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Summary: Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi keeps her marriage to trauma chief Yolanda Garcia a secret at the Pitt, wanting to be respected for her own skill rather than her wifeās reputation. Sheās already fighting an uphill battle for the ED staffās trust when her estranged family unexpectedly walks into her EDā¦
Baran Al-Hashimi/Yolanda Garcia
Chapter one
The house was quiet by the time Baran got home, which was its own way, a small mercy. Khashar was asleep, the dishwasher whirred through its last cycle, and the porch light was left on for her the way it always was on the nights that their schedules didnāt line up.
Baran crept into the living room to find Yolanda on the couch with a glass of wine and a true crime documentary quietly buzzing in the background. Her feet were tucked under her, hair already in her black bonnet, and the couch throw blanket was wrapped around her impossibly tight.
āHey, honey.ā Yolanda held her arm out without getting up as an invitation, and Baran took it. After carefully toeing off her shoes, she folded herself into the couch and her wifeās lap in the same motion. Some of the tension in her shoulders started to unwind the second she felt Yolandaās hand find the back of her neck and start rubbing small circles. āLong one?ā
āTheyāre all long ones lately,ā Baran mumbled with her eyes closed, āI diagnosed a PE that a resident had written off as anxiety. I was right. Iām always right, Lanni, and it doesnāt seem to matter.ā She brought her hands under her chin and curled closer in on herself.
āIt matters,ā Yolandaās thumb worked slow and steady circles against her scalp, the exact pressure Yolanda had spent a decade learning. āIt matters to the guy whoās alive because of you.ā
āIt doesnāt matter to Robby. He still looked at my note like a resident wrote it. He put those stupid fucking glasses on and read it line for line before even looking at the CT angio.ā Baran pulled back enough to look at her wife, and something in her voice cracked open a little, the version of tired that had nothing to do with hours worked.āI try so hard, Lanni. Iām early, I stay late, I double-check everything twice before I say it out loud because I know theyāre waiting for me to be wrong. And it still isnāt enough. They still look at me like I havenāt earned the position. Like Iām someā¦some intruder. Two attendings on day shift has made such a difference and no one seems to care.ā Baranās head tilted back down to face the coffee table in front of the couch. With her mind still racing, she couldnāt help but drift into other thoughts. She looked at the edges of the dark wooden table and scolded herself for forgetting once again, to put the baby proofing bumpers on the sharp corners. Baran was pulled out of her torment by the sound of her wifeās voice.
āYouāve earned it.ā Yolanda said it simply, no performance in it. The flatness of her tone suggested she considered it too obvious to argue. āYou worked in an actual fucking war zone, hon. Youāve seen things in the back of a truck outside Kabul that that boy hasnāt seen in his worst nightmare. And then you come home every night after working your ass off for 12 hours and feed our son,ā Yolanda paused the circles on her wifeās neck and moved her hands to make Baran look back up at her āand you make me laugh so hard I cry, and somehow, youāre the one who has to prove herself?ā Yolanda shook her head. āItās not you. I need you to hear that. It was never you.ā
Baran let her head drop back against Yolandaās shoulder.
āI think I know that, up here,ā Baran says with a tap to her temple. āI just donāt know it anywhere else yet.ā
āThen Iāll keep telling you until the rest of you catches up.ā Yolanda pressed a kiss to the top of her head, unhurried, the kind of gesture that had survived a decade of two brutal medical careers stacked on top of each other and came out the other side stronger and steadier.
āYou wanna know the secret? You donāt actually need Robinavitch to like you. You need him to be wrong about you loudly enough, often enough, that eventually everyone realizes who they should be looking up to. And heāll get tired of being loud and wrong eventually.ā That, finally, pulled something like a real laugh out of her ā small, but real.
āYou make it sound so simple.ā
āItās not simple. Itās just true.ā Yolanda tipped her wifeās chin up with two fingers, studying her face with an attention that had never once, in ten years, gone soft with routine.āYouāre the best doctor in that building and everybodyās going to know it eventually, whether they like it or not. In the meantime, you get to come home to me. And I already know.ā They stayed like that for a long while, the true crime documentary flickering, the dishwasher still humming through its final rinse, and for the length of one ordinary quiet evening, Baran let herself simply be a woman who was loved unconditionally. No longer was she the doctor who had to earn everything twice. āLetās get you showered and in bed, hm?ā
āAre you saying I smell bad?ā Baran asked as she slowly started making her way to a vertical state again.
āIām saying you smell like hand sanitizer and bleach wipes,ā her wife retorts with a smirk.
āāāā
Khashar woke at five, the way he always does, fussing softly through the monitor until Baran padded down the hall and lifted him from his crib before he could work himself up to a full cry. She settled into the plush rocking chair by the window and he rooted immediately. His hands small and insistent. Baran guided him to nurse with the easy, practiced motion of eight months of mornings just like this one, watching the gray Pittsburgh light come up slowly outside the frosted window.
āYouāre going to be difficult today, arenāt you,ā she murmured to him in Farsi, after his gummy mouth bit down a bit too hard more than once. She watches one small fist unclench and press flat against her chest. She met his big brown eyes and couldnāt help but smile. āI can tell. You have your mamaās spirit already. Always biting too hard.ā
āI heard that,ā Yolanda said from the doorway, a mug of coffee in one hand and tea in another. She leaned against the frame to watch them with an expression she reserved almost exclusively for this exact moment ā her wife and her son in the early morning, unguarded, and entirely hers. She set the mug of tea on the side table within Baranās reach and crouched to press a kiss to Khasharās soft head, then, lingering half a second longer, to Baranās temple.
āHe gets it from both of us, honestly. Poor kid never had a chanceā
āHe is going to run this house by the time heās four.ā Yolanda said with a grunt, as she rose from a crouching position.
āHe already does.ā
Yolanda glanced at the clock. āMy mom will be pulling in at six. You wanna shower first or should I?ā
āYou go. Iāll finish with him.ā Baran shifted Khashar to her other side, and Yolanda paused in the doorway a moment longer, just looking, before she made herself turn and go get ready, because most mornings, not all of them (but a considerable amount), the hardest part of the day was simply leaving this room.
Yolandaās mother arrived precisely at six AM, as she always did. She let herself in with her own key and immediately commandeered Khashar with the ease of a woman who has raised five children of her own āGo, go,ā she said, waving both her daughter and daughter-in-law towards the door before Yolanda finished her coffee or Baran finished fussing over her hair. āHeāll be fine. Weāre going to do some painting today. Go save some lives.ā
They drove together as far as the corner of Fifth and Grand, the same corner they always used for their early morning goodbyes. Baran decided to keep their marriage and work separate, just until Baran gained her footing and respect with the staff of the Pitt. Admittedly it was taking longer than expected, but a part of her enjoyed having a secret. Baran gathered her bag and her ID badge while Yolanda idled at the curb.āYou good?ā Yolanda asked, one hand resting on Baranās knee.
āIām good.ā Baran leaned across the console and kissed her quickly before opening the door. āIāll see you up there. Try not to make anyone cry before nine a.m. hm? It throws off my whole day dealing with moping residents.ā
āNo promises.ā Yolandaās grin was quick and wicked, gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by formidable composure she pulled on like armor the moment she stepped into that building. āGo be brilliant, Dr. Al-Hashimi.ā
Baran walked the last block alone, the way she did every morning. She walked slowly and unhurried ā fully aware that this was the calm before the storm. Her badge clipped to the lapel of a light green jacket that stood out against her black scrubs and the grayer sky above her. By the time she pushed through the ambulance bay doors at 6:45, she was no longer anyoneās wife or mother. She was simply the attending physician and new co-chief of the ED. Whether her coworkers liked it or not.
š¢/šÆ: šŖšµāš“ š§šŖšÆš¢šššŗ š©š¦š³š¦! šš¢š±š±šŗ š³š¦š¢š„šŖšÆšØ :)
@yee-haw-saphicshipper thanks for beta reading šš
