close to you | john carter
Summary: Your medical exams are in two months. You're a little bit in love with John Carter, who's an available tutor. Maybe you can kill two birds with one study session.
Pairing: John Carter x gn!med student!reader
Word count: 3.9k
Warnings/tags: vaguely end of s3 so potential spoilers. carter is an intern. reader's a smart cookie and a bit of a weirdgirl (gender neutral). mostly cutesy fluff, smidge of angst but not really. <3
"Sorry, sorry!"
Carter whirls into your college library's study room like a hurricane, hair windblown, satchel slung haphazardly over his arm. His cheeks are flushed with cold—he looks like he ran from the El to campus.
"Hi, Carter," you say, watching him sit heavily in the chair next to you.
"Hi," he says, yanking his scarf off. "Sorry I'm late. Surgery ran over, then I had to change."
"It's okay." You run your thumb over a hangnail. You see Carter enough, what with your EM rotation at County General. But it sends a quiet thrill through you in these moments when you have him to yourself.
You're coworkers, barely friends—not because Carter doesn't like you, but out of circumstance. He's busy with his first year of residency, and he's insistent about getting as many opportunities to operate as he can. You admire him, actually. You wish you could be as confident in securing your work experience.
It was Kerry Weaver who'd accidentally given you the bright idea to match with Carter for tutoring help on your USMREs. They've been on your mind, obviously, since you're an MS4 and you don't want to have to repeat anything after July. Not only must you pass—you have to do well.
You've fretted for months this year, wishing you had an edge on the other students whose parents seemed to give countless resources to pass exams and classes. And then Kerry mentioned a tutor program set up between your college and several hospitals in the area. A nationwide program, actually: the idea was that med students would be matched with interns who could help them with their exams and, potentially, transition into a residency.
Kerry had gone on about it, being the liaison for the program at County General, and you'd zoned out until you heard Carter listed as one of the tutors. An idea had struck you then.
That was a month ago. You've since had four tutoring sessions with one John Carter. Once a week, you get him to yourself for one, sometimes two hours. You try to make the most of it, especially since your exams are less than a month away.
You don’t even know if you'll be accepted to do your residency at County General. If you'll see Carter again.
Carter rubs his hands, trying to bring warmth into them. "Okay, so, what are we working on today?"
You push your printout of test questions towards him. "I thought we could work on pharmacology this week. I've been going over the questions, but I'd like extra help."
Carter nods, hunching over to read the questions. "Sure, of course. Start on the first one?"
"Uh-huh." You haven't checked the answer key because then there's no point. "I think it's A."
As he reads the problem, you stare at his side profile. He got a haircut recently, so his wispy bangs aren't in his eyes anymore. His suspenders are brown with little tan hearts. No one would notice the hearts unless they were close to him. His big hand rests on his mouth as he reads, and his silver pinky ring gleams in the fluorescent library light.
You follow the line of his chest, his flat stomach. Carter’s thin but wiry. A few weeks ago, he was spattered with blood in the ER during an emergency surgery, and he had to change scrubs. You'd managed to turn the corner right as he pushed his suspender straps off and pulled his scrub top over his head, revealing a defined back and lean hips.
You had ducked into a patient's room before he could turn around and spot you leering at him like a creep. It's been seared into your brain ever since.
Carter hums. "Nope. Pretty sure it's B."
There's no way it's B, you want to say, but you hold your tongue because Carter’s technically the expert, having already taken and passed his exams.
"Oh, really? How so? I thought it was A since the patient has an absence of enteropeptidase activity in the proximal intestinal villi. Wouldn't that imply an inactivation of trypsin?"
Carter nods slowly and sits up. "You're right. Damn." He smiles at you. "Which one of us is the tutor?"
"You keep my brain sharp," you say quickly.
He laughs. "As long as it’s helpful. They aren't paying me for nothing."
"It is helpful." Your arm is almost touching his. If you just scooted an inch to your right...
It goes on like that for an hour. You get almost every problem right, except one, which you and Carter work out. You're pleased to find a problem you genuinely don't understand that Carter can explain. He obviously likes being able to actually tutor you.
At the end of the hour, he checks his watch and stretches. You watch the length of him, the way his long arms and legs pull into a line, his body arching off the chair before relaxing again. Your heart beats a little faster.
"Mm. Okay. Are you on tonight?" Carter rubs his neck like it's sore.
"No," you say. "I'm on in the afternoon. I have a morning class. Are you on?"
"Yeah, in the morning." He groans, resting his hands over his eyes. "Aw man, I have no food at home."
"Oh, well, there's lots of places to eat around here." You count off on your fingers. "There's wings, pizza, shawarma, tacos..."
Carter drops his hands. "That wings place down the street is still open?"
You nod. "Yeah, some of my friends go there a lot."
They're not really your friends—just classmates. You don't go to many places besides the campus library, your dorm, and the hospital. But Carter doesn't need to know that. He's friendly with everyone and well-liked at the hospital. He can strike up a conversation with anyone, talks to patients like they're friends. You're admiring and a little jealous.
He stands, pushing his chair out as he goes. You do the same, frozen between the table and the chair. Carter starts to put on his coat.
"I think I'll go there. That place was a godsend when I was in med school."
"Okay," you say, pleased that he took your suggestion. "So... we're done for tonight?"
"Yeah," he says, wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Is that okay?"
You swallow your disappointment. "Yeah! Of course. Well, um, enjoy your wings. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?"
Carter pauses. "You're not coming with?"
"Huh?"
He juts a thumb behind him. "For wings. Unless you aren't hungry..."
"Oh. Oh! No, yeah, I'd love to. I didn't know I was invited." You wince at how earnestly pathetic that sounds, but Carter doesn't seem to notice.
He smiles one of those smiles where he purses his lips and looks incredibly boyish. Sometimes it makes you jittery, thinking about how a really cute boy is helping you with your homework. Tenth grade you would've passed out.
"Well, who else am I gonna eat wings with? Benton?"
You grin. "I can't even picture it."
"Me neither. He's a vegetarian anyway."
"Is there a such thing as tofu wings?"
Carter steps away and waits as you put on your coat. "Probably. He knows all the vegetarian alternatives. I tried some of his tofurky jerky. Wasn't bad, honestly."
You squeeze through the chairs, and your foot gets caught behind the leg. You stumble. Carter catches your elbow so you don't faceplant into the carpet.
"Whoa, careful. You okay?" His fingers are warm.
"Fine! Thanks." You're breathless.
"No problem. As a professional klutz, I'm good at breaking a fall."
Carter matches your stride as you walk out of the library and off campus. It's colder now that the sun has gone down. But the wings place isn't far, and you make it there in no time. Carter opens the door for you. You thank him quietly and go in, peering at the menu. You've only been here once.
"Order whatever you want."
Carter’s voice in your ear makes you jump. He laughs, resting a hand on your back for a second. Then it falls away.
"Sorry," he says.
"'S okay." His eyes are so big and brown. You look back at the menu; you can’t look at Carter for too long. "You don't have to pay for me, though. I can—"
"C'mon, what kind of tutor would I be if I didn't treat you to wings at least once? That's why they pay me the big bucks."
You suddenly feel as shy as you did when you first met Carter. Awful.
"Okay." You can smell his detergent and shampoo when he's this close. Something floral. And there's another scent, like spiced oranges. The remnants of his cologne. It's hard to protest when Carter’s warm and smells nice and is in your space.
He nods like that settles everything. "Good. You wanna order first?"
So you do. You get parmesan wings, conscious not to order much else. But Carter darts next to you, like he knows what you're doing.
"We'll have two Cokes as well," he says, pointing to the fridge with the nice glass bottles of soda. "And a side of mozzarella sticks."
"Carter—"
"Tch, c'mon. I know you're living off of hopes and dreams and the vending machine. A Coke and a cheese pull won't kill me or you."
He orders his wings, pays, and that's that. Carter grabs the Cokes. You sit at a booth while you wait. It's a little drafty, so you keep your coats on.
"I'm gonna wash my hands," you say.
Carter gives you a thumbs up. "I'll man the table."
You go and return. The food is there when you get back. Carter goes to wash his hands and you wait to eat, hands clasped together. He returns quickly.
"Should probably open the bottles before we eat the messiest food ever," he says, reaching for his Coke.
You do the same, but where Carter easily pops the bottlecap, you can't. It's such a silly thing, but you're embarrassed; you've always had trouble with what everyone else deems simple motor skills. Sometimes it makes you clumsy, sometimes it prevents you from opening a bottle or unlocking a door.
You huff, frustrated, but before you can say anything, Carter gently takes the bottle and opens it, then hands it back.
"Thanks," you say, ears hot.
"Don't mention it."
You eat. Carter got barbecue wings, and the sauce smears all over his mouth. You cover your laugh with your hand but he sees it anyway.
"Something on my face?" He reaches for the napkin dispenser.
"Just a bit," you say, giggling.
He wipes his mouth. "I get it all?"
"There's some on your chin."
He tries again and misses it. "Now?"
You reach for the dispenser. "Can I...?"
Carter hums, and you take a fresh napkin and lean over the table, wiping his chin clean. He smiles at you. You smile back.
"All good, Carter." You sit back.
"Thanks. You know you can call me John, right?"
"Oh." You pick some breading off the tip of your mozzarella stick. "Right. I sort of forgot your first name isn't Carter. Everyone calls you that."
"Yeah, I actually tried to get people to call me John my first year here. Didn't stick. I don't mind it, but, uh..." He looks at you through his lashes. "I'd really like it if you called me John. Even if it's just outside the hospital."
"Because we're friends?" you blurt before you can think about it.
Carter's answering look is gentle with surprise. "Yeah, of course we are."
And even though you'd rather be much more than that, it's enough. You like having Carter as a friend.
"You can call me by my first name too," you say.
He nods. "Cool." He says your name like he's seeing how it feels on his tongue. It's perfect.
"So how are you feeling about the exam? It's in three weeks, right?"
You dredge a celery stick in ranch. "Yeah, the twenty-third. Nervous, honestly. I'm okay taking tests, but I worry about everything."
"You're handling it way better than I am. I must've gone through fifty emesis basins in the weeks leading up to my exam. Benton sent me home the day before 'cause I was so sick and he was irritated I couldn't stay out of the bathroom long enough to see patients." He snorts at the memory.
"Really? You?"
"Mmhm. Surprised?"
"Yes," you say honestly. "You seem so confident, so sure of what you do. I kind of... envy you, John."
Carter leans on his elbows, his shirt bunching around his shoulders. He's close; if you leaned in to meet him, you'd bump noses. Or lips. He tucks his hands under his arms. He looks sweet. He looks like a boy who'd open all of your Coke bottles forever.
"I honestly don't. I mean, I know how to do medical stuff and prep for surgery and all that. But... I've actually been considering switching my specialty to emergency medicine."
Your eyes widen. "You can do that?"
He laughs. "I have no clue. It's probably not recommended. I've been thinking about it for a while though. I want to spend more time with patients. I'm good at that, y'know?"
You do know. Carter's the only surgery intern who actually spends time with his patients. Most of the surgeons don't do that either. It makes sense he'd want to focus on that.
"You are," you say. "I hope you can switch. You'd be a great ER doctor. I mean, you are a great one."
He smiles wryly. "I don't know if I can. But if I do switch, we'd be working together more often."
"We would," you say, like you haven't already thought about it and internally jumped for joy. "I mean, if I get placed there for my residency."
Carter leans back, wearing an expression like what you're saying is ridiculous. "Of course you will. You're a great addition. Kerry would be crazy not to take you."
You finish your food in somewhat comfortable silence. Carter makes conversation here and there, about your classes, why you chose Chicago for school, and so on. It feels good to be with him like this. You hope it stays this way.
You almost called out today.
It's been a full week after your exam. Today, the results come out. You're understanding Carter and his emesis basins more and more.
"Hey, Kerry needs to speak to you immediately, in the lounge," says Chuny.
Your heart pounds. Are you in trouble? You can't think of anything except—oh no. Your exam results. Shit, what if you did so poorly, Kerry has to kick you out personally? You're a disgrace. You'll never work in medicine again. You—
"Surprise!"
As you push the lounge door open, streamers are thrown inches from your nose. Nearly all the ER staff are in the lounge, blowing noisemakers and cheering. Above is a banner that says You're A Doctor!
"It's official," Kerry says, handing you a cup of apple cider, which is about as fancy as the ER gets without alcohol. "You're a resident, and with flying colors. Congratulations."
"Wait, but I didn't open my envelope yet, how did you—"
"I get updated since I'm overseeing your rotation. I didn't tell anyone your score, but they know you passed. Otherwise this party would've been extremely awkward."
You nod. "Thank you, Dr. Weaver."
"You did it all on your own. I never had a shadow of a doubt that you'd do less than well. Keep it up."
Carol gives you a hug. Mark and Doug offer their congratulations. Lydia puts a plastic crown on your head. You're afforded a quick mini cupcake before everyone has to get back to work. It's brief but it's lovely. You never knew people actually paid attention or cared that you were down here. You barely interact with anyone besides Kerry and Carter.
Speaking of...
"Dr. Greene, do you know where Carter is?" you ask as you file out of the lounge.
He glances at Doug, who winks at you. You have no idea what that means.
"Yeah, I'm sure you're looking for him," Mark says, smiling a little. "Benton called him into surgery an hour ago. He said he'd find you later—he's really sorry he missed the surprise."
It's not the worst thing in the world. Surgery takes priority, obviously, and it's not like you won't see Carter later.
Two car accident victims are wheeled in then, and you forget about everything except tending to them in Trauma One and Two. Kerry keeps you close as you follow her lead. The victims pull through, and your good mood is bolstered.
In a quiet moment, you open your envelope, curious about what your actual score was. 96.42. It's an excellent score. You had no reason to worry, which is what people are always telling you, but you rarely listen. It's better to be overprepared than under.
You want to tell Carter, thank him for his tutoring, let him know that he helped you get here. But he's nowhere to be found. When he's paged to the ER, you miss him by seconds. The elevator door closes before you can get a word in. It goes on like that for the entire shift.
But you find him at the end of the day. Or, well, you happen to spot him in the lounge, helping himself to a leftover cupcake. You slip inside, unable to contain your excitement at seeing him.
"Hi," you say, smile splitting your face. "I haven't seen you all day."
Carter’s smile is tired, a little short. "Yeah, sorry. Surgery was busy as hell."
"It's okay. I'm glad to see you now." You gesture at the leftovers of the surprise, a little embarrassed. "They congratulated me."
"Yeah, I heard." He sighs, putting his hands on his hips. "Why'd you lie to me?"
You blink, immediately confused. "Lie? About what?"
Carter frowns. He pulls a folded paper from his back pocket and smoothes it out for you to see. It's your picture from last year; your school paper had written an article about you and the two other students who'd gotten a study published in a med journal, which was unheard of for students. Their words, not yours.
"And I asked Kerry about it," Carter continues. "And she told me that you've been ranked in the top twenty students all four years. Your grades have never been less than perfect, which is what she said when I approached her about you doing your residency here, thinking you might need a recommendation." He looks at you flatly. "You clearly don't. And you didn't need a tutor either. Certainly not a dummy like me."
"I did," you say quickly, heartbeat ratcheting. "Cart—John, I did need a tutor. Everyone needs one. You helped me do well."
He leans against his locker. "Yeah, sure. God, and I should've known from the start! You corrected me on nearly every question."
"I don't understand why you're upset," you say helplessly. "I liked you being my tutor. It wasn't bad."
Carter shakes his head. "I'm upset because... I don't know, it's stupid, but it feels like you were faking for two months. Why go to the lengths to let me believe I was actually helping you as a tutor?"
"You did help!"
Carter’s face shutters. He doesn't believe you, and why would he? Tutoring wasn't really your main reason for requesting him specifically. He thinks you chose him to feel better about yourself.
"I gotta go," he says, pulling his bag strap over his shoulder. "I'm really happy for you, and I'm glad you did well. I hope you can do your residency here."
You dart in front of him before he can leave. He could probably take giant steps around you and escape, but he doesn't. You hold up your hands.
"Okay, wait! I did like you tutoring me. I did. But, um, it wasn't the reason I specifically requested you..." You take a deep breath. "I requested you because I really like you, and we haven't been able to get to know each other, and I thought maybe you'd like getting to know me more if it was in a situation where you were getting paid and we had something to focus on, like school. And I liked getting food, and joking around, and just... being with you."
You step aside, still feeling defeated. "Now you can leave if you want. I didn't sign up with you to confirm I was a good student. And I wouldn't have done it at all if you weren't getting paid. I didn't want to waste your time."
Carter's eyebrows have climbed up his forehead. He sets down his bag.
"That's really..."
"Sad?" you finish for him, staring at the peeling, green paint of the lounge. "It's weird and sad."
You've heard it plenty of times before, people finding you strange for thinking so much, for not going about things 'normally.' You don't know how. You would if you could. You'd love nothing more.
"Sweet." Carter laughs, but it's not mean. "Wow. No one's ever gone to such great lengths to know me."
You nod, feeling queasy. "I know, it's bad. I thought I could hide it and then we'd just become friends—"
"It's really clever. It's what I'd expect from a smartypants like you. I'm flattered, honestly." He shrugs, his smile never dimming. "Most people just ask me out for a beer, y'know?"
"I didn't know if you wanted to hang out," you say.
Carter steps forward. "Yeah, well, I actually wanted to do more than hang out."
"Like what?"
"Uh..." He grins like he's trying (and failing) to be shy. "Ha. Well, I wanted to kiss you that night we went out. I thought it was obvious."
"It was a date?" You're doubly mortified at the idea that you've completely missed that signal.
"No, it—well, it could be, if you wanted, but no, I never explicitly called it a date. It was two friends hanging out. And, uh, one friend wanted to kiss the other friend."
"Okay." You rock on your heels, thinking. "Right. So do you... still want to kiss me?"
"If you want me to," he says quietly.
"Oh, yes," you say with so much assurance, it makes Carter chuckle. "Please do."
He sighs, grimacing slightly. "You're technically a med student for..." He checks his watch. "Three more hours. Can you wait?"
"I can wait," you say, delighted by it all, even if three hours feels like a century.
"Okay." Carter nods, snapping his fingers and backing towards the door. "Alright. Then I'll, um, see you tomorrow? Kiss you first thing in the morning?"
"I'll be waiting."
"Great! That's..." He bumps into the garbage can and curses, wincing. It nearly tips over and Carter quickly grabs and rights it. "...I'm fine. Fine." He looks at you, awkwardly saluting. "Okay. Good night. Bye."
You watch, utterly charmed. "Good night, John."
The lounge door shuts behind him. You stare at it for a solid ten seconds, processing what just happened. Wow. You are really good at getting tutored.
Then you spot Carter's bag on the table. You grab it and reach for the handle. The door swings open.
You blink. "Hi. You forgot your bag."
Carter's a little out of breath. "I can't wait."
"What?"
He takes his bag and drops it on the floor, stepping in so the door shuts behind him. There's two splotches of pink on his cheeks. "To kiss you. I can't wait until tomorrow. Is that okay?"
He reaches for you as you whisper, "That's wonderful."
