Well…no. I wanted to ask but I knew she woulda said no.”
When she got no response, she looked at Dijonai, who was looking at her in utter bewilderment. “So let me get this right. You’re convinced you’re going to marry a girl who has zero interest in you.”
“Hey!” Paige said, indignant. “She didn’t have zero interest in me. We talked. And she said I could come back if something went wrong with my stitches.”
“She’s a nurse, Paige,” Dijonai deadpanned. “That is quite literally her job.”
“Bro, whatever,” the blonde huffed, undeterred. A small grin making its way back onto her face as she thought about the couple of almost smiles she pulled out of Azzi tonight. She was going to get a full one soon. She was sure of it.
That had been three days ago. Now, Paige was just waiting for the opportunity – and day Azzi would actually be working – to present itself.
Said opportunity just so happened to present itself on what Paige figured out was Azzi’s second shift of the following week. Her stitches were beginning to dissolve, but she was still limited at practice, coaches and medical staff restricting her from using her left hand.
They had originally told her she wasn’t allowed to participate until she was completely healed. That rule lasted a total of 3 days.
Paige was stubborn, and overly confident. She’d made it known she didn’t need her left hand during scrimmages. That she could play with just her right hand, and still put belt to ass. The practice squad was disappointed to learn that her injury had no effect on her trash talking abilities. If anything, it had made it worse, because every time she scored, she’d boast about the fact that she only needed one hand to beat them.
Confidence is a fickle thing though. It’s a slippery slope to overconfidence and unnecessary risk. Paige learned that the hard way when she was unable to brace herself for impact with her left hand, resulting in her right arm taking the brunt of the impact. More specifically, her right elbow. It left her with a nice bruise, both to her arm, and her ego.
The bruise to her ego healed almost instantaneously when she realized she should most definitely go get it checked out by a medical professional, despite the team’s trainer telling her she was perfectly fine. It was her career on the line after all, better to be safe than sorry.
So that’s how Paige ended up back in the emergency room, sitting on a hospital bed, clutching her elbow, knees bouncing in nervous anticipation to set her eyes on her favorite nurse. She was happy to learn that the med tech she’d had last time didn’t seem to work tonight. His replacement easily charmed by her, and had laughed at her jokes when he’d led her to the room.
After what felt like forever, a familiar rap of knuckles sounded off against the doorframe, Paige rose to her feet, and the curtain was pulled back. All of the air left Paige’s lungs at the sight of her. Did she get prettier since the last time I saw her? Paige wondered to herself. How was that even possible? The blonde’s eyes traced over her features, taking advantage of the fact that the nurse hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on the chart in her hands. Her heart hammered against her chest in suspense.
When she looked up and saw Paige, she froze in her steps, the look on her face immediately replaced with the unimpressed one Paige was growing increasingly familiar with.
“You again,” she said flatly.
“You sound thrilled,” Paige said cheerfully, unable to prevent the unabashed smile taking over her face, blue eyes strikingly bright beneath the fluorescent hospital lighting.
Azzi rolled her eyes and motioned for her to take a seat on the bed. “What now?”
“What? No hello? Where’s your bedside manor?” Paige teased.
“Paige,” Azzi warned, her voice stern.
“Aw c’mon Azzi, you’re not even just a little bit happy to see me?” she tried, eyes shining with exhilaration just from being in the nurses presence.
“I’m not happy to see anyone in the ED,” she deadpanned. “People come here when something is wrong. So what’s wrong with you this time? I thought we agreed no more cooking.”
Azzi walked closer to her, standing just in front of her now, eyes scanning for any apparent bleeding or deformities. Her eyes landed on the bruise extending from just above, to just below the blonde's elbow. Paige locked in, feigning seriousness for what truly could be a serious injury. She lifted her right arm towards the nurse.
“I collided with the floor pretty hard,” Paige said, grimacing dramatically. “Possible fracture.”
“You’re pretty dressed up for someone worried about a broken arm,” she commented.
“Whatcu mean? I’m always fitted. You caught me on a bad night the other week.”
There was absolutely no way in hell she would admit to the nurse she dressed up for a trip to the hospital, dousing herself in an appropriate amount of cologne.
“That’s kind of my point,” Azzi huffed out. “People come to the hospital on their bad nights, not whatever this is.” She gestured to all of Paige when she said ‘this’.
“You sayin’ I look nice?” Paige pushed.
Azzi didn’t respond. Just leveled her with an unimpressed glare.
“This – is me being responsible," Paige answered the nurse's question. "It’s my shooting arm. I’m very concerned,” Paige justified, ever so relentless.
“Mhm,” was the nurse's only reply. She didn’t look like she believed the athlete for even a second.
Azzi threw on a pair of gloves before stepping fully into Paige’s space. She was even prettier up close, it was almost intimidating. She pressed lightly along the bone. Paige swore she could feel electricity shooting up her arm at the contact. She wondered if Azzi could feel it too.
“It’s a bruise,” Azzi said. “You’re fine.”
Paige looked affronted. “But a deep bruise?”
Azzi stared. “You want an x-ray for a bruise.”
Paige opened her mouth to respond, but Azzi raised a hand, effectively cutting her off before she had the chance to speak.
“That was not a question.”
Paige pouted. “I like it when you take care of me,” she nearly whined.
Azzi had moved to stand in front of the computer, beginning the paperwork Paige’s little ‘visit’ now required her to do. “You like attention.”
Paige smirked. “I like attention from you.”
Azzi’s eyes narrowed, but Paige didn’t miss the faint red blooming along her cheeks. “Drink water. Ice the bruise. Leave.”
Paige gave her a mock salute, standing to leave. Before she took a second step, she spun on her heel, turning towards Azzi abruptly.
“What time does your shift end?” Paige asked, aiming for nonchalance.
Azzi paused, looking at her with skepticism. “Why would you need to know that information?”
“Just tryna figure out when you’re free,” Paige answered smoothly, her infamous charm and confidence shining through.
“No, Paige." Azzi shut her down immediately.
Paige laughed at her stubbornness, secretly enjoying how hard Azzi was making her work for her attention. Openly enjoying hearing her name fall from Azzi’s mouth in her naturally raspy, unintentionally flirtatious voice.
“Fine, you don’t gotta tell me when you get off,” she acquiesced, taking a step towards the nurse. “How ‘bout you give me your number instead?” she said, lifting a single shoulder in a casual shrug.
“But what if I get hurt again and need medical advice?” Paige argued.
“Doesn’t your team have a medical staff?” Azzi sounded exasperated.
“Yeah. But they’re not as knowledgeable,” she rebutted. “Or pretty,” she added with a smirk.
“I’m sure they’re plenty knowledgeable," she shot back in that short, irritated tone Paige adored. "And significantly cheaper than a trip to the hospital."
“Well, since I’m already here,” she began, eager to extend their time together, “will you look at my stitches? Make sure they’re healing up nice? Gotta get my moneys worth.”
Azzi closed her eyes, letting out a long and loud exhale, effectively letting Paige know she was testing her patience. She turned around slowly. “Fine.”
Paige beamed, crossing the two steps to Azzi, presenting her with her half healed left hand.
The nurse gently took Paige’s hand in her own, carefully tracing over the stitches with a gloved finger, eyes focused as she examined the site. The blonde once again took advantage of Azzi’s focus being elsewhere, and let her eyes trace over the features of her face from up close. She looked more rested than the last time she saw her. Her skin was smooth, long dark lashes casting shadows across her sharp cheekbones from the bright overhead lights. Her tongue poked out to wet her full lips, and Paige couldn’t help but track the movement.
Her eyes lingered at Azzi’s lips when the nurse spoke again, her brown eyes never straying from the subject of their focus. “They’re healing nicely.”
She traced over the sutures softly one last time. “The stitches are almost dissolved. Probably just a few more days.”
The nurse released Paige’s hand, lifting her head to meet blue eyes.
“Hows the pain?” she asked, voice softer than Paige had ever heard before. Face open, lacking its usual practiced disinterest.
Paige was suddenly aware of just how close they were standing.
“S’okay,” Paige answered, the words coming out a bit breathless, airy.
Azzi stepped back, putting enough space between them to be considered professional, and effectively snapping them out of whatever moment she hadn’t meant to let herself fall into.
“Good,” she said, face falling back into its mask of practiced composure. “Any other concerns? Or am I free to finish charting your suspected fracture?” she mocked with a subtle roll of her eyes.
“Hey! It totally coulda been broken,” she protested. “Aren’t you supposed to be professional – ya know…like – take your patients' concerns seriously?” She crossed her arm, unable to help the smile tugging at her lips as she continued to goad the nurse. “As in like, not mock valid concerns?”
Azzi didn’t hesitate in her retort. “I would never mock a patient's valid concerns.” A smirk tugged at her lips.
Paige’s mouth fell open in thrilled shock at Azzi’s audacity, chest swelling with a sense of pride at seeing the nurses smirk. At the thought of being the cause of it.
“So rude,” Paige breathed out a laugh.
“Hey,” Paige said abruptly, blue eyes lighting up as she remembered a very important question she needed to ask the nurse. “You know how your name’s Azzi?”
Azzi’s head cocked back concerned, eyeing Paige like she might be having a stroke. “Are you sure you only fell on your arm? You didn’t hit your head too?” Her hand was reaching towards her head to get a closer look.
If Paige hadn’t been so insulted, she would have happily let Azzi touch her. Instead, like an idiot, she gently smacked her gloved hand out of the air with a scoff.
“I did not hit my head, Azzi,” she admonished, smile a permanent fixture on her face around the nurse. “I was just gonna ask if you’d ever heard of Jennifer Azzi.”
Azzi leveled her with a stare. “Where do you think the name Azzi came from?”
Paige just blinked at her, eyebrows steadily creeping into her hairline. “You’re telling me you were named after Jennifer Azzi?” Paige asked, incredulous.
Azzi just shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by Paige’s amazement, moving back to the computer, “I grew up in a basketball family. My mom played for Georgetown." She continued typing as she spoke. "She was drafted to your league, actually.” Her nonchalance about the information she was providing Paige was driving the blonde mad.
Paige moved closer to her, needing her full attention, openly shocked expression on her face. “No way. What’s your moms name?”
Azzi paused her typing, glancing over at Paige, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why would you need to know my mothers name?” she questioned slowly.
“Uh, so I can look her up? Duh,” Paige said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, whipping her phone out of her pocket.
Azzi turned to her fully, a stern look on her face. “Paige, I am not telling you my mothers name so you can google her,” voice pitching up.
“Why not?” Paige all but whined. “If she was in the W I gotta know. That’s a part of my job, I gotta know the players who came before me.”
“No,” Azzi said firmly, like her mind was made up and would not be changed. She turned back to her work.
Paige took another step closer. “Fine. I’ll just google ‘Fudd Georgetown'," she taunted, a smirk growing on her lips seeing Azzi’s jaw clench in annoyance. Antagonizing the nurse was quickly becoming one of her favorite pastimes.
“Good luck, Fudd is her married name," Azzi quipped.
“Dammit,” Paige muttered.
Azzi sighed, reluctantly giving Paige a little bit more. “She barely played professionally, anyways. She tore her ACL. Got waived.”
Azzi didn’t seem like she was too keen to continue talking about the subject of her mom’s career, so she cut her a little break. She switched the subject to Azzi herself, eager to learn more about the woman in front of her.
“Did you ever play?” she asked, curious. Her eyes instantly fell to the way Azzi’s jaw clenched twice at the question. She went silent for a moment, hands hovering frozen above the keyboard.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a knock at the door pulled their attention away. Another nurse peeked his head in, he didn’t look nearly as good in scrubs as Azzi did. Paige noticed the way Azzi’s mask of professional indifference slipped back on in an instant.
“Fudd,” he said. “We’ve got an incoming MVC. Three patients – two adults, one ped – about five minutes out. One coded, but Paramedics got ROSC. Second is hypotensive, possible abdominal trauma. Ped has suspected tension pneumo. Going to need you in the ambulance bay. Like, right now.”
“I’ll be right there,” she said, closing out of her patient chart as the other nurse rushed back down the hall.
“Fuck,” Azzi muttered quietly to herself. Paige just stared at her, simultaneously disappointed at the abrupt end of their conversation, and impressed by just how demanding her job was.
“That sounds…not good,” Paige said, dumbly.
“It’s not,” her voice was clipped. Paige could see her whole brain shift gears, running rapid calculations and worst-case scenarios behind those dark eyes. The casual, borderline-annoyed nurse replaced in a singular heartbeat by someone sharp and fierce, already planning three steps ahead.
Azzi turned to leave, but not before giving Paige a quick once over.
“Ice your bruise. No more knives. No more falling.”
With that, she left, leaving Paige to watch her disappear down the hall. If anyone were to comment on the way Paige’s eyes lingered on the way Azzi’s ass looked in her scrubs, she would vehemently deny it.
It had been eight days since Paige’s last visit to the ER, and Azzi Fudd had consumed her every waking thought for each and every one of them. Paige wasn’t sure exactly what it was about the nurse that had her so enthralled. The way she challenged the blonde. Her quick wit. Her understated sense of humor. The way she looked like she had walked out of a magazine cover. All of the above. Paige was nothing short of obsessed.
Her stitches were entirely dissolved now, and she was cleared for full practice. In classic Paige fashion, with something to prove after having been restricted for the last week and a half, Paige went hard.
She didn’t see the screen coming, too focused on getting to her spot. One second she was cutting hard, the next her head collided with the shoulder of a practice player. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that hard of a hit. The practice player had stepped back as soon as he realized Paige was coming at him full force, easing the impact.
Nevertheless, his shoulder had been bony, and Paige had a newly vested interest in her health. More particularly, in a certain nurse. One she was desperate to see again. So Paige made her way to the hospital for the third time that month.
The ER waiting room was a little quieter this time. Fluorescent lights still overly bright, still full of doors opening and closing, intercom announcements, and monitors beeping, but quieter than she’d ever seen before.
This was also the earliest she had come in so far, having discovered Azzi’s exact hours. The nurse at the front desk had happily told her Azzi’s start time on her way out once she agreed to take a photo and sign a nitro glove for his daughter on her way out from her last visit.
She walked in stiffly, checking in at the front with a sheepish smile, muttering something about how she “just wanted to…make sure I don’t have any bleeding in my brain,” before being led to a room with even less urgency than the last time.
She sat on the bed, bouncing her leg, making sure she looked presentable through the front camera of her phone. Totally normal behavior for someone who definitely thought they might have a concussion, and had nothing to do with the fact that a hot nurse would be coming to see her any minute now.
After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, the curtain pulled back revealing the subject of her infatuation. Azzi stepped in, curls tied back into a loose bun, messy strands spilling out. Her face fell the second she realized who was sitting on the bed.
“You haven’t even heard what’s wrong!” Paige argued.
Azzi huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. What injury did you manifest this time?”
Paige brought her fingers to her temple, wincing melodramatically upon making contact. “Hit my head tryna go through a screen. Got a headache. Probably a concussion. Maybe even a brain hemorrhage.” Azzi looked at her in disbelief. “That’s a thing! I looked it up. I could die, Azzi.”
Azzi rolled her eyes, but pulled out a penlight, preparing to examine bright blue eyes. Paige couldn’t stop shifting, heart beating frantically against her chest at the proximity. Eyes tracing Azzi’s features up close.
“Sit still,” Azzi demanded.
Paige instantly went so still she could’ve passed for one of those street performers who pretended to be human statues.
Azzi shined the light into her eyes, expression professional, but Paige could see the faint twitch of amusement threatening the corner of her mouth. She continued on with her exam.
“Hm. Pupils normal. Reflexes intact. No slurred speech. You’re fine," the nurse concluded.
“Wait, you should check my reflexes again. I don’t feel as reflexive as normal,” Paige said, trying to stall.
Azzi inhaled deeply like she was counting to ten in her head. “No, Paige. Hydrate. Sleep. And stop WebMD-ing everything,” she ordered.
“I only WebMD because you won’t give me your number,” Paige retorted.
“You want my number that bad?” Azzi asked.
Paige nodded eagerly, in a way that would have been incredibly painful if she did, infact, have a concussion.
“Fine.” Azzi said. She pulled a pen and a small notepad out of her pocket.
Paige felt an overwhelming sense of triumph as she saw Azzi scribbling on the pad before ripping off the page and handing it to the blonde.
Paige’s smile was so wide her cheeks hurt. Her fingers brushed slightly against the nurses as she took the paper, sending a current through her skin at the contact. But when she looked down at the paper in her hand, her face fell. There was a number written, but it definitely wasn’t Azzi’s.
Paige looked up from the paper distraught, meeting Azzi’s big brown eyes that held more mischief than she’d experienced before.
“You’re mean,” Paige pouted.
“You’re annoying,” Azzi retorted.
Paige guffawed. “Your bedside manner has gotten worse,” she informed the nurse.
“I try to save my bedside manner for actual patients,” she deadpanned. “Not hypochondriacs who make me do extra paperwork with their unnecessary visits.”
“Hey! I am not a hypercornidrac.” Paige protested, butchering the pronunciation of the word. “My visits are super necessary. I was really worried I had a concussion,” she lied straight through her teeth.
Azzi’s expression remained professional, but Paige could see the faint flicker of amusement, tugging at the corner of her perfect lips.
“You don’t have a concussion,” Azzi said softly. “Not even close.”
“But should I come back in a week? For, like…a follow up? Just to be safe?” Paige asked.
“Definitely not.” Azzi began to walk out of the room.
“But, Azzi–” Paige began, following her to the door like a petulant child.
“Paige,” she all but whined, dragging out her name.
Paige’s response was ripped from her mouth, feeling giddy at the way Azzi had just said her name. At the slip in her carefully crafted composure.
Azzi huffed, spinning on her heel to face the blonde with an exasperated look on her face.
She was halfway to the emergency room exit, discharge papers in hand, when she heard a small, excited gasp.
“Oh my god,” a tiny voice whisper-shouted. “You’re Paige Bueckers!”
Paige turned to find a kid – who couldn’t have been more than ten years old – sitting on a hospital bed. One foot socked and dangling over the edge, the other wrapped in a temporary splint. His eyes were wide, hopeful, and practically glowing at the sight of Paige in front of him.
Paige smiled. “‘Sup,” she said casually.
The kid audibly gasped at the acknowledgement. “Will you sign my cast?” He asked hopefully.
The boy’s dad, who had been sitting in a chair in the corner, stood up quickly. “Oh, wow. Sorry, he’s a huge fan. I – we –,” then turned to his son. “Tre, we’re in the hospital remember, I’m sure she’s–”
“S’okay,” Paige said, already stepping inside the room. “What’s up lil’ man, what happened?”
The boy grinned shyly. “Basketball tryouts. I landed weird.”
“No. But I didn’t even cry,” the kid said proudly.
“Dang,” Paige whistled. “You’re already tougher than half the NBA.”
The kid positively beamed.
The fathers phone rang loudly in the small room. “That’s his mom – I’ve been trying to reach her for the last hour. You okay if I step out?”
“Course,” Paige said. “Take your time.”
The dad mouthed a thank you and stepped into the hallway just out of earshot.
“Alright,” Paige began, all mock seriousness. “Give me the scouting report. You a shooter? Point guard? Lcok down defender?”
“I’m a guard, like you,” he said, voice filled with admiration.
Paige spent the next few minutes making him laugh. She borrowed a sharpie from the nurses station to sign his cast. Showed him a dramatized reenactment of her crossover using an empty water as a ball, and even promised him and his dad tickets to a home game of his choice as soon as the season started up.
The blonde was sitting on a chair beside the boy's bed, legs spread and posture relaxed, listening to his enthusiastic retelling of the events leading up to his injury. She didn’t notice the footsteps getting closer until Azzi’s voice cut in from the doorway, softer than Paige had ever heard it before. The blonde's head shot towards the sound so fast she was considering readmitting herself to be examined for whiplash.
“Okay Tre,” she said gently, “I–”
She froze when she noticed Paige.
Paige just gawked at her, freezing too. Eyes wide and filled with something that only seemed to exist in the nurse’s present. She hadn’t expected to see her again tonight.
The kid – Tre – didn’t freeze at all. “Nurse Azzi!” He exclaimed. “Look who came to see me!”
Paige stood up unceremoniously, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the vinyl floor at Paige’s abrupt movement.
Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige. The same cool detachment she always wore around the blonde present in her face. But then her attention moved to the boy, and something shifted. The casual indifference was replaced with a warmth, gentle and bright, that Paige had never seen from her before.
“Paige Bueckers came to see me!” He declared, needing the nurse to acknowledge the significance of the moment.
“I can see that,” she murmured.
Paige felt heat rush to her cheeks, suddenly uncharacteristically shy.
Azzi’s whole posture shifted as she crossed the room and crouched beside the bed, opposite of Paige. “Okay, buddy,” she cooed. “How’s your ankle feeling, pain any better now?”
The boy cracked a joke as Azzi carefully adjusted his splint, and Azzi smiled. An honest to god smile. Not just a twitch at the corner of her mouth, but full and wide. Eyes crinkling with light, bunny teeth poking out.
And then Paige forgot how to breathe.
Because dimples. Azzi Fudd had dimples.
Paige was completely done for. Just when she thought the woman couldn’t get any more perfect, she was proven wrong.
Azzi checked the boy's splint after she finished adjusting it, the tone of her voice warm and kind. “Any numbness? Tingling? Wiggle your toes for me.”
Tre wiggled them enthusiastically.
“Perfect,” Azzi said, giving him an encouraging nod. “You’re doing great.”
Paige watched, mesmerized. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Azzi. This wasn’t the same clipped, sarcastic, sharp tongued nurse she was used to. This was someone soft. Someone gentle. Someone who cared far deeper than she let anyone see.
Azzi glanced up mid-exam and finally registered Paige’s unwavering stare.
The warmth disappeared from her face so fast it almost thought she'd imagined the whole thing.
“Oh,” Azzi said, voice deadpan once again. “You’re still here.”
Paige tried, and failed, to fight a smile. “We were bonding,” she said. “Talkin’ hoops. Pro to future pro.”
Azzi gave the blonde a once over. Slow and unimpressed. But Paige swore she saw the tiniest hint of amusement in her eyes. Before she could respond, Tre spoke up, recapturing the attention of the nurse.
“Do you play basketball too?” the little boy asked Azzi, expression full of awe.
Azzi’s eyes darted to Paige’s for a split second before returning to the kid in front of her.
“I used to,” she said, voice tender in a way Paige desperately wanted to be on the receiving end of. “Not anymore though.”
“Why did you stop?” he questioned, looking shocked at the idea of someone willingly give up playing the game he loved.
“I got hurt,” she said, and Paige could see the brave face she was putting on. Could hear the subtle sadness lingering beneath her words. “Lost my scholarship.”
“Did you hurt your ankle, too?” the boy pressed, fear evident at the thought of his injury preventing him from playing ever again.
“No, I hurt my knee,” she told him.
“Were you sad when you couldn’t play anymore?” Tre asked, sympathy written all over his face.
Azzi let out a tiny breath. “I was at first. But if I had never gotten hurt, I would have never become a nurse," she explained. "And then I wouldn’t be able to help people like you make sure they never have to stop playing. Even after they get hurt.”
Paige felt her heart melt. Felt herself fall even harder.
“Woah,” said the boy. He looked to be in as much awe of Azzi as Paige felt. “I’m really, really glad you became a nurse so you could fix me.”
Azzi gave him the sweetest smile Paige had ever seen. “Me too.”
“Me too,” Paige spoke up, effectively ruining the moment.
Azzi’s head snapped towards the blonde, leveling her with a glare. But the faintest hint of vulnerability still sat beneath her eyes.
“Your discharge papers are in your hand, Bueckers. Most people interpret that as ‘you can leave’.”
Paige faked offense. “Wow. You rush all your patients out like this, or am I just special?”
“It’s definitely not the latter,” Azzi muttered.
But her voice lacked its normal bite.
Before Paige could respond with something that would surely further aggravate the nurse, Tre’s father walked back in, having finished up his phone call. He turned towards Paige.
“Thank you for staying with him. His mothers out of town and panicked when she got my messages saying we were here,” he explained.
“Nah it was no problem,” Paige replied. “We had a great time, right buddy?”
“Right!” the boy exclaimed.
Paige gave the kid a fist bump. “You’re gonna be back on the court in no time. Nurse Azzi’s the best,” she told him. “And when you’re starting at guard next season, tell all your friends Paige Bueckers predicted it.”
His eyes sparkled with joy. “For real?”
As Paige headed out the door, the kid whispered loudly to Azzi, “She’s really nice!”
“Mm,” Azzi murmured, checking his chart. “She tries.”
Paige grinned over her shoulder.
Azzi didn’t look up, but the tips of her ears were tinged with the faintest dusting of pink.
A week later, the start of the season was getting closer, and practices were getting more physical. On a drive to the rim during a rather intense scrimmage, Paige came down hard. She tried to brace herself, which resulted in her left hand taking the majority of her weight. She felt pain shoot up her wrist. Honestly, this one was real. Sort of.
Azzi found her sitting on the bed, clutching her left wrist against her stomach with her right hand. Dramatic as ever.
Azzi sighed. “You’re becoming my most time-consuming patient.”
Paige’s responding grin was goofy and lopsided. “Would it help if I brought snacks next time?”
Azzi finally – finally – laughed. Just a little one. Barely audible. But it was real, and Paige was responsible for it. Pride swelled in her chest, smirk transforming into a pleased grin so large it was nearly painful.
“Don’t encourage her,” a doctor passing by the room muttered to Azzi.
The nurse pretended not to hear him.
Azzi stepped closer, gently taking Paige’s injured wrist in both her hands, pushing back the athlete's sleeve to reveal a deep purple bruise blooming across her pale skin. Her touch was impossibly careful against her, but the closeness – god, the closeness – made Paige’s mind go blank.
The touch should have been clinical. Professional. Detached.
But it didn’t feel like it was.
Paige felt every point of contact like it was happening directly under her skin. It was as if Azzi’s touch bypassed all systems and made direct contact with her open nerve endings.
“Hurt anywhere else?” Azzi murmured, inspecting her with clinical focus that still somehow felt intimate.
Paige swallowed. “Just my pride. You should kiss it better.”
Azzi didn’t even look up. “Your pride?”
“My wrist,” Paige amended quickly, face going hot. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Azzi repeated, but there was a tiny smirk this time, tugging at the corner of her mouth like she was fighting it.
Azzi pressed lightly along the joint to check for swelling, and Paige responded with a sharp intake of breath. Partly in pain, mostly in shock of how close Azzi’s face was when she leaned in to see better.
Paige watched her, physically unable to stop staring. The way Azzi’s long lashes dipped when she concentrated. The little line that formed between her eyebrows. The way her front teeth dug into her bottom as she bit it gently in concentration. The delicate brush of her thumb over Paige’s pulse point; slow, rhythmic, distracting.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast," Azzi murmured, almost under her breath.
“You’re touching me,” Paige said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
The nurse froze. Just for a second.
Then, “...this is literally my job,” she replied.
“Yeah. But you’re good at it,” Paige said. Voice coming out lower than she intended. “Like…distractingly good.”
Azzi shook her head, a puff of air that could almost be considered a laugh escaping her. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“I do,” Paige said. “I just don’t want to.”
Azzi inhaled slowly. Her eyes flicked from Paige’s wrist to her face, lingering for a few seconds too long.
“Paige…” She exhaled slowly. Like she had been holding her breath. They were so close the blonde could feel the puff of breath against her face, and it made her dizzy. “I can’t date patients.”
Paige nodded slowly. Head tilting to the side as she studied the nurse in front of her. She had kind of expected that, but didn’t quit.
“So…what if I stopped being a patient?” she asked softly. Eyes flicking around Azzi’s face, like she was trying to commit every feature to memory. Like they couldn’t decide where to land.
Azzi’s gaze lifted to hers again. This time, she didn’t look away. She searched Paige’s blue eyes intensely, as if she were trying to see just how serious Paige was. A moment of silence stretched between them before Azzi responded.
“That means you’d have to stop getting hurt,” she said softly, voice laced with doubt.
Paige grinned, small, lopsided, and filled with trouble. “For you? No problem,” she said.
Azzi arched a perfect brow, skepticism written all over her face. “We both know that’s a lie.”
“Okay, it…might…be,” Paige acquiesced. “But it’s a charming lie, right?”
This time, Azzi did laugh. A small one, barely audible, but undeniable and uncontained. The fingers still wrapped around Paige’s wrist loosened slowly. Reluctantly.
“You make my job difficult,” the nurse said.
Paige smirked. “I’d like to make your entire life difficult–”
“Paige.” Azzi cut her off.
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m behaving.” A beat passed. “Mostly.”
Azzi shook her head, stepping back to grab an elastic bandage. “It’s a mild sprain. Keep it wrapped for a couple of days. Ice it. You’ll survive.”
The nurse stepped back into Paige’s space and began wrapping her wrist carefully, with gentle hands.
But Paige could see the faint blush dusting the tops of her cheekbones, giving her all the confirmation she needed that she wasn’t just imagining all of this.
Azzi was trying to stay professional. Trying. And losing.
When the nurse finished wrapping Paige’s wrist, reminding her once again to keep it rested, iced, and compressed. With a terse “bye,” she made to leave, Paige’s blue eyes filled with a discernible yearning as she watched her go.
Azzi had just about reached the exit of the room when her steps slowed, pausing in the doorway. She turned towards Paige, who hadn’t taken her eyes off of her.
“If you want my number you have to go two weeks without an ER visit.”
Paige’s eyes lit up, a massive smile overtaking her face.
Then her jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed.
“Two weeks? Two weeks? That’s like…fourteen days, Azzi!” Paige complained.
Azzi rolled her eyes. “Do you want my number?”
“Yes,” she responded far too quickly. “But if I have to go fourteen whole days, I want your number…and I want to take you to dinner,” she negotiated.
Azzi’s eyes narrowed at the blonde as she considered the proposition. “Coffee,” she countered.
“Ew, really? Coffee? That’s nasty,” Paige said dramatically.
Azzi crossed her arms. “Do you want the date or not, Paige?”
The blonde squared her shoulders like she was about to take on the single greatest challenge of her life. “I will be so healthy, it’ll be disgusting.”
Azzi’s smile was soft. Slow and shy. But real. And entirely for Paige.
“Hell yeah you will,” Paige replied with far too much confidence. “I don’t lose, Azzi.”
“Goodnight, Paige,” Azzi said with a roll of her eyes. Paige could feel more than hear the fondness she was attempting to cover up.
Paige walked out of the ER that night standing tall, footsteps steady with determination.
a/n: please let me know what you think and if you'd want to see a part two. apparently i only write when i am procrastinating studying for job interviews/entry exams. i started Never Enough that way, got the job (ems hours are horrible and i've been to exhausted to find time to write), but i haven't forgotten about it an plan to finish it at some point. i just don't know exactly when. currently up for a single role paramedic position at a fire department, so i stress wrote this one instead of studying! i love hearing your thoughts though, definitely a motivator so please comment and lmk what you think!
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