“⠀EVEN THICK-SKULLED SHARKS are weak to the nicu babies’ charm. the nurse? ..let’s discuss that on non-ptmc grounds.⠀”
STARRING. brendon park x gn! nicu nurse! reader (ft. trinity santos and dennis whittaker)
CONTENTS. park being an observant and patient man while reader is initially avoidant, nicu baby being a cutie patootie, many references to gemini szn.. oopsy? also, park and reader use baby-friendly terms even though said baby is probably not even listening (also also, trinity being marites and calls reader gorgeous as a nickname)
LOVE LETTER. i saw a post that park’s fave department would be peds (nicu, to be specific) and that sent me down this spiral that is this fic..
“hey, little one. still can't sleep?”
many night shifts ago, you had been concerned to hear that voice. it didn't belong to any of your peds colleagues. the tone had been soft but cautious, like someone stil learning to adjust themself so the babies wouldn't be afraid of them.
and visitor hours had ended an hour ago, reluctant goodbyes already passed between guardian and newborn. so regardless of your compassion, there shouldn't have been any loitering non-workers.
now, as you clock into the room for your shift, you linger by the door and watch. the uptick of your lips betray your endearment, inflicted by the sight of dr. brendon park sitting next to one of the incubators to host a chat with the darling who's still awake past her bedtime.
he didn't care if it was one sided; his commentary smoothly looped between the monitors' beats.
“..just might treat myself with steak and grape juice for dinner. what do you think?”
you sidle up to park and throw in your two cents. “sounds well deserved after the day you've reported to our little sweetheart.”
park doesn't startle. throughout his nightly visits to the nicu, you've become the most familiar face. consequently, he's collected these tidbits that, when glued together, form his picture of you. the ortho surgeon would even privately swear he'd be more concerned if you don't clock in around this time.
his smile—small, its edges worn from a schedule of surgeries that had waned more than just his energy, yet still present—pops up. he shifts his focus, reminds you, “my offer is still on the table. i cook a delectable medium rare with a side of roast potatoes.”
and you laugh, shake your head. “don't worry, i haven't forgotten. it's just been really hectic in here. all hands on deck, you know?”
yeah, he does. park knows from the exhaustion etched in the fine lines of your face, the corner your id badge poking out of your scrub pocket, the singular hair tie left on your wrist. (you usually wore at least seven of them in case a colleague needed an extra.)
park doesn't point those out. maybe some other time, when he successfully aligns a shift with yours and convinces you to let him drive you home, he'll wonder aloud where your love for working the night shift stems from.
for now, he stands to grab another the rolling stool and sits, leaving you no choice but to occupy the comfier seat. silence perches itself between the two of you; accompanied by the kind of wonder that comes from watching over the newborn cooing and shifting around her small bed.
“june's rarely been one to catch some sleep early.” you comment, fondness mellowing out your tone.
and park nips, “hm, it sounds like her favorite nurse has an influence on her.”
when you nudge him (tap for him, considering his physique), he rolls his seat back by a couple centimeters. theatrics aren't typically in park's functions, but if it elicits the giggle that falls from your lips, he might as well put on a whole show for you.
“come back here, tumbleweed. can't have you rolling into anyone else's attention.”
so he does. but as park rolls back into place, his mind remains snagged on what you said. not the nickname—you've called him plenty ‘worse’ without facing his brutal snark—but the implication. the essence of jealousy that might have been poured in the waters.
for someone who preferred a clean cut, park doesn't have a clear view of where you stand. he knows he's left the platonic state; he's come to terms with that.
meanwhile, you, in spite of your comebacks and the fleeting physical brushes, haven't said it. haven't written the words on the lines; more often than not, between them.
and park, persistent yet patient, doesn't try to lure the confession out of you. instead, he adjusts and waits; quite the feat for someone his size (emotionally, of course).
the minute it's clear mr. dozy has come to visit june, brendon knows his visiting hour is up. his storytelling, featuring your thoughts occasionally spoken aloud, had done its trick again. seems like he has to snag more tea tales from the nurses during his next shift.
he sets his hand atop of yours and quietly announces, “i'm gonna go. if i'm going to treat myself, i need to do a stopover for the grape juice.”
you nod, acknowledge his goodbye with a invisible touch of wishful thinking. park rises to his feet and presses his palm against the cover of the incubator, those ocean eyes taking in the newborn's steady heaves of her chest as she gradually lowers into sleep's cradle.
right as he sets one foot out the door, you call out to him. he turns, half worried something happened to you or one of the patients during that minute. but when he looks at you, all he can see is your hands tucked behind your back, presumably fidgeting; a habit of yours when you got nervous over something. something like..
“this saturday evening. i'd like to see if your cooking's as good as your bone mending.”
for a moment there, park thinks he misheard you. although you aren't cruel, not intentionally at least, he still waits for you to reel the bait back in.
when you don't, the surgeon breathes out something between a laugh and a sigh. he gives your answer a moment to marinate before nodding, tacking on for confirmation, “i don't care where you want me to pick you up. text me the location, okay?”
true to his word, park picks you up in front of dennis and trinity's apartment. having been a bundle of nerves for this date (oh god, you're going on a date with the man who clearly hasn't only been visitng the nicu to check on the patients), you'd run to the two people who'd been your closest confidants throughout your ptmc arc.
trinity had done stellar work on prepping you, supporting your nervous self throughout the steps. dennis had done the same.. but more on morale, because it hadn't been until ten minutes before park arrived that everything had sunken in for him.
“so.. wait.. you're going on an actual, dining at his home date with park the shark?”
“no, he's going to give gorgeous a house tour.” trinity scoffed. “of course it's a real date, huckleberry. the guy's already living a med student's dream, makes sense he's looking for someone to spend those debt-free rewards on.”
park doesn't honk for your attention; partially for consideration for others, mostly because he knows you startle at abrupt loud noises. and with that in mind, he pings your phone with a heads up that he's waiting outside.
upon exiting the building, the first thing you notice is park's hands; the firm but still careful grasp he clasps around the bouquet of lavenders and sunflower set in the middle of the blooms. he steps forward to greet you with the bouquet, the corner of his lips ticked in an endearingly awkward smile.
“so you know, i hadn't envisioned the sunflower. but when the florist noticed i was only getting you lavenders, they added that to balance out the purple.”he tells you, deliberately withholding most of the actual anecdote. “now that's in your hands, i realize they were onto something here.”
flustered by his words, you bow your head and feign focus on admiring the bouquet. and the smile on park's face widens just a little more, just visible enough for anyone who was peeping from a distance (like a third floor window).
“well, sounds like this florist has scored another regular.” you cheekily quip as payback. “not to sound greedy, but i wouldn't mind receiving more of these in the future.”
now it's park's turn to iron out the high skips in his pulse. he chooses to cope by gesturing to his car, then asks, “ready to go?”
you nod, exert effort in following while he tries his best to shorten his strides so you won't have to chase so far. and of course he opens the door for you, holds your bouquet so you can safely get on the passenger seat, then carefully perches the flora upon your lap before shutting the door.
from the apartment, trinity snags a glimpse through the window of how park treats you. dennis had been too nervous to eavesdrop, already past the realization stage but not quite ready for protective era. unlike trinity, the ortho surgeon still plucked more fear than respect from the first-year resident.
“have they left yet?” dennis asks from the safety of the sofa.
trinity shuts the curtain for a second to answer, “not yet, they're still flirting on the sidewalk.” before returning to peeping.
only when park's car pulls away from the curb and drives down the main road does trinity back away from the window and plop onto the other side of the sofa. she immediately picks up her phone, probably to text you.
“so.. what do you think?” dennis carefully pokes for her thoughts.
trinity smirks, presumably sending you something that isn't safe to read in the presence of others.
(park raises a brow when you shield your phone from him, but doesn't pry. he'd rather drive you over to his house in a whole, safe piece than audibly wonder what had you toying with the ribbon tied around the bouquet's stems.)
satisfied to see the read receipt, trinity looks up from her phone and muses, “i mean, it's still unexpected. but i can tell park's gonna make sure they'll have a good time.”
later on, right before the roommates retreat to their bedrooms for the night, trinity belatedly adds, “oh yeah, i also reminded gorgeous not to have too much fun. ‘told them we're not ready to be supportive aunt and uncle yet.”
..yeah, baby steps is best for everyone.
especially dennis.
POST ITS. park had, in fact waited for saturday, to enjoy the steak and grape juice.
explicitly male reader, unfortunately not 😞 i’m an afab she/her who still wants anyone and everyone to enjoy my fics, hence why i try to make reader gender neutral
Park the Shark - Mean Shark & His Guppy... For your fake title thing.
This man literally had 5 seconds of screen time and I fell in love with him... This is the unhealthiest thing ever.
⌕ ⠀ as i look at the length of this “blurb” all i can say is… you and me both… (please send more fake titles through my inbox!)
of course the ptmc has its personal set of unwritten rules. there's the obvious ones: if you plan on getting hungover, search for your replacement two weeks in advance. if you hear your name pop up during princess and perlah's convos, don't turn to santos for translation assistance.
oh!
and if you need advice from one of the senior staff, robby's the last resort.
actually, most of those apply to the emergency department because.. Of course. disregarding that (for now), there is one rule that only the most ignorant, unfortunate souls would dare to break.
“are you stupid? it shouldn't take a diploma to figure out how this fucking ticket system works.”
uh huh.. as concerned as the scattered staff of the ortophedic unit were for you, their dear receptionist, no one dared to wade into those waters.
better to be on standby while this man (like hell he was going to be admitted as a patient after this) shed more blood (and spit (one of the nurses had their alcohol prepped to disinfect you later)) in this deluded pursuit of proving his queue number was skipped.
“i swear to god! if you can't do your job right, then—”
“then what?”
broad shouldered and gloves snapped, park emerges from an exam room. usually, he would have beelined for the hub to personally update the patient's chart. but park had heard the berating you were subjected to; a nuisance that had filled his mouth with liters of disgust.
the man falters in his bravado, shrunken by the mere presence of the chief orthopedic surgeon. he stutters, stumbles over his explanations, can't even get his words straight as he tries to back out of the trap he swam into.
“let me make this clear for you, einstein.” park articulates bluntly. “once our receptionist checks you in to the system and hands over your queuing stub, it's your responsibility to keep an eye on the screens hanging around this waiting room.”
then he leans down, hand gently set upon your shoulder, and murmurs, “angel, can you pull up the list of numbers previously called for me, please?”
“mhm, wait a moment.”
it's easier to type without the tremble in your fingers, easier to examine the screen now that you have park's meticulous gaze roving the list too. and there, among the previously summoned queue numbers, is the most important piece of evidence.
park doesn't laugh.
not just because he reserves that kind of intimacy for you. the sheer ridiculousness of this whole situation won't make him forget that this asshole tried to pin his mistake on you, his sweet angel.
so he silently gestures for the two already hovering security guards to come closer, before addressing the asshole.
“listen.” the command straightens the man's back. “these men also know how to do their job, so be a decent person. give them your information, wait for them to file a fine for your delightful manners, follow them out, then never show your ass here again. understood?”
speechless, the man merely nods and scurries behind the security guards; likely (and understandably) afraid the chief surgeon might change his mind.
of course park doesn't fully expose his usual behavior towards you. you're still at work, after all. still, he offers a sliver of your shared intimacy through the squeeze he presses against your shoulder.
“you okay, angel?” he checks in, needing to hear it from your own mouth.
and you hum, slump back in your chair. “i did tell him that he was called twice. it's not my fault he didn't reply either times.”
“yeah, it's not your fault he's a prideful dumbass.”
you lightly smack his stomach. “dr. park, you're still on shift. don't tarnish your record for me.”
“i’ll think about it.” he chuckles. then he leans over again; this time, to kiss your forehead. “come find me once your day's done, alright?”
“only if i get a kiss to get me through the rest of the shift.”
you'd only puckered your lips to tease him. at the same time, you should have expected him to actually turn your chair and kiss you; a fleeting taste, but still erratic heartbeat inducing.
“fine, i'll come find you.” he concedes without real defeat, then returns to his duties before others can get too big of a glimpse into your relationship.
and yes, that is how the ranking of unwritten rules were shaken up by one fry mistaking himself for a clownfish (he was partially right.. if he took away the fish).
unofficial but should be official rule no. 1: never mess with the shark's guppy. don't even intervene, unless you want to be collateral damage caught in his snare.
I saw your fake title post! Perhaps ‘Captain Obvious’ any character ofc. I’d love to see it!
⌕ ⠀ park the shark didn’t even have five minutes of screen time…….. and yet, here we are :3 (please send more fake titles)
park doesn't mind his nickname. in fact, he almost doesn't care. it's just a very (un)subtle moniker his colleagues bestowed upon him for his professionalism with that touch of intimidation.
honestly, if park wanted to set the record straight, he'd tell everyone they can directly address him as ‘park the shark’. try it, he won't bare his teeth—
“excuse me, dr. shark? you dropped this.”
ever seen a shark striking fast at its prey? well, park turns on his heel at the same tempo and sees his id badge pinched between your fingers. strange for you, considering he'd tucked it in his breast pocket during the patient's preliminary examination.
“hm, thank you.” he takes it back with care (if making sure his fingers brush against your skin counts as such). “this could have fallen into less ideal hands. if the higher-ups hear about this, they might thank you for helping them avoid that heavy lifting.”
you laugh at his jab. “well, if they're ever open to suggestions, i'll take a raise over doughnuts.”
one day. park mentally files the thought in a folder that's already pretty thick for a man hasn't even been able to ask you out.. as friends, of course.
“well, this might not be necessary. i know mr. graham's safe in your hands,” regardless, you tell him. “but good luck with the leg, dr. shark.”
he clears his throat. “brendon. you can call me brendon.”
“oh.. good luck then, brendon.”
oh, what he'd do to hear you call him by his name again. if only dr. king hadn't summoned your presence, he would have tried to push his luck some more. professionalism be damned, he might have even checked if you're free after this shift.
“way to go, park. getting there little by little.” dana finally speaks up after letting the ortho surgeon have his moment of regret. “next time, don't just drop your id. aim for asking my nurse out right from the get-go.”
park doesn't bite. he doesn't have any more time to, unless he wants to slim his patient's chances for successful limb reattachment..
𝜗ৎ ˒ i, in fact, am not finished with my finals so have this idea that sprouted from this prompt
what's that beautiful sound? nothing grand, just the pop of your aching joints after hours of poring over your laptop for finals. you'd been stuck to that spot like glue; afraid that if you moved too much, your motivation wouldn't hit the same.
jack had chuckled, kissed your forehead and coaxed you into risking it to eat the special lunch he'd cooked for you.
“you'll do plenty more when you have a full stomach to work with.”
(he was right, of course he was. ‘didn't hurt that he had cupped your face with one hand to ensure you were listening to every syllable that rolled off those rosy lips of his. he kissed you with that very tool, so it's safe to say you were fully convinced.)
after shutting your laptop down for the evening, you lie back on the cushions and exhale a long breath. your phone lights up with a notification; its content marked as irrelevant when you notice the day. tonight was your turn to cook dinner, an actual meal made out of fresh ingredients.
you groan, tired yet unwilling to disrupt the pattern you and jack had created after a year of dating, when your lover emerges from the bedroom.
on second thought, maybe you don't need to cook when jack's standing there in one of his old army tees, sleep pants, and mussed silver tresses that told you he had a good nap.
“good evening, sleepyhead.” you hum, the greeting laced with faint traces of amusement.
jack settles down in his favorite position. you know, the one where he ignores the concept of personal space in favor of snuggling you, one arm hooked around your waist, and his good leg kicked up on the coffee table.
“all done with your finals?” he asks.
you nod, incapable of adding more commentary as you behold the sight of his face glowing from the flame of pride.
it's nothing big, nothing new from jack. he was deliberate with his praises, handed them to those who earned it, you included. still, just the look itself was more than enough.
“good,” he kisses your crown. “dinner's on me. what are you craving?”
“mm, chinese takeout with a side of extra prawn crackers and me footing the bill this time.”
his amused huff comes with a shake of his head. “next time, honey. tonight, you are being treated because you deserve it.”
𝜗ৎ ˒ haven’t even finished my critique paper but i finished this.. priorities ihihi
downtime in the pitt usually comes around 2 a.m. most of the patients in chairs have been tended to, the severe cases are confined to their beds for monitoring, and staff are given a sliver of freedom.
finally, everything is—
“you haven't touched your lunch.” jack notes in lieu of a greeting.
you hum, lithe fingers continously clicking keys and inputting information on your patients' charts. it's not like you were ignoring him.. unintentionally. filling out charts has become a privilege, and you don’t need an concerned silver fox attending knocking your focus off-kilter.
turns out jack abbot is not just perceptive.
he's hungry too.
callused hands grasp your hips, long enough to be intentional. and as he gently maneuvers to your other side, probably to grab a patient’s file or something that required him dappling his touch upon your scrubs, jack quietly murmurs, “excuse me, dear.”
the line you were typing is left on a cliffhanger, your train of professional thoughts derailed by a simple, necessary gesture. you were in the way, tunnel visioned on the desktop. of course jack would choose the most sensible course of action. how else would he reach—
“hm, i could have sworn the tablet was just here.”
..a sneeze ripples through the hr department’s quiet.
jack's either forgetful or a liar. you assume the former, because you swear you saw him pass that ipad to ellis barely ten minutes ago.
your attending knows he's the latter, for he’s been lingering by the nurses’ station ever since that moment.
something between a sigh and laugh falls from your lips, complemented by the smile drawn on jack’s. he crosses his arms, muscles flexing so obviously beneath his scrubs.
“got time to join me? i can hear your lunch calling you from here, ‘might as well enjoy it now.” he asks, courteous because jack never shoves, only baits.
“depends,” you purse your lips in faux thought. “is there any donuts left over?”
“maybe there is. i happened to see one reserving itself for you.”
a rarity indeed. especially when you realize this hidden dessert happens to be your favorite flavor.
the best choice is to feign ignorance, deliberately look past the glaring dots that are begging to be connected. it’s easier to enjoy both of them; your food and jack’s company, as if this was completely normal.
as if he was just your naturally attentive, sometimes maddening, absolutely professional attending.
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