thinking about domestic evenings with emily….her leaning against the kitchen island watching as you cook….hugging her from behind and kissing her bare shoulder as you nuzzle into her neck…soft hugs and kisses as you both unwind from the day…emily rambling and ranting her day as she compliments you and the food in between rambles….the switch in her as she changes from her work clothes to comfy clothes…..
inspired by this request. gigi is convinced you will never be able to win the approval of her kids. you make it your mission to prove her wrong. set during season one/nat and alice are still together.
“Candy isn’t going to be enough,” Gigi tells you. “Really, I don’t think anything will.”
“Everyone loves candy,” you say. “And everyone loves people who buy it for them.”
She shakes her head, smiling softly. “You aren’t going to win them over. They’re harsh judges, Alice still hasn’t made any progress with them.”
“Alice doesn’t try,” you say bluntly. “She doesn’t want to be in their lives.”
“And you do?”
You lean back against the kitchen counter, shrugging. You hope the response you give is the right one. “I want to be in your life. That includes being in their lives, and I’m happy with that as long as you are.”
“I am,” she says. Gigi comes over and places her hands on either side of you on the counter, effectively boxing you in. “Of course I am.”
You catch a hint of her perfume, sweet and citrusy and always prone to making your head spin, and her curls brush against your front when she leans in to kiss you.
Her hands find your hips and she takes a small step forward, pressing into you. Her touch is soft, her hands are warm sneaking up your shirt, and she breaks the kiss to meet your eyes just to see the love that blooms in them.
“I won you over,” you say. “I don’t know exactly how I managed it, but I did. Your kids will be easy work.”
Gigi rolls her eyes. She steps back, reaches for her mug of tea and holds it as she considers you. “You’re going to regret underestimating them.”
—
It’s not that the candy doesn’t work, but you don’t quite get the reception you hoped for. When Nat drops the kids off at Gigi’s after school and they pad into the house to see you standing there with two giant candy bars, your hopes are crushed when Olive looks right at you and says, ‘Alice gave us candy when she first met us, too.’
You give them the candy anyway, of course. Then you look behind you and find Gigi standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her arms crossed and an expression that reads, ‘I told you so’.
The kids sit on the couch now. They have their homework in their laps and they try to be sneaky with the appraising glances they give you, but you notice.
You sit in an armchair on one side of the couch, and Gigi sits in another on the other side with her kindle in her hands and a fresh mug of tea in front of her on the coffee table.
You study her for a moment. She looks so at ease like this, legs folded under her and a heavy crocheted blanket over her, hair pulled up in a claw clip. Black tank top, shorts, a rose-scented candle lit on the accent table beside her. This is home. This is what she has always wanted.
She looks up briefly and catches your gaze. She raises a brow as if to ask what you’re looking at, and you quickly look down at the paperback you’re meant to be reading.
You don’t see her reach for her phone, but yours pings with a new notification after a second and you see that the message you’ve received is from her.
Gigi
Are you still okay with this? I can call Nat.
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You’re not sure exactly what to respond with, but you know you don’t want to ruin your chances of getting what you’re on the precipice of: being fully accepted into her family, taking your relationship to a new level.
You
I’m fine with this. Are you fine with this?
You sound anxious over text. You feel anxious, too.
Gigi
You’re nervous.
You
I want everything to work out.
Gigi
I know, but they can sense when you’re nervous.
You
The kids?
As if on cue, Eli looks up from his homework. “Are you two texting each other?”
You set your phone down on the armrest of your chair and look down at your book. “I was looking at a pizzeria online, actually.”
From across the living room, Gigi stares you down. You know that if you looked up at her then she wouldn’t need to text you to say, ‘Really? A fucking pizzeria? That’s the best you could come up with?’
But Eli’s face lights up. He sits forward on his cushion and says, “Are we having pizza tonight?”
You look up at Gigi. Gigi looks at you. The two of you were planning on cooking tonight, but now that it’s been brought up… neither of you are averse to a night free from cooking.
“Yes,” Gigi answers eventually, picking up her phone again. “We’re having pizza.”
You send her another text.
You
Sorry. I’ll pay, I promise.
Gigi
You better.
—
The four of you are sitting at the table with the pizza — Gigi tells you she always makes the kids eat at the table even when she usually doesn’t when they’re absent — when the first line of questioning begins.
Olive is going to be the harshest critic when it comes to you, you think. Eli has proven easy to impress with candy and pizza and a quiet afternoon where you’ve intervened minimally, but Olive is different. She is older and has a better understanding of the world, and her disapproval of Nat’s girlfriend has already soured the idea of her other parent having a partner, too.
“How long have you been with my mom?” she asks suddenly, staring you down over her plate of pizza in a way that uncannily resembles the look Gigi gave you a little while ago in the living room. You suppose you know where she learned it from.
“A couple months,” you say. “Your mom was waiting for the right time to tell you.”
“And you think that you love her?”
You feel like you’ve been put on trial. This girl is going to grow up to be a lawyer someday.
“I do,” you say. “I do love her.”
“Then why haven’t you gotten married yet?”
You glance over at Gigi for a bit of help, but she only shrugs as if it’s a valid question to ask. She isn’t bailing you out this time.
“I haven’t found the right ring yet,” you say, and not just because you think it’s the right answer.
“Why?” Olive asks. “Do you not have her ring size or something? Because I can tell you if you want it.”
“Olive,” Gigi warns, “eat your food.”
“No, that might be helpful,” you say. And while it still seems like you’re speaking to Olive, you turn your gaze to Gigi when you next speak. “I’ll ask you someday. I really will.”
—
You’re cleaning the dishes at the sink, alone while you work, when light footsteps sound behind you.
You look back to see Olive in the doorway.
“Hey,” you smile. “Do you need something?”
She crosses her arms. “You’re not our mom, you know.”
You sigh and pick up another dish. “I know.”
“Alice isn’t our mom, either.”
“She knows that, too.”
“She’s always reminding us,” Olive says softly. She sounds sadder than you might have expected, and you look back to see her frowning.
You wipe your hands on the towel at the sink and walk over to her, looking down. She acts so grown up, but she is still a child and she is still only a little over half your height.
“Do you think I’m like Alice?” you ask.
“I did when I first saw you,” she says. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
You nod, trying not to look like you want her to think of you in one light or another.
“You’re going to keep coming around, aren’t you?” Olive asks.
“I am.”
She nods, taking this in. Then she offers you a small smile, a truce of sorts, and steps out of the kitchen. “See you around.”
—
When you get into bed that night, you immediately ask Gigi: “How do you think it went?”
She lies down beside you, slipping beneath the covers and nestling herself as close to you as possible. “How do you think it went?”
You consider the progress you’ve made so far. You need more time with Olive, but you think you might have impressed Eli. “I think it went well. Better than it could have, at least.”
Gigi shifts back a little so she can meet your eyes. You find so much love in hers, and when one of her hands reaches up to cup your face you press into it. “You were really good with them.”
“I did okay?”
She shifts again, closer so that she can lean in and kiss you. It’s tired, slow, and so gentle. Her hand is warm on your face still and one of her legs hooks over both of yours.
“You did fucking amazing,” she murmurs once you pull back, “like I knew you would.”
And she doesn’t say it, but part of her thinks she has just fallen in love with you all over again. She can see herself living with you, parenting with you, spending lazy nights and rushed school mornings with you trying to get the kids ready for class. She can see you helping Eli with his math homework at the kitchen table and Olive with her history presentations, and she can see the two of you lounging with glasses of wine while the kids are at Nat’s and making plans for family-inclusive summer vacations.
It’s the beginning of something new, she thinks. It is the beginning of everything.
a night in, gelato, and arguing over who pays at the store. fluff! I’ve had this written for weeks but haven’t been able to decide on a good enough title for it until now. not rllyyyyyy my best work but I’ve been in a slump so whatever.
“I can get it, just let me—”
“No.”
“It’s fine, Gigi.”
Gigi pushes you aside and swipes her card through the reader before you can get yours out of your purse. “There, it’s taken care of.”
The cashier had been watching the two of you behind the counter impatiently, but he seems satisfied now that someone has paid for the bottle of wine and the container of coffee-flavored gelato.
He bags both of them, hands them over to you, and the two of you are off.
“I’ve been needing a night in,” Gigi says as you walk out to the car through the heavy summer heat that has begun to blanket the city. “Work has been absolutely fucked.”
You set your purchases in the backseat and get into the front, claiming the passenger side and reaching for Gigi’s hand after she claims the driver’s and starts the car.
“We have all weekend,” you tell her with a small smile. “We can rest, eat that entire container of gelato, drink all of the wine…”
“Shit, that sounds amazing.”
She pulls out of the parking lot and you start along the familiar roads leading back to her apartment — your apartment, since you’ve recently moved in with her.
You give her hand a squeeze, and you meet her eyes briefly when she glances at you. You never get tired of this: the simple moments with her, trips to the grocery store for silly and unnecessary things that you want like red wine and gelato, quiet car rides back with the playlist you made together playing in the background and the beauty of the city passing outside your window.
“You didn’t have to pay,” you say quietly. “I want to buy things for you, too.”
Gigi shakes her head, parking the car. Already, you’ve arrived at your building — the drive always seems shorter when you are with her.
“I like taking care of you,” Gigi says. She brings your joined hands to her lips and kisses your knuckles. “I’ll always take care of you.”
“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
“I don’t.”
“I have my own money.”
“I know,” Gigi says, and leans over the center console to kiss you, one hand coming to rest on your thigh.
You place a hand at the back of her head, pulling her as close as you can in the confined space. You feel the warmth of her hand on your thigh traveling upwards, feel the quickening of her pulse under your fingertips when your hand drifts to her neck.
“You believe me, don’t you?” she asks, pulling back to meet your eyes. Hers are intense, dark and steady and beautiful, like she could spend hours just looking at you for the sake of it.
You nod. You reach down with your free hand and entwine it with hers. “I do.”
“Good.” Gigi pulls back, returning to her own seat. “I was gonna have to remind you.”
“Wait, wait, can I change my answer?”
She gets out and slams the car door shut, leaving you sighing at the missed opportunity.
—
“There’s one of those cat adoption events happening down at the park,” you say, reading off your phone. “You know, the ones where you go walk through and meet all the kittens and fall in love at first sight with the little grey one in the corner.”
“We’re not getting a kitten,” Gigi says firmly, pouring two glasses of wine. She turns to set one down on the kitchen island in front of you.
“Your kids would like it.”
“Nat just got them a dog.”
“Yeah, and you can be the cool mom that gets them a kitten,” you say as if it’s obvious. “You said you like taking care of me, right? Getting a cat would fall under that umbrella.”
She shakes her head, smiling incredulously. “Pulling that card, are we?”
You shrug. You set your phone down face-down on the island and walk around to meet her, leaning up to kiss her.
Gigi turns you gently, distracting you enough with her hands on your hips and her lips against yours that you hardly notice she’s guiding you anywhere until your back is pressed against the counter. She cradles your jaw with one hand, keeps the other on your hip.
“There are other ways I can take care of you,” she murmurs between kisses, and then pulls back to meet your eyes.
You hum disapprovingly. “There’s no time for that. What about the gelato?”
She tilts her head, brows raising. “Is that your biggest concern right now? Really?”
“That and the kitten.”
“We’re not getting—”
You cut her off with a kiss, drawing her close to you again with a hand fisted into the neck of her t-shirt, which is old and loose and worn out and makes your heart ache when she wears it because it reminds you that she’s comfortable around you without being made up all the time.
You hoist yourself up onto the kitchen island and pull her to stand between your parted legs, kissing her deeper. Gigi’s hands find your thighs, running up and down them greedily before coming up to sneak under your shirt to your waist. They rest lightly there, just feeling you, the warmth of your body.
“Your rings are cold,” you whisper, a shiver running through you. “Fuck, it’s like they’ve been in the freezer. Have you gotten into the gelato already?”
“Can you stop thinking about the gelato while I’m trying to get in your pants?”
“Is that still your plan?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“Don’t shift the focus,” you say, nodding toward the freezer. “That pint better be intact, Gigi, or we’re going to have a very big problem.”
“Is that really your idea of breakup material?”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t test it if I were you.”
Gigi leans in to kiss you one last time before pulling you a little closer to the edge of the island. She doesn’t try to start anything else, doesn’t try to get anything out of you, just holds you. She stands between your legs and takes you in just for the sake of it, because she wants to be close to you in any way she is allowed.
“Will you paint my nails tonight?” Gigi asks softly. She pulls her hands out from under your shirt and shows you the chipped black polish on her nails. “The polish has started coming off. I hate when it chips like this.”
“Go get the polish,” you say. “I’ll do it now.”
“Are you sure?”
You nod, offering her a small smile. “I don’t mind. It’s a win for me, actually, because I know you won’t get into—”
“Please don’t say it.”
“I know you won’t get into the gelato,” you finish.
inspired by this request (but done a bit differently). an aggressive patient, a new baby jane doe, and an argument that’s caused by having your guard up for too long. nurse!reader, established relationship, implied verbal assault by a patient, baran’s ptsd, hurt/comfort but it’s complicated.
If you were a less selfish person, the baby in this crib would make you nervous.
She would remind you of how cruel the world is. That people can leave babies in bathrooms and just leave, hope for the best and make a run for it, that infants can be admitted to hospitals with no known home to go back to. That sometimes people are given a bad hand and are just that desperate for help.
But this baby — nameless, tiny hands reaching up for you, oblivious smile on her face — doesn’t remind you of any of that. Instead she reminds you of the good in this world, the blind innocence of childhood, that there is purity somewhere on this planet so intent on destroying itself. She is so happy despite the circumstances, because she doesn’t understand yet that there is so much to be worried about.
You’ve been visiting her periodically throughout the day. You want to make sure there is always someone around for her, someone that cares. You’ve taken up that responsibility naturally, like it’s second nature. You are there.
But this visit is more selfish than the others. This visit is not for her sake but for yours.
You did everything you could. You were patient, you attempted to diffuse the conflict, you were more gracious than you probably should have been in hopes that the aggression would be a passing thing. But the situation had only gotten worse, you’d been made to switch cases, and now you have a pile of forms waiting for your signature back at the nurses’ station.
“Everything okay in here?” asks a voice from the doorway, a voice you are familiar with. It is soft and warm and reminds you of home — bedsheets that smell like lavender, candles always burning and flickering their golden light onto the walls, heavy crocheted blankets and a basket of yarn in the sunroom.
“She’s fine,” you say. “Awake and apparently very happy to be here.”
Baran — or Dr Al-Hashimi, as you have to call her here — steps further into the room. She comes to stand at your side, looking down at the baby in the crib. “And how is her favorite nurse?”
You swallow hard. You lie because it is easy and it keeps you safe from the truth, and by extension from breaking down in this sterile, unfriendly place.
“I’m okay,” you say.
She doesn’t seem satisfied by your answer. She drifts a little closer to you, placing a gentle hand at the small of your back. “I know we have to keep things professional here, but you can still talk to me. Dana told me what happened.”
“I’m sick of the gossip that goes through this place.”
“It’s not gossip. I’m an attending, it’s my job to know these things. To help make sure you’re safe.” She leans in a little closer. “And that goes double when you’re my wife.”
Your throat tightens. You try to breathe deeply but you can’t, your lungs have constricted with the rest of your body to the point where just standing here and existing feels like it requires tremendous effort.
“We don’t have to talk,” Baran offers. Blindly, she’s trying to offer you whatever you need. “We can just stand here for a second.”
In the crib, the baby begins to fuss. Instinctively you take her out of her crib, careful to cradle her as gently as you can, and hold her close.
Baran takes a step back. She doesn’t like taking peds cases or being anywhere near them — there are too many bad memories associated with them. Even something as simple and harmless as her son getting a scraped knee at home can send her into a spiral under the right circumstances.
You know some of what makes her anxious. You’ve heard stories about Kabul, though not all of them, and usually only in the shaken aftermath of panic attacks.
You also know that Baran gets worried about the bigger picture, especially with babies — how long until they’re back in an emergency room? Will they come in in five years sick and helpless like she did as a child? Seven years with a broken leg? Seventeen with injuries from a drunk driving accident?
The baby doesn’t calm in your arms, though. If anything she becomes more upset, features contorting and tears springing in her eyes like the world is ending, and you think your own panic might be to blame — babies seem to have a way of sensing these things.
“I can take her,” Baran says, resigned. “Here, give her to me.”
Your heart drops. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”
But she’s already reaching out. She takes the baby from your arms and holds her in her own, blinking back and holding at bay her own flood of emotions since one of you has to be stable enough to calm the baby. She rocks her gently, whispering comforting phrases in Farsi that you’ve heard her repeat before to her son.
You calm a little, watching Baran hold her. Something in you softens, releases, and you wish you had the grace to offer to take the baby back, but you want to cling to this moment just a little bit longer.
“There we go,” Baran murmurs once the fussing stops and the baby has been lulled to sleep in her arms. “Go to sleep, dream that you’re somewhere better. You will be, soon.”
“That sounds a little cryptic,” you manage.
She glances up, meets your eyes briefly. “I didn’t mean for it to be.”
“I know.” You step closer, looking down at the baby in her arms. “Doctors can foster in cases like this, right?”
She sees where you’re going with that. She huffs out something of a laugh. “We are not bringing home a baby.”
“But she’s cute, look at her. Kaveh would like her, and he would have a sister if we ever adopted her. We’ve always wanted a daughter.”
Baran lays the baby down in the crib again. She knows you aren’t going to like what she’s about to say. “You can’t use this child as a way to escape what happened today. At the end of the day, she’s a patient that will pass through here like all the rest. You need to acknowledge what hurt you and look it in the eye.”
The words come out before you can stop them, sharp and defensive and bleeding with the day’s stress. “I didn’t know you were a fucking therapist.”
For a moment, she’s taken aback. You don’t curse at her, it’s just not something you do, and she doesn’t curse at you. Only in the worst of arguments is that unspoken rule broken.
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
Her voice is raised. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you meant it,” Baran says. She starts walking toward the door. “Don’t say it.”
“Baran, don’t go.”
“I have patients to see. I’m going to have to try hard enough to catch up already, given how much time I’ve spent here with you. I’m not going to stay if I’m unwanted.”
“I do want you here,” you try, your voice rising to the same level as hers. “It was a lapse in judgement, it’s been a long day.”
“Lower your voice,” she says hypocritically from the doorway. “You’ll wake the baby.”
And with that, she’s gone. On cue, the baby starts crying again.
—
You meet her later in the parking lot after your shift with dinner from her favorite restaurant that you paid way too much to have delivered to the hospital.
You always get to the car a couple minutes before she does. It’s easier for you to slip away and you usually wait in the car, just like you do now, for her to get in on the passengers side and sigh so heavily, offer you a tired greeting.
Right at the usual time, she slips into the car. But she doesn’t sigh, doesn’t greet you like she normally would — until she sees the food in the bag on your lap.
“I’m sorry,” you say for the second time today. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier, it wasn’t fair.”
She reaches out for the takeout bag and sets it in her own lap. “It would’ve been cheaper to pick this up on the way home.”
“I wanted to surprise you. It’s your favorite, and there’s extra sauce in the bag because you’re always complaining about how they get skimpy with takeout orders.”
Despite herself, she gives you a small smile.
“Are we okay?”
Baran nods. She’s still not quite over how you snapped at her, but she also feels like you’ve paid the price for it, and it’s not something that came out of the blue — today was rough for both of you.
She reaches for your hand and you let her take it, holding onto her like a lifeline. “Are you finally ready to talk?”
You hesitate. You don’t want to relive the day you had today, the patient that completely ruined it for you. You don’t want to repeat the things that were said to you or the measures that had to be taken in order to get you out of the situation.
Then you remember that she already knows. That for her it is probably just as sickening a prospect to hear from your lips the story she has already heard from Dana’s, Robby’s, everyone else’s. But she is doing this for you, because she knows the price of holding onto too much alone. In a strange, backwards way, she is sacrificing some of her wellbeing for yours.
She looks so tired. You notice it in little hints: the dullness of her soft brown eyes, the frizz in her hair that she’s too exhausted to complain about, the way she slumps down into the passenger seat in a way she only does when she’s completely spent.
“It’ll eat you alive,” she says quietly. “You can take my word for it.”
You don’t like the sound of that, though you know it’s true. You’re able to tell where bits of her have been whittled away by the world. You’ve seen her anger and identified the things that are able to trigger it, bring it on sharply and suddenly and in a full-body way that sometimes scares you, though it’s hardly ever directed at you. You have witnessed bouts of depression where she has struggled to get out of bed in the morning or simply can’t bring herself to, and you have been there to help her into the shower and wash her hair and keep her fed when she can’t bring herself to go through the motions.
But it’s not the threat that makes you open up, the terrifying possibility of sinking — it’s her patience, her love, the warmth of her hand in yours. And sure, you’re also counting down the minutes until the food in her lap gets cold.
So you tell her everything. You sit with her in the car and repeat everything that led up to your horrible encounter today, and everything that led you into that room with the unnamed, smiling baby. You express your concerns and hopes and anger that things aren’t different, and she listens.
When you’re done, it feels like a weight has been lifted. Baran was right that it helps to talk.
“This is what I wanted,” she says after a long silence. “There are going to be patients like that. It’s the world we live in, as much as I wish things were different. But we don’t have to sacrifice ourselves to that pain.”
It’s your turn to listen. Your hand is still in hers.
“I’ll always listen to you,” she continues, “whenever you want to talk. And I know you’ll listen to me.”
You nod. It’s true, and you’ve proven it in the past.
She leans over the center console and presses a kiss to your temple, then reaches a hand to grasp your chin so she can tilt your head up and kiss you.
The box of takeout nearly slips off her lap, but she catches it.
“You better not drop that,” you warn. “I really did pay a horrible amount to get it here.”
thank you for reading <3 tried super hard to get smth out this week because I hit a bit of a slump but I feel like I’m bouncing back a bit and that’s maybe visible in my writing. anyway. trust I’m always writing something even if it’s not always fics.
while playing with her son, baran sprains her ankle. in taking care of the aftermath, you get to be doctor for a change and take care of the worst patient in pittsburgh: your wife. baran’s son/r’s stepson referred to as kaveh.
happy birthday to @sepidehswife ,, i hope it’s been an amazing one <3
Kaveh has been into soccer for weeks on end.
You’re not sure when it started. One day he was obsessed with dinosaurs, running around in that green t-Rex hoodie of his with the scales on the back while he played with his action figures, and the next he was carrying around an old ball he found in the garage and proclaiming to anyone within range that he was going to become a world-famous sports star someday. It’s a new phase, one that you can see lasting, and so far you’ve done well at encouraging it.
Maybe a little too well.
“Please,” he cries, stomping his feet on the ground. “Just five minutes!”
Baran sighs, looking down at the ball in her son’s hands. “I played with you this morning, azizam.”
“But that was this morning! It’s almost time for dinner now!”
She glances at you, trying for an out that you won’t give her. You think it’s sweet when she plays with him, especially soccer since she’s so dramatically terrible at it, and you enjoy evenings like these where you can sit out on the back patio and glance up from your book every so often to watch them kick the ball around.
Plus, you played with him yesterday. You’ve done your time.
“Okay,” she relents, finally standing up. “But only for five minutes. I have an early shift tomorrow, I can't have sore legs.”
Kaveh squeals in excitement, shoving the ball into her hands before running into the yard.
“You’re a lot of help,” Baran says quietly, looking down at where you still sit. “Seriously, do you know how sore my legs get after playing soccer with him? It’s worse than after pilates.”
“Maybe if you didn’t put so much into it every time you went out—”
“And what, walk around barely kicking the ball like a loser? Let him win like you do? No, that’s not how it’s going to work.”
You raise a brow. “Then you’d better get out there.”
“We need to get him some friends his own age.”
You wave her away with a smile. “Go on, go play. It’ll be good for you.”
Baran disagrees, but she goes out into the yard anyway and sets the ball down. She gives it a kick that sends it across the yard to her son, and she starts reminding him of the rules: past the tree near the back of the yard is his goal, the space by the bushes near the patio is her goal, and both of them have to try their best not to hit you with the ball.
You listen to them play while you read. You hear Kaveh’s laughter, Baran’s accusations that he never plays by the rules, and the occasional cheers when one of them actually manages to score a goal. The sounds accent your reading, and occasionally you look up to catch a few moments of their game before you focus on your book again.
What you don’t notice as you hit an admittedly excellent part of your book is the sound of Baran falling, the dull, heavy thud as she hits the ground. The yard is damp from rain, the ground not as dry as she originally thought, and turning too sharply to avoid Kaveh ended up sending her down.
What you do hear: Kaveh’s laughter, his subsequent gasp when he realizes she’s actually not okay, and the furious stream of curses Baran cries out in Farsi that she never says around her son.
You’re on your feet in an instant. Your book is abandoned on the patio chair where you sat and you’re jogging out into the yard, crouching down next to her where she sits with a knee to her chest and hands on her ankle. She has already taken off her shoe and sock.
“What happened?” you ask worriedly, pushing her hands away so you can look at her ankle — it’s already beginning to swell.
“What happened,” she says breathlessly, “is that I just learned to question the logistics of how Messi is a year younger than me and still playing this fucking game.”
“Okay, but can I have a real answer now?”
“Māmān fell!” Kaveh answers for you. “She spun like this,” he dramatically imitates her, “and then she went down like wham!”
Under better circumstances, you might have laughed. But looking down at the way Baran’s ankle is swelling makes you feel a little nauseous, and you can’t help but wince when Kaveh hits the ground while imitating her.
“That is what happened,” Baran says to you, voice light like she’s trying to get you to lighten up as well, but you can hear the pain in her voice despite how she tries to hide it. “He got the spin down and everything.”
You ignore her and try to think of questions Baran would ask if it were you on the ground in place of her. You aren’t a doctor, not even close, but you’d say that being married to one has taught you some of the basics.
“Can you bend it?” you ask. “Is the pain sharp or dull? Did you hear a snap?”
Baran meets your eyes briefly. She looks proud of your instincts, and she’s about to comment on them when Kaveh throws himself at her in a hug and a fresh wave of pain shoots through her ankle at the impact.
“Are you gonna be okay?!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around her neck and clinging to her — he’s six years old and a sprained ankle is like the end of the world.
“I’m going to be fine,” she tells him, running a hand up and down his back soothingly. “I’ve gone through much worse. This will heal in a week, honey.”
He pulls back with tears in his eyes. “It’ll last a whole week?!”
“A week isn’t that long,” she says gently, wincing when you brush away some of the grass that stuck to her skin when she fell. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
“Baran,” you say, keeping your voice level. You try to take on the clinical tone she takes with you when you have an injury, but it doesn’t quite sound the same. You have taken on, not unfittingly, the role of worried spouse. “What do you need me to do? I can drive you to the hospital—”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. It’s just a sprain.”
“Can you walk?”
She hesitates. She looks down at her ankle and frowns at the sight, feeling her chest begin to tighten with worry — she would have no reaction to a patient at work with an injury like this, but it’s different when it’s herself.
“I can’t stay in the yard all night,” she says eventually. “Get Kaveh inside before we try, though.”
Kaveh doesn’t like the sound of that. His voice is thick and teary. “But I wanna stay with you!”
“Kaveh,” you try, “I have a job for you. A really important job that will help out a ton.”
He considers this, wiping away his tears. “What is it?”
“Well, your Māmān needs to be comfortable, doesn’t she? How about you go pick out one of your bears for her to have on the couch with her while she rests?”
His expression lights up and he nods like that is indeed a mission of great importance, and then he starts off toward the house. “I’m on it!”
Baran waits until he’s out of earshot. “That was a good idea.”
“Thank you. And now that he’s gone, are you still sure it’s a minor injury?”
She runs a hand over it, assessing different angles and parts of her foot. She winces a couple of times, you tally the exact number, and she tests the mobility of her foot before coming to a conclusion.
“Just a sprain,” she says. She brings a hand up to your chin, guiding your gaze away from her ankle and to her eyes.
“Are you completely sure?”
As sure as I can be without an x-ray, she thinks. But she has already decided that on her one day away from the PTMC, she is not going anywhere near it. “Like I told Kaveh, injuries like this heal within a week.”
Maybe two weeks, she thinks, but she knows better than to say that.
“Okay,” you nod, comforted. You place a hand on her shoulder and run it up and down her arm, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her temple. “Should we try to get you inside?”
—
Once you’ve got her on the couch, you elevate her foot and get some ice for it. You get her some ibuprofen and a cup of water, a blanket for her lap, and you’re turning something on TV for her when Kaveh comes into the living room and places a stuffed bear in her lap.
“For you,” he says, smiling up at her. “He’ll keep you company.”
“He’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you so much.”
She makes a show of settling the bear into the space beside her on the couch, and she leans down to kiss her son’s head before gesturing for him to take a seat on the other side of the couch.
“What else do you need?” you ask Baran, making Kaveh scoot over a little so you can squeeze onto the far cushion with him — Baran has taken up two out of three with how she has to rest her foot, but neither you nor her son want to sit anywhere but close to her.
“A pedicure,” she sighs. “Do you see how ugly my foot looks?”
“It’s not so bad,” you lie. You lean over as if giving it a thorough examination, switching from doctor to pedicurist. “I’ll paint your toenails if you want me to, though.”
“Really?”
You nod. “For twenty dollars. I’m not touching that for free.”
“I should kick you,” she says, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “I should kick you hard.”
“Careful, you might hurt yourself.”
—
“What are you doing in here?!”
Baran jumps when she hears your voice from the doorway of the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder at you guiltily, then down at the glass of water in her hands. “I was thirsty.”
“You should have told me,” you say. “You need to keep weight off that foot.”
“I thought I was the doctor of the family,” she jokes, or tries to while standing on one foot at the kitchen sink and trying to keep her balance. “You were in the shower. You take long showers.”
“I was gone for ten minutes.”
Baran’s eyes are trained on her glass of water. She doesn’t have a good response to that, so she doesn’t say anything at all.
You grab a stool from behind the kitchen island and help her ease onto it at the sink. You stand with one hand on her shoulder as if to steady her while she sits, even though she’s fine now that she’s sitting down.
“It’s just a sprain,” she reminds you. “You don’t have to baby me.”
“Do you want me to put the stool back?”
“No,” she says quickly, reaching out and grabbing your arm even though you haven’t moved. Then she realizes the corner she’s backed herself into, and the way you’ve tricked her. “I mean, sure. You should. This isn’t where the stool belongs.”
You raise a hand to trace the line of her jaw with your finger, considering her. You wonder how you’re going to manage getting her to actually care for an injury like this. “How are you feeling? Has the ibuprofen started kicking in?”
“A little. I still feel like shit.”
You lean in and press a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a couple of beats. “I’m sorry.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to surrender to the softness. It feels so nice in contrast with the pain.
“Are you going to be okay going to work tomorrow?”
Baran swallows hard. She opens her eyes, studying the glass of water in her hands.
“Baran,” you try. “It’s okay to stay home.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can’t be on your feet all day running around or you’ll make your ankle worse. You need to let yourself rest.”
Her voice is small. “I’m not used to doing that.”
“I know,” you say. Your hand finds her knee, thumb tracing soothing patterns against her skin. “Will you try, though?”
She looks hesitant. She lays a hand over yours and holds it tight.
“If not for your sake,” you continue, “then for mine? I don’t feel good about you going tomorrow. I’ll spend the whole day worrying and texting and calling. You won’t get anything done because you’ll have another security breach and it’ll be me hacking into the hospital’s cameras.”
“Don’t do that,” she says. A smile ghosts over her lips. “Hacking a hospital’s security system to spy on your wife is a stupid thing to go to prison for.”
“Then don’t make me.”
Baran sighs, but in the end she relents. She nods and sets her water down on the counter and reaches for her phone, dialing Abbot’s number and calling to ask if he’d be able to cover for her.
When she gets off the phone, she looks relieved. Sometimes she doesn’t realize how much she needs rest until her body forces her to.
“You’re clear to stay home?” you ask, making sure.
“I’m all yours. It’s your day off tomorrow, right?”
You nod. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Good.”
You lean in and kiss her, feeling lighter now that you know Baran will be home tomorrow. Selfishly, you want to keep an eye on her — you get the feeling she would be much better at ignoring her injury than caring for it if left to her own devices.
“Thank you,” she says once you pull back. Her hand comes up to cup your face and she gives you another quick peck. “Best nurse I could ask for.”
“I’ve had good training. My wife is a doctor, you know.”
She smiles at that. “She sounds like a good one.”
“Nah, she’s kind of a rookie.”
Baran furrows her brows. “A rookie? Really? After all these years?”
“Take care of yourself this week and maybe I’ll change my mind.”
—
Baran is still awake at midnight, and you are still awake because of her.
You pretend not to notice the way she shifts every couple of minutes. The turning a little to the left, a little to the right, the heavy sighs she releases when she realizes she has to sleep on her back if she’s going to keep her ankle properly elevated.
She doesn’t like sleeping on her back — it makes her feel too exposed.
You don’t say anything at first. You don’t want to make her feel bad or to make her discomfort worse, so you lie there in the dark and listen to the sheets crinkle as she shifts beside you.
But when she angrily kicks away the pillows stacked under her ankle with her good foot and sits up to fling them off the bed entirely, you finally intervene.
“Can you please put those back?” you ask, trying to be nice, but your voice has an edge to it. “Those were there to help you. And they’re our good pillows, they don’t belong on the floor.”
Baran stills. She hadn’t realized you were still awake. “They were making it hard for me to fall asleep.”
“You’re making it hard for me to fall asleep.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” she snaps.
You sit up and turn on the lamp on the bedside table. “Baran…”
“Don’t start,” she interrupts. “I’m a doctor. I know what it needs and I know I’m not giving it that, but I can’t stand the feeling of the damn pillows crinkling against my skin every time I move.”
“Do you want the pillows from the living room?”
She considers it for a second, then shakes her head.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She frowns, lying down again and turning on her side to look at you. Her silky purple pajama shirt has become wrinkled with all the tossing and turning, and it’s ridden up her stomach a little.
“What can I do?” you ask again, softer this time. You lay down beside her, reaching out a hand to rest on her waist. “Give me something to do for you. Anything you want.”
“Will you hold me?”
You move over to her, opening your arms and letting her shift to rest her head on your chest. You wrap your arms around her and the two of you lay there, awake and irritable but together.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” Baran murmurs eventually. “It makes me feel like something bad is about to happen.”
You lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head. You’ve witnessed this fear of hers before. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry this happened, I wish I could change it.”
“What if there’s some sort of emergency? What if I can’t run, can’t get out? What if I can’t get to you or Kaveh?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“But it could.”
You start to realize what she needs now. Baran has never done well with simple reassurances, debating the odds of if something will or won’t happen. She has lived a life of so many extremes that a fear isn’t about if something will happen, but when.
“If an emergency takes place,” you say, “we’ll be prepared. We’ve already talked through a fire emergency plan with Kaveh, both of us will be at home tomorrow to look out for each other while he’s at school, and we’ll work around your injury if we ever need to.”
She grows heavier on top of you, a sign that she’s relaxing a little. “Okay.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Or to him, or to myself. We’ll be okay.”
Baran nods. She takes a deep breath, releases it shakily.
“Just don’t play any more soccer,” you say with a small smile, “and we shouldn’t have any emergencies.”
She huffs out something of a laugh. She sounds exhausted, like she might actually be able to sleep now. “Trust me, I won’t.”
“My lazy ‘walk around barely kicking the ball like a loser’ approach doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?”
She hums disapprovingly, not at all planning on admitting you have a point. “Your bedside manner could use some work.”
“Sure, doctor.”
She presses a kiss to the base of your neck. “Turn the light out?”
You reach over and turn off the lamp, pulling her closer once the light dissipates. You lay there and force yourself to stay awake until you know Baran is asleep, then let yourself drift away with her.
the doc is in! ⋆˚࿔ (baran al-hashimi x wife!reader blurb)
summary: tooth-rotting flufff .ᐟ on a lazy weekend morning, your 5 year old son decides he wants to roleplay you and your wife's job... kinda .ᐟ wk 1k
notes: credit where credit is due, this was 1000% inspired by this adorable tik tok i saw with this lil family playing hospital. but more importantly: happiest of happy birthday to the endlessly lovely @sepidehswife 𑣲🧁 this one is for you!! also this is a part of my ongoing mom!baran collection, and you can find other fics with these lovely ladies here! this hasn't been proofread and i'm sure there are errors but just pretend you don't see those!
divider cred!!
You don't make it to 8 before Kaveh comes barreling into your room already brandishing his very favorite navy Fisher-Price medicine kit, banging it against his knee with every step, gap-toothed and still warm from sleep in his dinosaur pajamas.
"Wake up!" he calls, dropping the case onto the mattress between you and Baran with a clatter that makes you both flinch awake at once. "I wanna play emergency room."
Baran rolls over, tucking her pillow under one cheek. “Baba, it’s still super early.”
"You said I have to stay in my room until 7:30 on Sunday." Kaveh is already hoisting himself up onto the bed, little legs flailing a bit with the effort. "But It’s 7:35 so it's my turn to play."
You sit up on one elbow, blinking. He’s already unfastening the velcro of the bag and lining up the kid stethoscope, yellow otoscope, and blood-pressure cuff in a perfect row, just like his Māmān does when she brings out this kit to play.
"Okay, okay," you yawn. "Why don't we play hospital? You could—"
"No." Kaveh doesn't even look up, laying the stethoscope and the little yellow otoscope and the blood pressure cuff out in a neat row. "That's not as cool, Mommy. I wanna play emergency room."
"I work in the same hospital as Māmān, Kav," you remind him, yawning again. You’re so outrageously tired.
Kaveh flops forward on his stomach. "But you only work with hearts Mommy, Māmān works in the emergency room."
"Yeah, khoshgelam," Baran sits up, hair tousled and cheeks warmed from a deep sleep. "When you're significantly cooler than your spouse this is just how it goes. Kav, what is your plan for this patient today?"
"Don't encourage the specialty bias," you grin. "He gets it from you."
"He just knows I’m awe-inspiring," Baran says, and swats your hand away when you reach over to pinch her.
"Māmān, you're helper doctor today," Kaveh pipes up. "I’m the big doctor. Mommy's the patient."
"Why do I have to be the patient?" you ask, allowing him to nudge you back onto the pillows. "I'm a doctor too!"
"’Cause you’re Doctor Heart Doctor, Mommy, and this is an Emergency Room."
"Totally agree," Baran nods, and doesn't dodge the pillow you chuck fast enough as it sails into her face, though she just picks the pillow up off her lap and wedges it behind her own back and gets comfortable as Kaveh immediately starts his eval.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Kaveh clears his throat, very seriously, and kneels beside you, stethoscope swinging. "Okay, Mommy. What's wrong?"
You press a hand to your forehead and moan for effect. "Ohhhh owww, I can’t see out of my left eye!"
He gasps, loud, grabs the stethoscope off his own neck and whacks the little red disc onto the crown of your head.
"Fu– ow!"
"Responsive to pain," Baran calls from the headboard, arms crossed. "Good catch, Kav."
Kaveh’s grin split his round face that he shoves to close to yours that your noses nearly brush, his warm breath fanning out. Two small, unsteady fingers inched toward your right eyelid, ruffling the lashes. "Let me see it, Mommy."
You squinted. "No, honey, it’s my left eye." Your eye twitches in primal fear of getting your eye gouged out by your clumsy child.
"No it’s this one," he insists, pointing, his finger getting increasingly closer to the pupil. "It's all gunky and gross, Mommy, I know it's this one."
"Okay so now I'm getting bodyshamed? Those are just crusty eyes because I was just torn from sleep," You whine, looking to Baran for backup, who just shrugs. "It’s Doctor Kaveh’s case, Ma'am. Chain of command. Let him do what he needs to do."
"Aren’t you the attending? You should be watching for medical malpractice."
"I'm off duty, in case you forgot?" Baran teases. "I'm helper doctor. This is his case."
Kaveh plunges his small hand into a neon-green play kit, emerging with a teensy-tiny plastic syringe. He uncaps it with a dramatic pop and presses the blunt tip against the soft skin of your inner elbow.
“Woah woah woah,” you beam, watching him push the plunger. “What’s happening now? Is this medicine?”
"Nuh uh."
You lean forward, eyebrows raising in amusemnt. "What is it, then?"
Kaveh doesn't answer, tongue poked out the side of his mouth like his Māmān. You turn to your wife instead.
"What is he giving me, Doctor?" Baran ignores you, fighting a smile. "Hey. Doctor."
Baran leans toward your son, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she feigns a serious whisper. "Doctor Kaveh, is that lidocaine?"
"Um…. it’s three... four... five!"
Your eyes snap to Baran, gleeful. "Wait, hold on, what was that? Five of what?"
Baran picks up the little clipboard from the case and squints at it. "Doctor Heart Doctor, please calm down. Doctor Kaveh made an excellent call and gave you five."
“Five Milliliters? Liters? What is happening here?”
Baran taps Kaveh, whose little head pops up from where he’s rummaging for new tools in his play kit. “Um. Five.... kinds, Mommy.”
You laugh so hard the bed shakes enough that Kaveh has to brace a hand on your shoulder to keep his balance.
"It's not funny," he says, syringe still aloft, and his lip trembles in embarassment. "Māmān tell Mommy to stoppit. It's not funny!"
"Ma'am," Baran lifts a brow, "No harassing the medical staff."
"Harassing? I'm being harassed!! I’ve been given ‘five’ of multiple unknown substances!" you exclaim, still giggling despite yourself.
"Five is the standard dose."
"This hospital royally sucks, why can’t you tell me what you've injected into my bloodstream?"
"Our hands are tied. We have HIPAA."
"But I'm the patient in concern here–"
"Doctor Kaveh,” Baran says warmly, swiveling back to your son, "Walk us through your clinical reasoning."
Kaveh perks up once more at being taken seriously again, he's so cute you could gobble him up in two bites, and he holds up the empty syringe. "She's gonna feel a lot better."
“Outstanding differential,” Baran praises, leaning over to plant a loud kiss on his forehead.
"I’m gonna sue this hospital," you giggle, settling back down against the pillow. "This is so ridiculous. One of the doctors just kissed the other. You don’t even know my name. I can already feel the adverse effects from the ‘five.’"
"Mommy," Kaveh admonishes, "No more talking, we’re working."
"Yeah, Mommy," Baran echoes, reaching over without looking to find your knee under the blanket, subtly squeezing it lovingly. "Head down."
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Kaveh reaches for the blood-pressure cuff next, dragging it out from under the stethoscope and knocking the little pack of bandaids of the bed. He gets the velcro around your arm on the third try and pumps the little bulb with both fists, watching the gauge with enormous eyes. "Almost done, Mommy, almost done."
"Thank goodness, I think I'm starting to see the light."
The cuff deflates with a soft hiss and you really put on a show, pretending to minorly hyperventilate and fidget nervously. "Alright, Give it to me straight, Doc."
He taps his chin with a finger and looks from you to Baran for approval, who nods in encouragement. "You’re going to live!"
"Oh, what a relief." You exhale, collapsing back against the pillow. " Any idea what happened to me?"
Kaveh's face goes adorably and entirely blank. "Um… no."
"Fantastic."
"It's definietly idiopathic," Baran in smirking, "You should be thanking him, Doctor Heart Doctor, he probably just saved your life by catching this."
"I'm so grateful. What an amazing team I have. Oh, wait, no, I almost lost an eye, witnessed some sort of workplace indecency ,got injected with some mysterious liquid, got told I'm not allowed to sue—"
Baran ignores you cheerfully. "Kaveh, what's Mommy's prognosis? What should she do to feel better?"
"You have to stay in bed. For, uh, five minutes, then you have to eat breakfast."
Baran grins, "Five minutes, Doctor's orders," laughing as she reels him in under one arm, and he lets himself be reeled, still holding the deflated cuff. She looks at you over the floral-scented mess of his hair with a smile solely for her wife.
You smile at the sight of your little family, safe and happy and cuddly in your soft bed on a Sunday. "I want a second opinion."
reader who is sick (obviously lol) and doesnt tell baran. baran goes to work and comes home to find reader in a horrible state because they didn't wanna bother baran
How I Think of You
〚 Notes - I'm finally safe in a new house, thank god. Thank you for the request anon! It was fun to write! :D 〛
〚 Pairing - Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader 〛
〚 Summary - You hadn't wanted to bother your wife with your problems. Doctor Al-Hashimi dealt with patients all day - she didn't need one at home too. At least that's what you told yourself. 〛
〚 Wordcount - 2200 〛
〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙
╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝
The first thing you noticed was the heat. That uncomfortable, dragging heat sitting just beneath your skin. It wasn't the comforting kind, the kind that came from sleeping beside your wife or from hazy sunlight slipping through the curtains. It was different. Hot, heavy and suffocating.
It made your limbs heavy, your muscles aching as you slowly rolled over onto your side. You closed your eyes, wondering if you'd be able to fall back asleep - a small, fleeting hope of sleeping this off.
It was nothing. You could ignore it.
Your wife had an early shift. You'd remembered that. Baran had been half-dressed when you'd cracked an eye open earlier, barely awake. Her hair had been damp from her shower and her voice impossibly soft as she murmured for you to go back to sleep.
You could've told her. You'd felt it even then, barely awake but you'd still registered the building heat on your cheeks, the dull ache that hadn't quite become something sharper yet. Instead, you curled around the blanket tighter, pulling it to your chin as your eyes fluttered shut.
You should have told her before she left. But she’d already been exhausted. You’d seen it in the way her shoulders had sagged when she thought you weren’t looking, in the quiet sigh she’d let out while tying her shoes. Another long shift. Another day of too many patients and not enough time.
You weren’t going to add to that.
Trying to go back to sleep proved pointless. The light seeping through the curtains had been shining in your eyes for too long. With a groan, you forced yourself to sit up, eyes squeezing shut at the sudden wave of dizziness the movement caused. You sniffed weakly, dragging the back of your sleeve across your nose, only vaguely registering how sticky your skin felt.
Still, you didn't have the time to lie around all day. You had chores to do. The apartment needed cleaning, then there was the grocery run, not to mention the other numerous errands you had planned for the day. You didn't have time to be bogged down by whatever this was. The day wasn't going to wait for anyone, especially not for you.
By some small miracle, you'd managed to get dressed. It wasn't pretty by any means - a loose baggy shirt and some joggers you could've sworn you worn a few days prior. Whatever. You coughed, your chest burning as you muffled the sound against your hand. You lowered yourself on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on your knees, breathing slow and shallow like that might somehow steady everything.
It didn’t.
The room tilted again, soft at the edges, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your head throbbed faintly now, that dull ache from earlier sharpening into something more insistent. You swallowed, throat dry, and pushed yourself to stand anyway.
One step. Then another.
You made it as far as the living room before your body started protesting properly. Your body sank against the sofa. You told yourself you’d just sit for a minute. Sixty seconds. Enough time to gather yourself before getting on with the day. Baran was the one at work right now. She had the right to complain. You didn't. Your to-do list was small in comparison to hers. You didn't get to whine about this.
The minute passed quicker than expected. The blurry time on your phone screen stared up at you mockingly. Sweat ran down the side of your head, and you dragged your hands down your face as you took a shaky breath. Just five minutes. That's all you needed. Just five minutes to get yourself together...
***
You hadn't even remembered falling asleep. You woke with a start, the sudden movement sending blood rushing to your head. The room was darker now, considerably so and you squinted as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
Shit. How long had you been out? Reaching down for your phone, you tentatively tapped on the screen, and the time sneering back at you made you want to cry. It was nearly 7pm. How had you managed to sleep the whole day? Your neck roared with a deep ache from the position you'd slept in.
You groaned softly, lifting a shaky hand to rub at it, only for the movement to make your head spin all over again. The heat hadn’t gone. If anything, it felt worse now - thicker, heavier, like it had settled deeper into your bones while you slept. Before you had time to complain a different thought came into your head.
Baran would be home soon.
The thought sent a flicker of panic through your chest.
You hadn’t done anything. The cleaning. The groceries. Everything you’d planned sat untouched, the apartment quiet and dim around you like proof of your failure. You pushed yourself up anyway, legs unsteady beneath you as you staggered a step forward.
You could still fix this. At least some of it. The kitchen felt miles away. By the time you reached it, your breathing had gone uneven again, shallow pulls that did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest. You gripped the counter, knuckles whitening as another wave of dizziness rolled through you. Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in just slightly before you squeezed your eyes shut.
Dinner. You could manage that. Baran had been at work all day, the least she deserved was dinner on the table when she arrived home. Fumbling with the cupboards, you managed to pull out a pan, setting it clumsily on the stove top.
Your mind was foggy. You didn't know what to make. Everything seemed to take far too much effort. You sneezed suddenly, sending you stumbling backwards on unsteady legs. This wasn't going well.
A cough tore its way out of you before you could stop it, sharp and painful, forcing you to double over slightly as it rattled through your chest. You sucked in a breath afterwards, wincing at the lingering sting. You couldn’t let your wife see you like this.
The thought came instinctively, stubborn and immediate. Baran had enough on her plate. Another long shift. Another day of carrying too much. The last thing she needed was to come home and worry about you too.
You just had to hold it together. Just for one night. Footsteps in the hallway outside made your stomach drop. No. It was too soon. How was she home already? How?
Your head snapped up, heart kicking uncomfortably against your ribs as the faint sound of keys reached your ears. The front door unlocked with a soft click, the familiar creak following as it opened.
“Hey?” Baran’s voice called gently. You saw the reflection of the light being flicked on from the hallway. You were running out of time. You needed to answer, to call back out to her like nothing was wrong.
You tried. You opened your mouth, but nothing more than a broken rasp managed to leave your lips.
Baran appeared in the doorway a second later. She noticed immediately. Something was wrong. She stayed silent, her eyes scanning the room for a clue to what was going on. You were standing over the stove, your back to her as you leaned against the countertop. You hadn't even turned the kitchen light on, a soft glow coming from the flickering hob in front of you.
"What's going on...?" Baran's voice carried her concern, thick and clear. You sniffled, biting your lip hard as you tried not to cry. Her voice was so soft, so full of concern. You didn't deserve this. Her slow, steady steps approached from behind. Her hand reached out to touch your back, fingers retracting for a split second as they met the damp fabric of your shirt.
"Sweetheart, talk to me."
You shook your head, a half-stifled wrecked sob hiccupping out of you. Your shoulders shook with silent cries, a whimper barely louder than a whisper escaping your lips.
Baran moved before she could think, wrapping her arms around you, letting her head sink against your shoulders. She didn't speak, just held you quietly for as long as you needed. You sniffled wetly, quickly rubbing your sleeve against your face. The doctor waited for you to calm a little before trying again.
"Look at me azizam," Baran asked quietly, a sigh of relief leaving her when you finally, albeit reluctantly turned around. The doctor drew in a long inhale as she looked over you, trying to keep her face neutral. The way sweat clung to your brow, the pink-tipped nose sitting in the middle of your flushed face. You weren't fine. Not even close.
She reached forward without a second thought, "You're unwell." She said simply, stating the facts rather than whatever fiction you were trying to create. Baran sighed softly, reaching past you to turn off the stove, ignoring your protest in the process.
"I'm sorry-"
"What on earth are you apologising for-" Baran interrupted immediately, her thumb gently swiping across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear, "You don't ever need to apologise for being ill."
"I'll sleep in the spare room tonight." You mumbled automatically, tone laced with guilt as you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to chase away the throbbing headache drumming behind your eyes. Baran made a face you couldn't quite recognise, her hands folding across her chest as she took a step forward.
"Absolutely not." She said sternly as she reached out to tilt your chin towards her, moving her head until you finally met her eyes.
You swallowed, trying not to wince at the sharp jabbing it caused against your raw throat. You made a noise somewhere between a cough and a splutter, a protest dying on your lips as you objected with a rasp, "I'm gross... it's disgusting – and I'll get you sick."
“Azizam, do you really think I would ever let you sit alone, miserable all night?" Baran murmured, her hand sliding up the back of your neck to massage the base of your head. She hummed softly, noticing the clammy, warmth rising beneath your skin, "You're not going anywhere. I mean it."
The moment she saw the way your shoulders sagged, the way exhaustion seemed to finally catch up with you now that you weren’t pretending anymore, her expression softened. The sternness faded into something warmer, something that made your chest ache.
“Come on,” She murmured, brushing her thumb gently beneath your eye. “Let’s get you cleaned up. A hot shower will do you well.”
You leaned into her before you could stop yourself, forehead pressing against her shoulder as her arms wrapped around you. She held you carefully, like you were something precious rather than fragile. She moved at your pace, keeping an arm around your waist as she steered you towards the bathroom.
The shower was warm enough to soothe the aches that had settled into your muscles but not so hot that Baran would allow you to overheat yourself further. She fussed over every small thing, making sure the water wasn’t too hot, washing out your shampoo when your arms grew too tired.
By the time you were finished, you felt slightly more human. Still exhausted. Still sick. But less like you were drowning beneath the weight of your own body. Baran wrapped you in a towel immediately, drying your hair gently while you sat on the edge of the bed.
“You don’t have to do that,” You mumbled automatically.
Baran paused, placing a gentle hand against your cheek, “I need you to let me love you too.” She said simply before continuing with drying your hair.
You sat quietly while she worked through the dampness in your hair, her fingers gentle as she ran the towel over the ends. The room was dim, the only light coming from the bedside lamp that cast a warm glow across the sheets
"You know," She murmured after a moment, voice soft but carrying the faintest hint of teasing, "for someone who claims they are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, you are remarkably bad at knowing when you need help."
A weak huff escaped you, somewhere between a laugh and a cough, "I wanted you to be able to relax – not to come home from work, just to have to look after your wife."
"I don't have to do anything azizam." She sighed softly, setting aside the damp towel and nudged you to climb into bed properly, pulling the covers over you. Once you were settled, she sat by your side, her hand reaching up to check your temperature again, "I look after you because I want to. Loving you, taking care of you, it isn't a job. It's natural."
You managed to smile, a small grin, "You're sappy."
"I have a stubborn, sick wife. I get to be sappy." Baran shook her head as she shuffled into the empty side of the bed. She leaned over, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, "Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."
chapter summary: you indulge in some not so healthy habits.
warnings: smoking, ptmc rooftop, metion of suicidal thoughts, a baby, reader embarassing herself repeatedly, robby (again), seizures
a/n: yes, i did crop out abbot from the picture, also. don't smoke guys.
The view from the roof can’t be considered great by any means, yet looking down is still miles better than being down in the chaos several floors beneath your feet. A light breeze caresses your face and the air is clear here - as clear as it can be in Pittsburgh at least - but you are determined to change that.
You inhale. The ember of the cigarette in your hand lights up, then burns down another millimeter, the floating, small particles of grime sticking to your fingers along with the filthy smell. The wind tries to blow it off from your hand but you know it will stay with you until the end of your shift, the smell crawling underneath your skin even after you clock out. That is just how things are in the ED. It stays with you long after you leave.
You look up. There are no birds nor planes flying above the hospital, just the sun burning mercilessly on the zenith of the sky, with a few pale clouds drifting across, the smog of the city already painting them sickly grey. You wish that it would rain. The heat is too much.
You exhale. Smoke curls from your mouth and dispenses into the air above you. There is no rush up here and you hold these rare minutes of solitude close to your heart as you feel the familiar rush of dopamine flooding your body. The cold metal of the railing digs into your spine- a small facade of stability. It is the final barrier that should always stand between you and the street that is several floors beneath you; and Abbot always says that you should never cross that line because it can lead into dangerous territories within yourself but he isn’t here right now to bother you. He always says shit like that and you never know if he took it from his therapist, the inner healing podcasts he’s watching, or the outrageous amount of soap operas he consumes weekly.
Robby doesn’t say a word anymore. Previously, he used to tell you to stop, that this won’t help you get better, that this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism and you would deliberately ignore him, but now he didn’t even spare a look at you when you made a break for the escalator during a momentary pause in the ER and that made your stomach tighten in unease for him.
You wonder if he started to visit this place as often as you and Abbott did.
This sucks, you hold out the cigarette in front of your face, watching intently as the ash stubbornly stays on its end, bound in an useless fight with gravity. This sucks so much. You lean back a bit more, the railing creaking under your weight as your legs slip on the concrete floor, itching closer and closer to the edge of the building. Maybe you should give up against gravity too, you think, but then again, it would be such a mess to clean up after you. It’s just not worth it.
You sigh, lungs burning comfortably with smoke, the relaxing effect of the nicotine already kicking in. Even the sound of an elevator dinging and hurried steps coming your way doesn’t startle you much.
“I don’t think you are allowed to smoke out here.” The voice of the new attending doctor doesn’t sound as confident up here as she had spoken down in the Pitt. You chuckle humorlessly.
“Sorry. Gonna write me up for this, boss?” Your voice sounds rougher than you expected. “Don’t tell Abbot though. He doesn’t like when I take away his spot.” Or when you do anything against your health in general. Your eyes are almost closed but you can hear it crystal clear as she moves next to you. “I always say that he is too jealous for someone as old as him.”
You feel a hand on your upper arm. Cautious and careful, but still securing. Supporting. Her perfume cuts through the remaining distance between you, now not oppressed by the artificial smell of chemicals - something heavier than you have expected, some kind of tea maybe? Or is that lavender in there? - but the smoke engulfing your senses quickly drowns it out.
“I know this job isn’t easy, but this is never the right choice.” Her grip is different from the way she touched you before, the light pats she gave the rest of the staff too - a grounding hand on the shoulder here, a gentle push to move one out of her way - there is something almost desperate in the way her fingers grasp your bicep. You don’t think you would be able to jump now if you wanted to, not with the way she holds onto you. “It is never the right choice. Please, step back. I’m sure we can find another way. We can talk this out.”
You turn your head towards her, a smile tugging on your lips. Al-Hashimi looks at you and there is a plea in her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to jump. I just wanted some fresh air, that’s all.” You say, the cold metal of the railing pressing hard into your vertebrae. “I may have had such horrible thoughts, but I got that evil, evil urge knocked straight out of my head by our masterful attending psychiatrist. You should meet him, bet the two of you would get along, Doctor.” Your voice is meaner than intended and your attitude crumbles a little as you see the confusement and hurt on her face. You shake the feeling off. Whatever. It’s not like this will spoil your image in her mind. You are pretty sure that taking a cigarette break on the edge of the roof while being in the middle of an institution-wide emergency did that already.
“Please, step back from the edge.” Al-Hashimi repeats and you are beginning to suspect that she really is an android with the way she stands so stiff now. But also, there is too much care in her eyes for that to be true, you think, and she has such deep eyes that you might just fall into them. “Please.”
With a sigh, you look down, the city bustling with life beneath you. The urge to fall is still creeping around the insides of your skull, but maybe those tortuous sessions did anything because you are able to not care anymore. At least a little.
Al-Hashimi inhales and you can feel her fingers tense around your arm. With a fluid motion, you straighten your back and step over the railing, back to safety. She is still holding onto you like you are about to leap over the edge of the building.
“You know it’s fine to let me go, right? I’m really not in a mood to jump.” Her hand immediately leaves you and she steps back a little. You already miss the warmth of her.
“It is not okay to joke about that.” Her voice is stern, like you are a child that is being scolded.. “Or to lead yourself into dangerous situations; it is your responsibility as a doctor to act as you would advise your patients to.” Her eyes narrow as she looks down at your lips, the cigarette still burning. “I hope you are aware how much risk you are putting yourself at. Of all the people, you should know that.”
“Yeah, the risks are crystal clear. Cancer, stroke, heart and lung disease, type 2 diabetes, COPD, etc. etc. But I don’t even do it that much often,” you add as she shakes her head in response. “Just something little to take the edge of the day off.”
“It is barely past noon. Are you sure that you are fit to be working today?” There is genuine concern in her voice and the taste of ash on your tongue gets bitter on your tongue. “I’m sure we can arrange for you to go home and call in someone to cover for you. You shouldn’t be here if it further handicaps your full rehabilitation.”
You laugh, the smoke escaping your lips in a grey cloud.
“And what about you, Doctor? If I remember correctly, you shouldn’t be here either; how is your first day going? Is everything going according to your calculation?” Your words are cruel and her face drops. You want to slam your head in with a sledgehammer. Why are you so incompetent with everything today? It would be better if you just bit your tongue off already instead of always bothering others with your borderline assholeness.
Al-Hashimi breathes in, the hurt in her expression disappearing as she collects herself.
“Yes,” she says finally, her smile maybe a little bit too rigid. “I might have underestimated the unpredictability of this department, but I also have seen the talent and competence that keeps this place together. The first day is always a challenge and although Dr. Robinavitch and I have our… differences, I am sure that he does everything he can to glue this place together. And I am more than excited to continue his work here.”
“That’s great to hear.” She is so clearly lying that it hurts. Even you know with your multiple missed shifts, that the ED is in a crisis right now - when wasn’t it, honestly? - and that Robby is barely holding on to his own sanity next to the entire place crumbling apart. Al-Hashimi seems to be more stable than him, but then again, you literally have known her for less than seven hours so your judgement isn’t as perfect as you would like it to be. Though the small scale of your interactions didn’t stop you from getting unreasonably tense whenever she was in your proximity. And that doesn’t even mention how her presence alone seems to suck all of the oxygen around you.
That must be why your chest is so heavy right now. Or the smoking.
You breathe in again, stubbornly continuing to smoke the dying cigarette. It won’t last another two minutes, you think, glancing down the street again. There is the remote sound of a siren far, far away and you know that your time on the roof is limited by each passing second.
“Have you ever thought about doing it?” You ask, eyes still downcast. Al-Hashimi frowns.
“Smoking?”
“No. Suicide.” You wave the smoke away, careful not to send it towards her. “You don’t seem the type to dwell on it too much though. You look way more collected than that.”
“I think every person has their share of troubles that they go through in their lives.” Her voice is much more serious than yours. “For me, everything changed after the birth of my son. Being a parent takes a toll on you in many ways but it at least helps to keep me grounded, gives me something to hold onto. I assume you don’t have children?” She glances at your hand, no doubt noticing the lack of ring on your finger.
“No. Maybe I should have one.” You snort and Al-Hashimi presses her lip together in disapproval. “Not planning them for a long time, the concept of parenthood doesn’t really seem to click with this whole hospital lifestyle for me. Also, a steady relationship would make things much easier, but we all want what we don’t have, I guess.”
Al-Hashimi hums in response, her gaze steady on you but there is one thought sneaking in the back of your mind. She has a son. Based on that fact alone, she’s probably married too and that knowledge should be enough to get this stupid half-crush out of your head. It was already unattainable in all that ways it could be; you shouldn’t even think about her in any way other than from a strictly professional viewpoint.
Except that isn’t enough. Your eyes shift towards Al-Hashimi, her hands in her jacket’s pockets. She has such a pretty side profile in this light, the sunrays shining on her golden highlights. She notices your stare but doesn't say anything, just checks her clock on her wrist.
“We should get headed down back soon. I heard there are two more traumas coming in the next ten minutes.” You attending looks you up and down. “I’m taking you back from triage. We need all hands in the back for this afternoon, the amount of transfers from Westbridge will only increase.”
“Okay! Okay. Just give me one more minute before you drag me down to the seventh circle of Hell for another five hours.” You sigh, trying to get one last drag from your cigarette, the burning cinder smearing onto your fingers as a result.
Al-Hashimi’s eyebrows jump up to her hairline.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are quite overdramatic?”
You lazily blow out the smoke, closing your eyes slightly.
“Multiple people actually. Cannot seem to get the lesson yet though.” You look at her through your half-closed lids. Even out here on the roof Al-Hashimi still stands like she did down there, her shoulders pulled back, her spine straight as a ruler, her jacket perfectly fitting on her body without a wrinkle on it. The only sign of any stress are the stray baby hairs that had escaped from her hairstyling and even with that, Al-Hashimi still looks more perfect than you can ever hope seven hours into a shift. “Maybe you will be the one that makes it stick, Dr. Al-Hashimi.”
“You certainly have very interesting assumptions.” Amusement fills her voice and you duck your head lower, your eyes stuck on her jacket.
“I really don’t know how you bear all this with that on.” The summer breeze is warm and it makes your scrubs stuck against your skin, sweat dribbling down your spine. “It’s stylish and all, but I cannot imagine how your brain is feeling right now.” She freezes at that for a millisecond. “Why don’t you take it off? It’s crazy hot out here.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“Would you like me to strip here in front of you?”
The drag of smoke you just inhaled goes astray, leaving you to cough a little. You manage to drop your cigarette and when you finally can look up at her, through the curtain of your teary lashes, you can see a grin on her face - the one you saw engulfing her face at the beginning of the day. Jesus Christ. Her tone isn’t different from when she asked you earlier to see the CT results of the glass-puncing patients.
“At least take me out for a drink first,” you manage to get out before turning back to your cigarette only to see it be burned down completely. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was supposed to last for ten minutes at least. Sorry,” you glance at Al-Hashimi. Her eyes are serious again and there is not even a trace of that grin, all replaced by the most neutral expression you have seen on anyone, ever. It’s like she hadn’t just managed to shut your system off completely by a single sentence.
Pathetic, really. You sigh as you step on the cigarette butt laying on the floor, cautiously extinguishing the embers on its end - the last thing you need today is a fire breaking out because of you. With a final movement, you swiftly quick You can feel Al-Hashimi staring daggers into your back so you put up your hands in defeat.
“Okay, I swear I will get all the trash off from here by the end of the shift, but it was you who said we need to get going now.” You shrug. “Besides, no one comes up here, it’s just me ‘nd the old man. And he’s only here at night anyway.”
“Do you mean Dr. Abbot?” Al-Hashimi asks, eyes still fixated on the discarded cigarette. “I haven’t met him yet. I would like to know if he’s anything like Dr. Robinavitch.” Her words sound exhausted and you would very much hit Robby in the face if it meant the strain in her voice would disappear.
“What, already getting enough of his overbearing empathy? Relax, I’m just kidding.” You say when her head snaps towards you. “But Abbot is fine. He is more… stable than Robby, can be brash sometimes but I don’t work together with him anymore so it doesn’t bother me at least. He brings a certain… energy to the night shift and that is important too; he is kind of a boomer, but he’s chill.”
“A boomer?” Al-Hashimi asks, her lips twitching. “You call one of your attendings a boomer?”
“I did it before, I will do it again.” You smile back. “Besdies, he’s not my attending anymore. Those days are over, thank God.” Struggling with a smile, Al-Hashimi just shakes her head and starts walking towards the elevator. You follow her like a lost puppy. Before the doors close around the two of you, Al-Hashimi turns towards you again.
“If Dr. Abbot is a boomer, then what does that make me in your eyes?” She asks, a definite smile playing on her lips. You should hesitate but your mouth moves first instead, again.
“My new boss who seems not as serious as I expected.” You want to slap a hand on your mouth but she almost starts laughing at that and you can feel the warmth blooming in your chest. “And she is also great.” You add sheepishly.
“Alright,” She grins and the elevator starts moving downwards with a loud ding. “Let’s hope that your opinion will stay the same after the end of this shift.” The elevator suddenly seems too small and the two-step, completely professional distance between the two of you is almost too much. You swallow, and put your hands in your pockets.
“Fuck.” You mutter as you scramble through them in a futile attempt to find the last piece of gum that you stored for this specific instance, but it isn’t there. There is no way you are going to last through another five hours if your mouth tastes like straight-up filth. You grit your teeth so hard that Al-Hashimi probably noticed it, because redemption comes to you by shoving a pack of gum into your hand.
“Thanks, you might’ve just saved my life.” You sigh, closing your eyes, savoring the familiar freezing taste of the mint. “Definitely saved my life, don’t even know how to thank you properly.”
Al-Hashimi chuckles.
“I do have a few ideas. For starters, let’s get you right into the first trauma we get; I want to see those skills that I heard so much about.” Her gaze shifts to your hands. “If half of what they say about you is true, then I will be more than happy to get you permanently back from triage.” You ignore the stupid pictures your mind generates at her words and just nod. The elevator stops at the ER and she is the first to step out.
“Oh, and be a darling and try out the AI tool I sent you, alright? It would definitely make your life much easier if you accepted the offered help.” She casually mentions as you head to Trauma 2, the shouting of the paramedics already clear ahead of you. “Good.” She says to your indefinite nod and turns around. Her earrings catch a glimpse of the fluorescent lights as she strides forward, already giving instruction with a steady voice.
You don’t care in the slightest about the fact that your mouth tastes just like hers.
Things start to speed up after returning from the unorthodox trip to the rooftop. You are being pushed back into a flow you know very well and it’s too fast to think so you just move - trauma after trauma, the ambulance bay endlessly echoing the squealing of wheels as you run back to help the paramedics out until you are certain that the smell of blood has been permanently burned into your nostrils even through the layers of your mask, your ears ringing with the instructions shouted right into your ear and the constant sound of sirens seems to drill a hole into your skull. Everything is loud, everything is catastrophic and utterly exhausting and somehow, you love every second of it.
So this is what has been missing from your life, you lament as you hold a man’s heart in your hands, meticulously working on to keep it beating. You follow orders, check screens, hold body parts and sew things back together, all while keeping a tempo you can barely comprehend. The people swarming around patients, the adrenaline pumping in your veins and the blood rushing in your ears - throughout all of that, you still can feel that someone keeps watching your every move.
Somehow it doesn’t bother you at all.
When it quiets down a little so you can manage to get away to chart your cases, the latex gloves stick to your hands unbearably like a second layer of disgusting rubber skin. They snap as you peel them off your hands, the antiseptic chilling on your already drying skin as you automatically rub it into every pore of your palms, making your way towards your workstation. Princess and Perlah are chatting a few feets aways from you and Dana is currently talking on the phone, but it doesn’t bother you. Noise automatically drains out of your ears as you start to type down the first patient’s data, the keyboard clicking comfortingly under your fingers.
Halfway through you start to notice that someone is watching you, but you just continue. If Dana wants to stare daggers into your back, so be it. If she wants to say something important enough, she will tell you. If not - well, you don’t exactly have the brain capacity for that today.
“You have an expression on your face that screams bloody murder, just so you know.” She speaks finally, her tone amused. “Might want to change that before some poor kid sees you and becomes terrified of doctors for the rest of their life.”
You shrug.
“I think if they are unlucky enough to come here, they will never step foot in any hospital without a great amount of anxiety.” You lean back, carefully stretching your arms. “At least I’m sure I would develop some kind of disorder if someone like Robby would stare at me. I hope that our new superbaby won’t be scarred for life.” That comment earns you a slap onto your arm. “Ow! What was that for?”
“Mind your mouth when you are in my ER.” Dana answers, not looking up from the screen before her. You roll your eyes but you are careful to turn her back to her. “For your question, Baby Jane Doe is perfectly fine. She’s taking formula well. And just for you know,” she shoots you a judgemental glare from beneath her glasses. “She seems to like Robby a lot. Also don’t roll your eyes, it’s very impolite. Weren’t you supposed to leave this behavior in high school, kid?”
“Yeah, okay mom, whatever.” You step back to your computer, staring angrily at the few lines that you have written. What a pain in the ass charthing is. You almost get tempted to use Al-Hashimi’s new AI tool. Almost. You are not that desperate yet. “I should have gotten ran over by that car on the way here.” You mutter, eyes scanning the screen as you half-heartedly proofread the text.
Dana shakes her head disapprovingly.
“You have been saying very questionable words since you arrived, kid. Don’t do shit like that, in the end you will be giving me a heart attack before due time. And stop smoking while on the clock. You don’t think that I cannot smell that shit on you from a mile?”
“Seriously, Dana? That’s literally the pot calling the kettle. Besides, you have been bullying me since the beginning of the shift. I should honestly report you to HR." She fully ignores you, calling out for Perlah instead and you turn back to work too with a renewed disgust for the whole process. Unfortunately, it isn’t long until someone else manages to interrupt your neverending calvary.
“God, sometimes I wish that this place just got a bomb alarm or something.” Trinity drops onto the chair next to you and buries her face in her hands in despair. “Any distraction would be warmly welcomed, actually.”
“I'm pretty sure that they still would make us finish our charts in that case.” You mutter, rubbing the bridge of your nose. You can feel another migraine building up. “Even if a fucking plane crashes into this shitty place we are not getting out here without staying overtime.” You are sure if Management could pull it off, they would chain each of you to your work stations the moment night shift arrives. Something something about maximizing efficiency, you groan silently as the words start to blur in front of your eyes.
“Don’t even say shit like that.” Trinity groans, her voice agitated. “Our dear Robo-Doc here already threatened to make me repeat my R2 year if I won’t catch up on charting before the end of the shift.”
“Wow, and here was I thinking I was special.” The fluorescent lights above burn your eyes. “She told me that I might not get a good recommendation after I end my residency here. That really motivated me.”
Trinity snorts.
“I bet.” She squints at you. “So what is your opinion about her?”
“Uh, I don’t really know. She could have been worse I guess.”
“Worse? After she threatened both of us? I swear she is one step away from starting to turn all of us into brainless clankers.” She grips onto the recorder like it personally offended her. You just shrug.
“She seems balanced enough to keep this place together. That’s all I care about, honestly. Though I would appreciate it if she gave me a top-tier recommendation.” You add dryly. “Also earlier I might've flirted with her by accident.”
“You did what.” Trinity turns towards you, her eyes widened in disbelief. “You are kidding me.” Her shoulders start to shake and her laughter is so uncontrollably loud that Dana looks over at you over her glasses. You just shake your head at her. “Oh my God, tell me everything! Was it awkward? I’m sure it was, you are physically unable to execute any type of pickup line without failing miserably. What did you exactly say to her? I really wish that I could have seen her face!”
In your opinion, Trinity is acting far more gleefully than it would be appropriate.
“I mean it wasn’t flirting flirting but like… the vibe was weird enough. I think, at least. I’m not sure if she took it that way. I kind of really hope that she didn’t.” Your eyes are not leaving the screen. “And what is with you saying that I’ve got no game? Do we go to the same clubs or not?” Trinity pretends not to hear that.
“So this is your idea of getting a good recommendation? I did not take you for the type but sure, go for it! Just please tell her during your pillowtalk-session that leave me out of her app-promoting shit. And don’t make me repeat this year.”
“What are you even talking about at this point?” You sigh. “I won’t tell you that because I will not be getting into that situation in the first place.” You shoot Trinity with a sideeye. “And even if I did - which is majorly impossible - I certainly wouldn’t do anything for you after this.”
“You are the definition of ungrateful.” She snorts, turning back to her charts. “Here I am trying to improve your dating history, which is miserable to say the least and this is the gratitude I get? Shameful.” You roll your eyes at her, submitting yet another patient’s chart into the system.
“I think you should focus on finishing your job instead.”
“Yeah, a girl can dream.” Trinity mutters, staring defeated at the computer in front of her. “I genuinely think I will be retired before I get to the end of this.”
You frown.
“Why don’t you try and use that AI tool that Al-Hashimi recommended? If you got threatened… I'm saying that you might as well try it.” She shakes her head.
“It makes a ton of mistakes, it’s better if I do it myself. It’s better than having Robby shitting on me again today.”
“You and me both, sister.” You mumble. Trinity hums in answer, and when you look up you find her staring towards South 15. Following her gaze, you find yourself looking at a pretty stressed-looking Langdon trying to appear calm and collected as Robby talks to him quite vehemently. You look back at Trinity. Her lips are pressed together so hard that blood had completely left them.
“Hey.” You kick her chair slightly. “Hey. Earth to Trin. What’s up with that stare? Was he an asshole with you again?”
She looks at you as if she had woken from a dream, her eyes finally focusing only on you.
“No, no. It’s fine.” She shakes her head. “He tried to apologize for being so hard on me on my first day here or whatever.” She looks so out of place and you cannot tell why.
“And? Did you accept it?” You continue to press on. Her face changes at your question, the same stubborn expression appearing on her face that you know so well.
“Please. Of course not.”
“Then is there something else? Someone else? You seem… off.”
Trinity just shakes her head and scoffs.
“Maybe becasue I’m tired as fuck? There is nothing else. Why don’t you just leave me and go play Lovergirl for Dr. Al here, don’t you have anything else to do than to bother me?”
“Okay, ouch. I got it.” You should leave now but the words slip out your mouth anyways. “Oh, yeah, what about you and Garcia? Are you still going with her to watch the fireworks? Or did she cancel yet again?”
Her jaw goes slack and you prepare for another brutal dig at your (nonexistent) love life for the comment but a hand weighs down your shoulder and it is not yours. Spinning around you half expect Al-Hashimi to stand there just by habit at this point, but it’s just Robby, you realize it with a wave of mixed relief and disappointment. He has an expression on his face you really don’t like.
“How are you holding up?” You do not like his tone from the start.
“I think I’m doing fine. Why? Is there something wrong?” He shakes his head.
“No, not at all. I was just surprised to find you here, when I remember it pretty well that I told you to stay in triage.”
You swallow.
“Oh, yeah. True.” He did say that.
“Then tell me for the love of god, why the hell did I see you in with the last trauma patient?” Robby doesn’t raise his voice but it’s worse that way. “Are you deliberately ignoring my orders or are you just plain stupid?”
“No, you misunderstand, it’s not that!” You say, voice trembling just a little bit. “Dr. Al-Hashimi specifically ordered me back here to get back into rhythm quicker, it wasn't to defy you, I swear!”
“Al-Hashimi, huh?” Robby asks, running his hands down his face. “She told you to come back here and you did? Even when told specifically not to?”
“Well, she is my attending. What was I supposed to do?” You feel the anger curling in your stomach. What does Robby think you should have done? “Say no to my superior?”
“Yes, maybe!” He snaps. “Maybe don’t overrule my instruction in favor of someone who isn’t even supposed to be working today! Maybe, just maybe don’t come in to work while you are still clearly not capable of handling things! The last thing I need now is another incompetent resident who can not fucking do their job because of whatever bullshit they decided to pull out of their asses this morning!” Robby is almost shouting the last sentence and you can feel the eyes focusing on the two of you. Trinity is dead silent on your right, not even moving a muscle and you can make out Dana staring at the two of you in the corner of your eye.
You look back up. Robby is angry, and by God, you do not enjoy seeing him like that. He is breathing harder than usual, mouth twisted into something cruel and sharp and you almost want to throw up the way he looks at you now. Like you are nothing but a nuisance. He too, seems to come to the realization that the two of you became the spectacle of the hour so he leans in, quieting his words so only you can hear them.
“Get yourself together, but quickly.” He whispers and the wrinkles on his face look deeper than ever. “I don’t need someone who doesn’t follow what I say; and this department is still under my lead until the end of the shift. Remember that.”
Since the beginning of your sessions, your therapist has been saying that it’s better to indulge in your violent thoughts, as long as they are strictly in your head - this way, you can avoid repressing them until it blows up right in your face. You decide to follow her advice this once, so you imagine bashing Robby’s head with a metal pipe until the grey matter emerges from behind the sturdy bone of his skull.
Surprisingly, it does help a little. So instead of saying what you think or straight just spit in his face, you swallow the words that wish to be said and nod. Robby doesn’t say anything else either, instead storming away towards where a muffled I need an attending here is coming. You turn back to the screen, staring at the nonsensical words you wrote, the letters buzzling against the white background like hundreds of ants trapped in amber, preserved for eternity.
Eventually people turn away from you and the ED quickly returns to the steady flow it was minutes ago, but you still can feel your ears burning. Trinity doesn’t say anything for once, and you are grateful for that. There is nothing that can make this day worse, you think and that is a mistake, because the next second, your screen goes completely black.
“What the fuck?” You almost scream at the useless machine, turning towards Trinity with despair on your face. She looks at you, eyes wide in horror.
“Dude, don’t tell me that the system just-” The next second it’s announced that because of the potential risk of a cyberattack, the whole system is shutting down. “Fuck.” You lean forward, silently cursing whatever stupid idea had led you here in life. There is no way you are getting home in reasonable time.
In the end, it isn’t as bad as you expected. Sure, going completely analogous on a national holiday in 2026 is more than shameful and it's a complete misery to get through it, but it isn’t as bad as it could have been. It’s still terrible, but you would take this any day rather than another Pittfest. You shake and push the memories of that day back into a hidden corner of your mind - unfortunately, you still have a job to do.
It turns out all of the new med students are freaks, because while the guy - Ogilvie - is a walking medical lexicon, Joy apparently has photographic memory, so you don’t have to activate any neurons to remember where and which patient you have to look out for. God bless whoever decided that her rotation starts today, you think, watching as she recites each and every piece of information written on the patient board like she just lists whatever she had for breakfast. You don’t even remember what you had for breakfast.
God, one day back in the Pitt and you are already contemplating another voluntary psych hold.
The shift keeps racing forward like a bullet train without a driver without any sympathy for those who can’t keep up with it. Transfers are still arriving from the places that shut down, a collapse at a nearby waterpark brings multiple victims into the ER, Robby is getting more and more aggravated by the second, Dr. Mel King goes for her deposition hearing because of an asshole parent, and then ICE shows up and you all have to act like it’s totally normal as their presence alone makes the ER feel like a bomb waiting to be detonated. Then Jesse gets thrown to the ground, ziptied and dragged out right in front of you eyes and then you have to go back to work and pretend that it’s just a normal workday; that one of your nurses didn’t just got fucking abducted. Great.
Then to top all of that, Emma, the sweet new nurse from earlier gets put into a headlock by a patient before he gets knocked out, and there is a fair amount of suspicion in you that Dana might’ve done something but you do not care at that point.
And there is still no answer of who left Baby Jane Doe here.
Donnie asks you to check on her after seeing you wandering around for minutes in Central, staring at the board absentmindedly. It isn’t something you usually do - there is a reason why you didn’t want to do your residency in Pediatrics - but you go anyway.
The baby is more quiet now, not even waking up as you step into Peds and lean above her crib. You observe her quietly. She lays on her back, her face moving slightly in her sleep. You check her for any signs of discomfort or indication for any deterioration of health, but fortunately you find nothing out of the ordinary.
“Okay. You keep holding on, kid.” Your finger brushes against her cheek. “You are doing much better than me, if I was brought here as a baby, I would have been tweaking out this entire time. You are doing great.” She starts tossing and turning when you want to leave, a cry threatening to form on her lips so you carefully pick her up and lay her on your chest. She doesn't calm down immediately but you start to rock her back and forth while humming some long-forgotten lullaby, and she slowly settles down as she listens to your singing and your persistent heartbeat drumming right next to her ear.
“There, there.” You mumble, your thumb soothing small circles onto her back. “You are safe now, everything's gonna be alright; I promise. You little survivor. It’s gonna be fine now.”
She ends up falling asleep on your chest. It’s a weird feeling, honestly. Not bad just… weird. You don’t remember what was the last time you held a baby in your arms or let alone see a child who wasn’t injured or crying because of fear. It’s a better alternative, you smile to yourself as you gently caress the baby’s head. Much better.
You continue to mutter sweet nothings to her as you stand there, so immersed that the sound of footsteps doesn’t register to you immediately. It’s only when someone politely clears their throat and when you turn around, Al-Hashimi is standing there, holding her tablet like it has been soldered to her hand. She looks you up and down.
“Dr. Whitaker was asking for you earlier; figured it would be easier if I just told you.” She says. “He was in South 15 last time I saw him.” Her gaze slides to the baby in your arms. “I hope you aren’t planning to take her with you?”
“No, of course not.” You look down awkwardly, starting to place her back into her bed but a light touch on your back makes you freeze.
“Let me,” Al-Hashimi says, her voice softer than you ever heard. She extends her arms and you reluctantly hand her the baby, your skin brushing against hers in the process and a shiver runs up your arm. Though you do your best in order to ignore that as every neuron of yours is focused on not dropping the baby. You step back once you gave her away, strangely missing the warmth that another person could bring you.
Al-Hashimi doesn’t put her back immediately, instead holding her against her chest for a moment. She takes a step forward and places the baby into the crib, handling her with the utmost care. Realizing you have no reason to stay anymore, you start to walk out but you spare a look back and the sight stops you dead in your tracks.
Instead of following you out the door or doing a routine checkup on the baby, Al-Hashimi had frozen in place. Leaning over the bed with her hands placed on for support, knuckles turning white with the force of her grip, she genuinely seems to stop all movement, staring down at the child below her. You hesitate. Her face isn’t visible from where you stand and you don’t know if she is alright or something is genuinely wrong but you don’t know if you should step back in. You decide in favor of simply calling out.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi?” Her name hangs in the air like an incomplete thought. “Dr. Al-Hashimi? Is everything alright? Do you need help?”
No answer. You decide to go back in, but just as soon as you take the first step, she starts moving again, straightens up and moves her shoulders slightly, still facing away from you. She only turns around after she stared at the wall for a second. You open your mouth to ask if she’s okay but she is already walking past you, muttering something about an urgent case she needs to be on. You would let her go with that - you yourself aren't a stranger to weird and unexplained departures, possibly more dramatic than they should be - but then you see her face for a second.
Her eyes are glistening with something that seems to be more than simply tiredness but she hurries away before you could ask any further questions. You sigh, shake your head and start walking back to Central. Is there a full moon today or is it for some other reason that everyone is going total nuts?
The rest of the shift drags towards the end like dying roadkill and then passes 7 PM. The digital system gets restored and the night shift starts pouring in, bringing some life into the department but that doesn’t matter to you as you stare yet again at the copious amount of charting in front of you that is needing to be done, angrily kicking the shredder when the papers get stuck yet again. Dennis suggests that you just try to restart it but quickly stops speaking when Trinity slams her feet against it so hard that it falls to the floor. You try to smile and laugh at that but at this point, moving your facial muscles feel like chewing on titanium.
Around half past eight, you spot Abbot standing alone under the board, staring up at the vibrating screen. He notices you looking at him quickly, waving a hand as an invitation for you to come over. You jog to him, appreciating the way your limbs still work as they supposed to be after the neverending charting-session.
“Rough day, kid?” Abbot asks as he gives you a quick hug.
“You can’t even imagine.” You huff against his shirt then step back. “I think there is a new record of how many different ways people can blow themselves up.”
“Believe me, I can.” He grins but then his face drops. “Heard you got quite beaten down by everything. Are you still okay? This must’ve been hell of a first day back.” You shrug.
“Could’ve been worse; our new nurse, Emma got attacked. I just got a killer migraine from all the beepings and stuff.” Abbot chuckles, his voice ringing deep in his chest. “Is your buddy alright? The one you bought in a little after noon, gunshot wound and transected trachea was it maybe?”
He sighs.
“Yes, he has stabilized, last I’ve heard of him. Hope he can make a full recovery. He’s a great guy.” His eyes squint. “Speaking of good guys, is this new attending of yours treating you fairly? I’m getting mixed feedback on her, but I think she seems alright.”
You raise your eyebrows.
“Coming in not even by the time your shift starts and you start gossiping immediately? Very cool, Dr. Abbot.”
“What? Can’t I form an opinion about a fellow colleague?” He asks. “Didn’t even ask many people about her. But what do you think?”
“I think that thirteen hours is too little amount of time for me to form a solid take on her.” You sigh. “It’s just not enough for me to judge her entire character.” But it’s apparently more than enough for you to develop a much awkward attraction towards her.
“You know, you can learn more about a person during a shift here than a lifetime out there. And that knowledge extends to yourself too.” Abbot says with a completely serious face. You just stare at him unblinkingly.
“Why are you looking like that? You know it’s true.”
“And that is why you are a boomer.” You mutter then continue with your normal voice. “Anyways, as I was saying, it’s not like she’s terrible or something; she’s just new. If we give her a week to settle in, she can run this place like the navy.” You hesitate for a second. “That’s what I think, but….” Abbot finishes it for you.
“Robby doesn’t like her?” You nod, eyes averted to the floor.
“Yeah. Not at all.” You look up at him. “He is behaving weird, Jack. I know he was never the nicest guy around but the things that he said today…” You shake your head. “It scares me. It’s like he doesn’t care about anything anymore. Dana said he talks about his motorcycle trip like he won’t be coming back. He’s lashing out at everyone who tries to ask him if he needs any help and I swear that he is seconds away from starting to argue with Al-Hashimi in the middle of the ED.”
“Not so far from the truth.” Abbot scratches his nape. “I saw the two of them a few minutes ago, they were really going at it. Shouting and cursing, and all.”
“That’s… not good.” You can hardly imagine Al-Hashimi shouting or cursing but after the events of today, maybe her composure can be breached too.
“No, it’s not.” Abbot sighs.
“Could you… maybe talk to him?” You quiet down. “Robby, I mean. Speak some sense to him, he always listens to you.” And if he doesn’t, that means that there is something really bad going on.
Abbot nods, his eyes already seeming exhausted.
“I will talk to him.” He puts his hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “And kid, get out of here. Get some sleep. You will need it tomorrow.”
“Wish I could. Still have some charts to finish.” You grimace.
“Then do that but head straight home after that. You drive here?”
“Yeah, brought it back yesterday from the mechanic. Hopefully it works too because if not, the amount of money I put into it to be repaired is nightmarish.”
“You good enough to drive?” Abbot asks, worry creeping in his voice. “Would be a damn shame if you got brought back by an ambulance.”
“I’m just tired, not blind.” You roll your eyes. “You worry about me too much.”
“Okay, okay, just make sure to stay safe. It’s already hard to see Robby treating everyday traffic like a race without a helmet on, so don’t you dare to endanger yourself.” Abbot pats you on the back. “Be safe, kid. Get some rest.”
“Thanks.” You smile at him and he gives you one last pat on your back before you hurry back to your desk. If you get the rest of it done in less than fifteen minutes, you can get almost eight full hours of sleep. You start the typing with renewed elan and things finally stop looking so bleak as you start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Too bad that Trinity Santos doesn’t want the same things as you.
“Hey.” You ignore her hissing at first. “Hey. Look up, shithead.” You don’t look up. That earns you a forceful kick to your shin.
“Ouch!” You hiss, biting back a curse. “What was that for?”
“So now you’re listening? Great.” Trinity huffs, leaning forward in her chair. “You wanna go out tonight? I’m thinking karaoke at the usual place. Seems like Mel is coming too.” She ads as she senses your hesitation.
Your eyebrows jump up at that.
“You mean our Mel? What type of blackmail did you need for that to happen?”
“Hah. Very funny. She’s coming because I asked her. I’m doing the same with you. So? Are you going to be lame and go home or are you going to have fun?”
“Oh, I’m going to be so lame today you can’t even imagine. There is one place for me to be tonight and that is my bed.”
“What a loser.” Trinity rolls her eyes. “Even Huckleberry seems to have more of a personal life than you do and that says something, don’t you think?.”
“He’s going to Amy’s tonight?” You frown. “Isn’t this like the third time this week?” She doesn’t answer you, just shakes her head. You sigh, and close your eyes for a moment. “Man, that is so weird. I mean, no shade to him but like doesn’t she kind of use him? He exhausts himself here everyday and then goes to the farm and does the majority of work there… Are they dating? Dennis said they aren’t together but like… meeting her parents for lunch every week? That’s kind of weird.”
“Well, if you find it weird, tell him. Maybe he will listen to you.” Trinity grumbles. You stare at her questioningly.
“Are you two having roommate issues again? Did he forget to do the dishes or what?” She doesn’t answer you, just stares back before speaking.
“Do you want to be better than him? Then know that you can be a loser and still have fun.” You raise your eyebrows at that. “Some of us will go up to the roof to see the fireworks; will you come there? You can even bring Dr. Al too if that would make you feel less scared. You can pretend to be scared of the explosions and cling onto her arm in pure terror.” She pretends to dramatically faint like a malnourished Victorian lady with anemia.
You just laugh in her face.
“What do you think I will do, ask out my attending on the hospital rooftop? Gee, thanks Trin but I would pay for that not to happen. Besides, she is married so I would’t even make a move even if she had happen to like women, or I don’t know, wasn’t my fucking boss in the first place!”
“She isn’t married.” Trinity’s grin is full of smugness. You stop speaking, mouth hanging open.
“Yes, she is? She talked about her son before.”
“No, she isn’t.” Trinity stares at you with triumph in her eyes. “She’s divorced, Princess told me in the morning.” Of course she did. “ Also, do you think everyone who has kids is married? You are being very prejudiced right now."
“Shut up.” You mutter. “Just shut up for a second.” Oh. Al-Hashimi is divorced. You blink once. Then again. Let the reality of that thought settle in your brain. Let it turn around inside your head as you inspect it from every angle. Let your mind write two thousand and thirty-four different scenarios based on one simple fact. You blink again.
Yeah, you still got no fucking chance with her.
“So, are you going to invite her with you or are you going to chicken out?” Trinity asks, the smirk still on her face. You shrug as you collect your stuff from your desk, drinking the last drops of lukewarm coffee from your mug. It tastes terrible, one more reason why you want to get out of here as soon as possible.
“I haven’t even said that I would go up there with you. Somehow I think I could endure this evening without spending one more second within your presence.” You stand up and stretch, your scrubs clinging onto you with a familiar uncomfortableness. You shoot a grin at her. “Please do me a favor and send a video of your karaoke performance, God knows how much I need a laugh today.” She gives you her middle finger for that and you still chuckle as you walk away from the station, waving goodbye to Dana who is still stuck waiting for her replacement.
“Don’t be a pussy and come up!” Trinity shouts after you and follows that up with something more insulting but you are already far away, opening your locker and dragging your stuff out. If you don’t take your scrubs off immediately, you are going to have a generational crash out, you think as you head towards an empty bathroom. Minutes later you emerge with your daily clothes on, your scrubs haphazardly thrown into your backpack.
You don’t leave yet, though. There is something in the air tonight, and no matter how badly you wanted to go home all day, some part of you just isn’t ready to leave the proximity of the building yet, like you are afraid of going home for some reason. So you start to find a place for a moment of loneliness. The rooftop is out of question, the ambulance bay is far too loud, and you don’t even consider going back inside where you can meet someone that might’ve wanted to talk to you.
In the end, you decide in favor of the parking lot. The night shift had already arrived and the remaining part of the day shift will probably wait up on the roof until the end of the fireworks. That and the fact that the area isn't as lit as the other places might be gives you enough space and solitude to have another cigarette.
If you are lucky, no one will tell this to Abbot, you think as you click your lighter, watching the small flame igniting the end of your little lung cancer-stick. He can make such a fuss about something as minuscule as a quick smoke and while he is right about the health factors of it, he certainly can’t dictate every single part of your life, your mouth turns into a thin line as stubbornness spreads in your lungs along with the smoke. Besides, two cigarettes isn't too bad. You will start quitting tomorrow anyways.
The concrete floor of the parking lot is still emitting the warmth of the previous day even with the sun down, and it almost makes it comfortable enough as you lay on your back and stare up at the starless sky. Light pollution is such a shame, you think as you take another drag and blow out the smoke. You should travel to a place where you can actually see the stars next time you go on a vacation. Maybe when you are fifty, you can afford it.
You continue to lay there, lazily blinking.
Just moments before you reach your inner peace, it gets ruined by the buzzing of your telephone. Pulling it out from your jacket, you see three messages flashing on the screen.
theunholy_trinity: hey
theunholy_trinity: where r u????
theunholy_trinity: dont tell me u went home
You sigh and start to type back.
you: im in the parking lot lol
you: gimme 5 minutes ill be up
theunholy_trinity: better be here in 3 seconds
theunholy_trinity: even samira came up and you dont?? bitch
She continues to type but you turn off your phone, putting it back into your pocket. You glance up at the night sky. The fireworks could start any second now and there are twelve floors separating you from the roof. It might not even be worth it. But still…
You could go up. For a little. Stare at the explosions and try not to think about Louie and how much he wanted to see them. Go home and sleep dreamlessly until your alarm goes off.
The cigarette ends up extinguished before you smoke even half of it, but you aren’t ready to stand up yet. Two more minutes, you think as you close your eyes as you feel your phone buzzing endlessly in your pocket, your body melting into the concrete like it was the finest mattress. Then I will stand up.
You don’t get two more minutes.
After approximately thirteen seconds since the last message had arrived from Trinity, someone gasps above you.
Peeking out under your eyelids, you see a familiar silhouette standing above you, illuminated by the orange lights of the parking lot. Her hair is let down now, taken out of her usually kept together hairstyle, strays of hair curling around her face as if she just stepped out of a Botticelli painting.
“Hey, doctor.” You greet her, still laying on the floor of the parking lot. “We gotta stop running into each other like this, people might start gossiping.”
Al-Hashimi gasps your name and you know it then and there, that you are a lost cause.
taglist: @professorsapphic
let me know if you want to be tagged!
chapter summary: you have to start working again. it doesn't go well.
warnings: age gap (reader in their 20s), mentions of past breakdowns, michael robinavitch, slowww burn, medical inaccuracies, reader is down bad from the start
a/n: finally posted this onto tumblr, maybe i will get more motivation to finsh the third chapter
The moment you step into the PTMC waiting room, you immediately want to walk out. It isn’t as bad as you remembered, it’s worse. So much worse.
The leather chairs that always seem filthy no matter how often are they cleaned, the noticeable lack of air conditioning, the humid warmth that sneaks under your clothes and sticks onto your skin, the neverending flood of patients, the collective smell of unwashed bodies, sweat, clotted blood and other bodily products that infects everything, the constant murmur of aggravated people - seems like your mind somehow softened all the memories and upon return it all came crashing down.
That, or your hate for this place has surpassed all expectations upon your return.
God, you really wish there was another way, you think as you push through the crowded rows, trying not to turn around and run away, but sadly, rent doesn’t pay itself. You wave towards the reception and catch a smile from Lupe before she turns her attention back to the endless line in front of the window.
You nod towards the security guard at the door as you push your card against the scanner, the buzz ringing familiar to your ears as you walk inside. The change of atmosphere hits you immediately, instead of the tired humidness of Chairs there is tension in the air, like a rubber band that is stretched out continuously, waiting to snap back into your face. You pass through triage quickly, careful so you don’t have to look into familiar faces just yet but the smell of disinfectant already conquers your senses when you reach the lockers. It even invades your mouth, coating your tongue with the repulsive taste of chemicals.
The paper the hospital sent you is filled with mostly meaningless blabber - Welcome back; Happy for your succesful recovery; and Eagerly waiting for your return - but it’s the only thing that has the combination for your new locker which, by the looks of it, was probably used last when the current attendings were still interns. It’s still good enough for you to put your bag and jacket in there so you don’t complain much.
Besides, you are already late on your first day back in… how many days exactly? You don't think it lasted longer than two weeks, but it should have. If it wasn’t for your roommate finally moving out after threatening to do so for two years, you would have probably continued to ignore the emails from the hospital that were piling in your inbox for days before getting an answer.
But you came back, half a month and four therapy sessions later, being deemed ‘stable’ and ‘able to work within a few days’ by Dr. Jefferson. He probably wanted to keep you away from work for a longer time, but you are not in the place financially where you can let yourself get fired. He made you promise that you won’t have a breakdown yet again and while he didn’t look convinced, he got your point.
And the point is that your evaluations are good and you are mentally competent to start working again. That is enough for the hospital and enough for the department and should be enough for you. It is enough for you because you need to keep this job. You just have to suck it up and not kill someone while on the clock; patient or otherwise.
You close your locker with a forceful slam and start marching towards your doom.
You need this job, you chant inside as you push the door and finally step into the ED, the awful noise of the Pitt blessing your ears instantly; the white lights shining so bright that you have to close your eyes for a second. It almost manages to cancel out the absolute cacophony of sensations that the ER is, the beeping of machines, the yelling of the staff, the air full of the smell of antiseptic. With gritted teeth, you head to the nurses station and glance at the board that is already - or rather still - covered with patient names. Great. The start of an absolutely fantastic day in the greatest hospital of Pittsburgh.
Beneath the cursed board, a blonde-haired nurse is standing and reading swiftly from a tablet while she’s talking to another younger nurse next to her. She has a sweet face framed by dark curls and she is hopefully new because you don’t remember her from the last time. But you know the other one - the charge nurse - and she notices you almost immediately.
“Oh, look who decided to drag themselves in today! Must be a special time for all of you missing faces to show up.” Dana Evans presses her mouth together and looks you up and down in a very disapproving way. “I hoped that after all that talk about ‘mental health’ and ‘improving yourself’ you really did get help this time.” There is a smile hidden beneath her words.
“I too am very glad to see you again, Dana.” You answer dryly. “Yes, I am alright now, thanks for asking. No, I won’t be away again. Yes, I did get the help that I needed.” You lean against the counter. “Anything else I forgot?”
“Shut up. It’s good to see you again, kid. You look good.” She gives you an one-armed hug and you notice the absence of the smell of nicotine but Dana pulls away before you can ask about it. She raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you really good? You were in pretty bad shape last time I saw you. Thought that you might not be back for a good while.”
“Funny, I thought the same about you. But I’m fine.” You smile at her, your rusty face muscles creaking under the strain. “I just had to take a break, but it’s all super okay right now.” She presses her mouth together at that. “I’m really fine, I promise.” You insist. “I got the help I needed. Do you believe me or do I need to call down Dr. Jefferson to prove it to you?”
Dana doesn’t seem as convinced as you hoped her to be but she doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you again, like she is searching for something else in your eyes. You blink, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden under her piercing gaze. She seems to catch it and she backs up, giving you one last pat on your arm.
“Whatever you say, kid.” She sighs. “I'm glad you’re back. It’s early and we are already overwhelmed and Robby is in a real shitty mood right now.” Her eye twitches.
“Why? What happened? Did someone fuck up again?’
“No, but this is his last day before he leaves and he is all jumpy because of it. You know how he is with his ‘responsibilities’. Thinks he can carry this whole department without any help or advice. He is one stubborn old bastard, that’s for sure.” Dana shakes her head. At other times, you would be shameless and say that Robby is younger than her but today a different phrase gets your attention.
“His last day? He’s leaving? Since when?” You have known Dr. Robby since the start of your internship and later residency and he never once took even one day off. “He isn’t quitting, right? That man practically lives here.”
“Not anymore.” An excited voice chimes in. Princess is there on your right, leaning closer and you automatically follow her movement. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “He apparently wants to go on a long road trip. Supposedly it’s a sabbatical leave. He has a motorcycle ready to go and everything.”
“He still has that ‘69 Bonneville?” You ask, confused. “And he leaves tomorrow?”
“He leaves after this shift.” Dana says. “But no more gossiping. Go back to work.” Princess sighs and walks away but not before giving you a look that says ‘I will catch you up on everything’. You grin back at her. The last two weeks must’ve been if she acts like this.
“Are you done with gossiping while on the clock? You are already late.” Dana just stares back at you from under her glasses until you mumble a low ‘sorry’. “Great. Now let me introduce you to the newest addition to this place.” She gestures towards the young nurse who has been awkwardly standing next to her the whole time. “She just arrived today so mind your mouth before you speak.”
“When have I ever not done that, huh?” You grin at her but turn to the girl quickly. “Sorry for not introducing myself, I was just trying to get back into the old routine.” (“I’m sure of that.” Dana snorts next to you.) You say your name, your hand extended to her. “I’m starting my third year of residency here but recently I have taken a break for my mental health.” That’s the easy way of saying it. “Nice to meet you.”
The new girl seems hesitant for a second but when she takes your hand you are surprised at how firm her grip is. Huh. She seems very much captable. You have a feeling that she can do more than just survive here. Maybe even has a good first day. You hope so at least. She looks very sweet.
“I’m Emma Nolan, nurse. But you know that, of course.” She adds quickly and you have to restrain yourself from giggling. Emma seems utterly terrified - you cannot figure out if it’s because of Dana or you or both of you. She reminds you of Javadi on her first day, though you really hope that Emma won’t faint during surgery - one more person for Santos to bother is one person too much.
“Glad to meet you, Emma.” You let go of her hand and turn to Dana. “Hey, do you know where Robby is? I haven’t seen him yet but I want to talk to him before he leaves.”
“He was in Trauma 2 a minute ago… and still as it seems.” You look towards the room and there is Robby, standing there with his arms crossed as usual, the others are gathered around the laying patient. You spot some familiar heads - Whitaker, Santos, Javadi - but there is someone else standing next to your attending. You can make out the curly brown hair and a pair of earrings that glimpse in the bright lights but you can surely say that you have never seen this woman in your life.
“Yeah, I think I see him… But who is that next to him? The woman with the curly hair?” You ask. “Is she new too? I haven’t seen her here before.”
Dana chuckles.
“That’s your new attending, honey. And the reason why you should be cautious around Robby today.”
You look at her in disbelief.
“Why, is she that bad?”
“No, but from the few that I have heard, she is a real strict rule follower.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “And you know how much Robby hates regulations.” Yeah. You have a slight idea about that. “She came in a day early, already started torturing the med students with a mock code. Apparently has some AI tool that she wants to introduce to regular usage. And those ‘Patient Passports’ you see in Chairs? That’s her work too.”
“She sounds far too passionate for a place like this. Remind me,” you mutter, eyes still glued to the mysterious woman’s back. “how long will Robby be on his sabbatical?”
“Around three months maybe. Not even he knows for sure.” Dana sighs. “If you ask me, he acts a little cryptic for what the trip is supposed to be. He’s not ever in the mood for talking about it.”
“This all sounds very promising.” you rub your eyes. “I’m so happy to be here.” You glance at the board above you and let out a scream internally. Why do you always have to work? Was this what humanity was made for? Was this the reason why you were born? All those years in med school just for this?
Well, the last one checks, You did go to medical school for this exact thing.
A light slap on your back is what wakes you from your inner tirade.
“Alright, enough of you moping around.” Dana says, voice already sounding tired. “If you really don’t know what to do without talking to Robby, go to North. There still are plenty of handoffs to be taken care of. Dr. King is already there and I sent Langdon too. Ask them for specifics”
You perk up at his mention.
“Is he back? Since how long?” If your colleague with the substance abuse problem came in before you did, you are jumping into traffic after this shift ends. “I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Two minutes before you. You barely avoided each other.” Dana gives you a look. “Both of you had their fair share of bullshit to get through recently so don’t get into a fight with him before noon.” She checks the time. “Or before the evening. The only thing we do not need is for you two to irritate Robby even more. Now, go, go!” She waves you away like people do to an annoying fly.
You sigh and flash an encouraging smile at Emma for the last time then head towards North, but before you could do anything that counts as working, a tired voice calls out your name. Turning around you see your boss along with the mystery woman walking towards you.
“Oh, hey Dr. Robby! I was just looking for you but Dana said you were in with a trauma-“
He interrupts you immediately.
“Well, I’m out now; great to have you back again and all that. You better have gotten yourself together because today is going to be hell of a first day so sorry for the no ‘Welcome Back’ party you may have expected.” He’s rubbing disinfectant over his hands, his words rushed just like always. “Are you going to keep yourself together this time?”
“Ouch. Forgot how optimistic you always get, boss.” You mutter. “And I’m fine. Fourth of July always kicks our asses but I can deal with it, no questions needed.” The woman next to him furrows her brows at that but Robby doesn’t seem to care.
“Were there any fireworks accidents yet? Those are always a delight to treat.” You ask, peaking over Robby’s shoulder to look into Trauma 2, but you only see Esme cleaning up the massive puddles of blood.
“No,” Robby shakes his head. “but now you certainly jinxed it. This was just a very unlucky guy with a weird dishwasher. Knife right in his chest.”
“So I didn’t miss much.” You say. “You can see stab wounds every day, but firework explosions happen just twice a year. How lucky we are.” Again, why did you decide to come in today in the first place?
“Do you think they ever considered putting up a betting pool for that?” Robby mutters but before you can ask ‘what the fuck’ the curly haired woman next to him clears her throat and you sweat that Dr. Robinavitch rolls his eyes before he straightens back up, turning towards his companion.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi, this is the resident I have told you about. It seems they decided to come in earlier than expected.” Robby turns towards you. “And this is Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi, the attending who will fill in for me when I’m away on my sabbatical.”
Al-Hashimi steps forwards to extend her hand to you and in that millisecond, there are exactly two thoughts speed blitzing through your head.
First, is she really wearing a Lululemon jacket to a hospital?
Second, your new attending is so, so hot.
Her firm grip on your hand is what gets you out of the momentary stupor the sight of her put in - apparently you did take her hand even if you don’t remember starting the motion. You grin at her over your hands clasped together trying to seem like a competent and normally functioning person. Inside, you are freaking out.
“Oh, so you will be Dr. Robby’s replacement? Very nice to meet you.” Her smile widens a little at that and you almost fold into two at the sight - her eyes seem so warm and deep and her lips are so pretty too - is that a dimple? “Dr. Al-Hashimi.” Her name has such a nice ring to it. You wouldn’t mind saying it often.
“I feel the same way. Although I would’ve liked to introduce myself,” Al-Hashimi’s eyes slid to Robby for a second. “It’s good to finally put a face to a name that I heard this much about.”
“Oh, so you heard about me?” You raise an eyebrow. “I hope only the best.”
She tilts her head, her eyes glistening with amusement.
“Of course. Only the best, doctor.”
This time Robby is the one who coughs, and you realize that you are still holding onto Al-Hashimi’s hand. You let go of her immediately, feeling the warmth of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You mutter something akin to ‘sorry’ and shine a bashful grin towards the woman but she doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite actually, you notice, her smile grows even wider.
God, you love when pretty women laugh because of your stupidity.
“As I was saying,” Robby starts again, shooting you a glare. “I told about your… situation to Dr. Al-Hashimi and she agreed to check up on you from time to time during my leave. Just to make sure that everything goes smoothly.”
Your face immediately drops.
“What? There is no need for that. I’m totally fine.”
Robby sighs, rubbing his temples.
“You had a breakdown so bad that you had to take a two week long break in the busiest time of the year; I don’t need to hear that you are fine, I need to hear that you will not hold us back. And since I’m not sure that you are the correct judge for that, Dr. Al-Hashimi promised that she will cover for me. Okay, “Robby claps his hands together. “Any questions?”
You just gape at him like a fish.
“No questions? Great. Then go to triage for today. I sent Langdon already there and Donnie can keep the two of you in check while you get used to proper work again.” He glares at you. “Now please, go and do your job. We had covered for you this whole time so I would very much appreciate if neither of you would fuck it up today. We have enough problems already.”
Hot shame starts to boil beneath your skin but before you could even react to anything that was already said, the new doctor speaks up.
“I’m sorry, are you sure about this? Putting two of our more experienced physicians in triage during a major holiday?” Now you are certain that you see the annoyance on Robby’s face. “Our priority should be to reach the highest level of care given to our patients and that is much easier if we have all practiced residents in the ER.”
Robby runs his hands down his face, voice growing more and more aggravated.
“I’m sure you think this is a good idea, Dr. Al-Hashimi, but until the end of the day I am in charge of this department so I kindly ask you to leave my subordinates do as I say.” He looks at you. “You understand what I need from you? Good,” he acknowledges your hesitant nodding. “now go and do your job. No more distractions.”
And then he is gone, striding away and leaving you in shambles before your new boss.
“Well,” you start, “I was hoping for a better first impression.”
Dr. Al-Hashimi doesn’t seem to appreciate your attitude.
“Is Dr. Robinavitch always like this?” She asks, stepping directly in front of you. She looks after the receding figure of Robby, her eyebrows furrowed.
“You mean being harsh?” You laugh but it’s much too bitter for your liking. “I suppose. But I did just go on a multiple week long pause in the beginning of summer so I get why he said that. I really cannot afford to be a liability right now.”
Al-Hashimi shakes her head.
“This attitude is unacceptable from an attending towards a resident, no matter the circumstances. I have to report him for that.” Dread coils in your stomach at her words.
“There is no need for that, I swear! Please, don’t do that. He’s just… stressed, that’s all.” You almost grab her arm but you stop yourself in time. “And he will be gone after today, so please, let me just do whatever he wants me to! Tomorrow you can put me wherever you want but I don’t want to argue with him on his last day!”
Al-Hashimi doesn’t answer you immediately. She just stares at you like she’s trying to figure out something, but when the horror that you had crossed a line starts to awaken in you, she just nods.
“Alright, I can wait with the report after he has gone away.” You open your mouth to say something but she quickly shuts you down. “I might not yet know how Dr. Robinavitch runs this place, but I do recognize unnecessary commentary and that was way above the limit of encouragement.” She puts a hand onto your shoulder. Her grip is even firmer like this and you can feel the hard metal of her rings pressing into your skin through your scrubs as she continues speaking.
“I truly heard great things about you, Doctor, and I expect no less from you.” Al-Hashimi smiles at you, her canines showing for a second and your mouth goes dry. “I eagerly wait for our chances to work together.”
“Of course!” Your voice sounds far more enthusiastic than usual. “I can’t wait for that either!”
She squeezes your shoulder once more, and then Al-Hashimi is gone too, and you are left there all by yourself in the beeping of the ER.
Maybe this shift isn’t going to be as bad as anticipated.
You do manage to get to triage in the end. Langdon and Donnie are already there treating patients and you quickly follow their example. It’s automatic, the way you do your work there - routine questions, checkups, scans, exams - and then they are going back to Chairs again for who knows how long. You fall back into rhythm relatively easily. It’s just a little monotone enough not to overwhelm you already but you are still kept on your toes and it’s more than enough to keep the unnecessary thoughts of pretty brown eyes and sharp teethed-smiles out of your head. Distraction is the last thing you need, you grimace as you lean over a burnt thigh, listening to the old lady scoff above your head.
The last thing you need today is another one of Robby’s motivational speeches. You need to be effective at least until he goes away. Though Al-Hashimi seems even more strict, she at least looks more stable than your current boss. And doesn’t want to berate you for every moment you waste, you think, rubbing disinfectant onto your hands yet again.
But despite your efforts, distraction finds you anyway, dressed in hospital scrubs that almost have you choking on your own spin for. Even that stupid lilac jacket just adds to her, you observe as you turn towards her, setting down the pair of scissors from your hands.
“Hey there,” she starts, her eyes shining. “There is no need to worry. I just came here to check if everything’s alright, but I can see what capable hands we left triage. Good job.”
You decide to blame the nonexistent AC for the sudden warmthness of your cheeks.
“I introduced myself to Dr. Langdon too, but I think there is one more thing to do before I can head back. Could I talk to you for a second?”
‘Yes, if Donnie can cover for me.” You shoot a questioning glare at Donnie who is in hearing distance and he gives you a thumbs up. Al-Hashimi sits down next to the chair next to yours and takes a deep breath.
“Have you ever struggled with charting?”
The question kind of hits you out of nowhere.
“I mean, yes. But that’s not unique, everyone has problems with it. What about it?”
“Great question. The fact that everyone struggles with it is precisely the problem.” Al-Hashimi pulls out her phone and unlocks it, clicking onto an app you don’t recognize. “Did you know that physicians working in the ED spend more than forty percent of their shift working on their charts. That significantly lowers the time they spend with each patient, resulting in the drastic decrease of patient satisfaction.” She turns the screen of the phone towards you. “Have you ever considered using AI for lightening your workload?”
“No, not really.” You shake your head.
“Well, then, let me introduce you to the future of medicine.” Her smile beams at you and you already find it hard to follow what she says.
Al-Hashimi starts to explain the concept more in depth but unfortunately it takes one glance at her wildly gesticulating hands and the way her rings shine and your ears shut off as you continue to shamelessly try to check out your boss. God, you are terrible at this job.
“...so those are the base conditions of using it. The important thing is to fact check it before submitting because while it does have a ninety-eight success rate, those remaining two percent can be crucial.” You nod, finally snapping out of your daze. “So what do you say? Are you ready to give it a shot?” She must see the hesitation on your face because she leans a bit closer. “Think of all the time you could spare if you didn’t stay after shift to catch up on charting. And you do want to get a good recommendation after you finish your residency, don’t you? The delay of your charting might prevent that.”
“Yes, that would be my goal.” You say, trying to mask your astonishment. You never expected her to go this low.
“Great! Then all you need is to give me your email to send you the link for downloading the app and you are ready to make your life a whole lot easier.” Al-Hashimi hands you her phone and taps the notes app like she didn’t just threaten your whole career. “Write it here, please.”
“Thank you, I will be sending the link soon.” As soon as you hand the phone back to her, she stands, her posture so straight that you fear her spine might just break into two under the strain. “Now I will let you back to your work.”
You stare up at her, unblinkingly.
“Yeah, thanks boss. Will be sure to make great use of it.”
Her eyes slightly narrow at your last comment but she leaves without a word. Not before her hand accidentally brushes against your back though. Your skin tingles there for a long time.
The email arrives and you download the app.
Maybe this day is not going to be as bad as it started, your smile is tense as you welcome the next patient who, in a fit of rage, managed to punch straight through a car window. There might be a way that you manage to go home with your mind still intact, you pluck another minuscule piece of glass out of his skin, but first, this shit will need so much stitches. You look back up at your patient with a sigh.
“We both had better holidays, didn't we?” He asks, his eyes studying your face.
“What, do I look that tired?” You chuckle humorlessly. “I mean yeah, but I had it far worse.”
“Tell me about it.” He sighs, careful not to look at his numbed up arm. “When I was in college, once my best friend got so blacked out at a Fourth of July party that he genuinely started to think that he was C-3PO from Star Wars.”
“Well, that isn’t too bad.” You pluck another shred from his index finger. “When he was ten, my little brother pretended to be Gollum from Lord of the Rings for a full week.” You shrug. “The worst part was that he was kinda good in that role.”
Your patient laughs. It’s maybe a little too loud for your taste but it’s always nice when people don’t moan because of pain underneath your hands.
“That must had been a handful to deal with! Our bad luck came from the fact that our friend didn’t only believe he spoke multiple fictional languages, but he tried to demonstrate this by calling all our parents to talk to them in what was supposedly Serbian.” He leans a little bit closer to you. “It was 2 AM when he started.”
Your patient laughs again at his own words and you smile back.
Maybe there is still a slight chance for a good day.
One hour later, Louie Cloverfield is announced dead. You throw up in the bathroom before joining the others, your trembling hands searching for your last piece of gum in the pockets of your scrubs.
It shouldn’t be a big deal; it’s not like this is the first time a patient of yours died. Far from that. And you weren’t even his physician, just someone he knew. He knew the entire department by name, you think as you walk towards the viewing room. He even spoke to you in the morning, complaining about his teeth and complimenting your ‘new style of clothes’ - you wore the same scrubs as always and laughed at your lame jokes about going to a psychiatrist.
It shouldn’t feel like this.
You laughed along with him too, and it wasn’t as forced as it had been with the glass-punching guy; you mentioned how you don’t even want to hear about fireworks until New Year’s Eve and he scolded you for that, commanding you to watch it in the evening. Your grin was so wide when you gave in that you were afraid your face might rip into two.
Louie was still grinning ear-to-ear when Langdon took him back to one of the newly emptied rooms, waving goodbye as the bustle of the ER swallowed him whole. You went back to work and forgot about him as you were presented case after case.
Three hours later, he lies on a gurney in a viewing room as the whole department surrounds him and you cannot forget him anymore.
Robby is saying something that you are sure is very emotional and important and you should be listening because this is Louie he is talking about and Louie should be remembered as you saw him and as you didn’t saw him and you are sure now there is something wrong with your ears because you can only see mouths moving but no noise reaches you.
You are pretty sure Langdon said something to you amongst the words ‘pulmonary hemorrhage from liver failure’ and ‘there was nothing I could do’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ and he doesn’t look you in the eye. You want to comfort him somehow because the two of you both fucked up real time, letting everyone down multiple times but your head feels like it’s under anesthasia again and thinking isn’t as easy as it should be. You just stand there, at the end of his bed and watch as the new nurse holds Louie’s hand. Then you walk away because there is still work to do and the ER never stops.
There is another hour after that which you won’t remember later; injuries and wounds and scans and arguing family members and Westbridge shuts down so transfers are constantly arriving from there and you are sure that you will be eventually called back from triage and at that thought, you feel like you have been punched in the stomach.
Around 12:30, you find yourself at the nurses’ station, staring mindlessly at the board. Your patient - a young kid with abdominal pain of unknown source - is already under Mohan’s care, waiting for his scans to arrive but you stay still for a moment under the guise of charting, praying that you can steal a moment of peace for a second.
It doesn’t work of course. By the moment you type the first words down, someone already steps next to you. Or rather, steps so close to you that when you turn towards her, your arm almost brushes against her chest.
“How are you holding up?” Al-Hashimi asks, her head tilted sideways. “Are you still flooded in triage?”
“I’m good and yes, it seems like everyone in Pittsburgh decided that today is the perfect day for getting injured.” Your smile is strained as you step back a little, the table pressing against your side. Did she really just sneak up on you? Does she think this is funny? “Still trying to catch up on charting though so it might be a hot minute until I get back.”
Up this close, you can see the faint freckles spread across her face, like constellations in the night. You can determine that even with the usual tiredness of someone who works in the ER, she still looks very put together and fresh somehow.
“Yes, about that. I wanted to ask you if you have tried my app yet.” Al-Hashimi looks at you curiously and you know that she has the prettiest brown eyes you have ever seen. “I would like to hear your feedback about it.”
“Really?” You lean back as far as it doesn’t seem impolite. Naturally, you haven’t even thought about the app nor tried it.
“Yes, of course. It’s important that all members of this department get a word in how our common future will be shaped. Also,” Al-Hashimi steps closer, seemingly unaware of your attempts and also seemingly having no regard for your personal space. “It seems like despite your age and his earlier words, Robby seems to trust you. That signals me that I can trust your opinion too.”
“I-what - Robby trusts me?” You are at a loss of words. She stands so close that you can feel the smell of the mint-flavored chewing gum on her breath. “That’s a new one.”
“Seems like it.” She winks at you. Your brain shuts down for a brief moment. “You might be more popular than you expect.”
“That’s… that’s great to hear.” You mutter, careful not to look Al-Hashimi in the eyes. “Sorry, but I really need to go back to triage. I kind of just left them there so I should get going. Excuse me.” You have never been so eager to go back to work. Or to get away from one of your superiors.
“Of course.” She says, disappointment apparent in her voice as she steps aside. You almost manage to escape when she calls your name. You turn around, eyes hesitantly settling on her figure.
“Just so you know, I’m fully planning to get you out of triage.” Al-Hashimi says. “Your abilities should be used to the limit of potential and you don’t get to fulfill yourself out there. Dr. Robinavitch is a great doctor, but even he can have a temporary lapse of judgement. You do belong in the ER, no matter what people might say and it’s important that you realize that.”
She steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder yet again, her hand setting confidently against your body. You hope she doesn’t sense how tense you are.
“Do you realize that, Doctor?”
“Yes.” You try to say but your voice croaks a little. “Yes,” you repeat again. “I do understand, Dr. Al-Hashimi.”
“Great. It is important to know your own worth.” Her hand squeezes your shoulder and then she lets you go. You too, take a step back and almost collide with one of the tables. Princess looks up from the charts she’s reading and gives you a questioning look but you just shake your head and hurry back to triage where Donnie points at your next patient who happened to drink two gallons of milk because of a dare and now is currently vomiting up his guts.
At least there are no distractions in your mind this way.
Surprisingly, you manage to stay in line for another thirty minutes before your not-so-solid resolve breaks and you decide it’s time for a brief break before you have to listen to another person gagging on their own stomach acid. Langdon promises to cover for you after looking at you like a sad dog when you said you will take a quick break. It makes your head ache, the way his eyes shine so you just take the small package from your locker then make your way quickly towards the elevator, all while slaloming through beds and unhappy patients littering across Central.
Dana shoots you a disapproving look glare from under her glasses when she clocks where you are headed, but then someone starts screaming uncontrollably and she hurries off, the new nurse, Emma shadowing her every step. She understands it anyway, you think and check if you still have your lighter. You will definitely quit next week.
As you step into the elevator, you can still hear Dana’s voice cutting through the chaos like a knife, but then the doors close in front of you and the elevator starts moving upwards. Your fingers slip into your pocket close around the small box inside, grasping it so hard that the cigarettes inside might break before you reach the top.
Five minutes. That’s all you want. Just five minutes. You can go back after that.
summary: after a brief pause in your career, you return to your job at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. you aren't the only person who's first shift is during fourth of july.
synopsis : in which the brilliant, unflappable, sharp-witted Emily Prentiss begs for your forgiveness after she forgets to fill up your tank.
The amber glow of late afternoon filtered through the lace curtains of the living room, painting warm, honeycomb streaks across the hardwood floor. Outside, the world was slowing down, but inside, the quiet was thick with a deliberate, performative tension.
You sat on the plush sofa, legs tucked beneath you, staring intently at the TV screen with your arms tightly crossed. You weren't actually watching the broadcast; your entire being was attuned to the sound of socks soft-stepping across the rug.
"Sweetheart?"
Emily’s voice was velvet-smooth, rich with that low, fond cadence reserved strictly for the sanctuary of your shared home. Gone was the crisp BAU blazer, replaced by an oversized, heather-grey sweater with sleeves pushing past her knuckles.
She hovered at the edge of the couch, holding two steaming mugs of chamomile tea, her dark eyes swimming with pure, unadulterated penitence.
"I brought peace offerings," she murmured, carefully setting the mugs on the coffee table before sinking onto the cushion beside you. She shifted closer, the subtle scent of black tea, cedarwood, and rain-washed air drifting off her skin. "I am deeply, irredeemably sorry."
You kept your chin tucked, fighting the traitorous pull of your own lips. "Hopes and dreams, Emily. I rolled into the Shell station on literal atmospheric pressure."
"I know, I know," she coaxed, her voice dipping into a soft, pathetic whine that would shock anyone who’d ever seen her stare down an international criminal. The formidable Agent Prentiss was nowhere to be found; in her place was a helpless lover girl terrified of staying in the doghouse. "I got the call from Hotch, and my brain just scrambled. I was going to stop on my way back, but I was just so tired & I forgot ."
"I asked you specifically. You looked me right in the eye and said, 'Of course, sweetheart.'"
"And I meant it! My heart was in the right place, even if my head was in Quantico." Emily shifted onto her knees, settling on the rug right between your legs. She rested her folded arms on your lap, looking up at you through a dark fan of eyelashes, her expression entirely crumpled with devotion. "Will you ever forgive me? Or am I doomed to sleep on the rug with the ghost of my forgotten errands?"
"You're very dramatic when you're guilty," you noted, maintaining your best stern frown, though the warmth of her chest pressing against your knees was rapidly melting your resolve. Truthfully, you hadn't been angry after the initial sputter of your low-fuel indicator. But seeing Emily Prentiss—brilliant, unflappable, sharp-witted Emily—reduced to begging for grace over a quarter-tank of unleaded was a rare, delicious treat.
"I'm desperate, there's a difference," she whispered softly.
Slowly, tenderly, she reached up. Her cool, ringed fingers brushed over your cheekbone, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Her touch lingering, thumb stroking the soft skin of your jawline. She leaned up, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"Please?" Kiss.
"I love you so much." Kiss.
"I'll buy you a whole tank tomorrow. Two tanks. I'll buy the gas station." Another lingering, velvet press of her lips against yours, slower this time, tasting like honey and desperate affection. She leaned her forehead against yours, her warm breath fanning across your lips as her fingers gently hooked into the hem of your shirt, anchoring herself to you. "Don't be mad at me, my sweet girl. It breaks my heart."
You let out a soft sigh, the faux-anger evaporating into the warm ambient light of the room. Your hands finally betrayed your chest, rising to thread through her thick, midnight-dark hair, cradling the back of her head.
"You're lucky you're pretty," you murmured, tilting your head to catch her mouth in a real, languid kiss that made her hum in relieved satisfaction.
Emily melted instantly, shifting up onto the sofa to pull you flush against her chest, wrapping her arms around you like a shield against the rest of the world. "I am the luckiest," she agreed against your neck, her voice thick with soft, domestic worship. "Now drink your tea before I have to beg you to forgive me for letting it get cold."
Content: fluff, dr. Garcia being dr. Garcia, reader is called “dr. Sweetie
You were seldom in the ED department, but when you were, it was always a good time for the doctors there. You were a total sweetheart, and you always came bearing treats— homemade treats, which were objectively more sweet, hence your nickname.
You were going down there now to treat the baby Jane Doe that was abandoned. Right off the elevator you were being greeted.
“Dr. Sweetie. Always good to see you.” Mateo said in passing. You smiled and waved at him even though he was already walking away.
The atmosphere in the ED was cold and gray, the faint sound of chatter from people in chairs could be heard along with patients in pain. Much different from peds, but wasn’t gonna break your stride. You entered room six where the baby was thrashing around.
One of Robby’s pittlings (as they called themselves) were trying to calm her but failing miserably.
“What’s her issue? Let me see.” He handed her over to you.
“Uh, she’s definitely has a fever, but there’s something else we can’t figure out.” He explained. “You’re dr. Sweetie, right?”
You smiled. “In the flesh. And you’re,” you flitted your eyes down at his badge. “Whitaker?” He nodded.
“Yep. That’s me. Do I need to get her anything?” You shook your head, still patting her tiny back gently.
“I brought everything I needed down. She’s gassy, so I’m gonna give her some drops. I got this, you can go back to work.” You assured him.
“Okay.. bye.” Whitaker waved awkwardly before leaving.
It didn’t take long for the gas drops to kick in, baby Jane Doe was knocked out in no time. You left her to sleep peacefully and decided to look around for Garcia, she was always down here anyway.
You found her coming out of trauma one, her face stone cold as always. When she spotted you, her entire face switched into something soft.
“Hey. What are you doing down here? This is where joy comes to die, y’know?” You giggled.
“I love your jokes. I had to give the baby some medicine. She’s quite the handful.”
Yolanda scoffed. “All kids are. Which is why I love steering clear of them.” You rolled your eyes.
“Of course you think that. She’s sweet, the baby. She’s still in need of a home, you know?” You wiggled your eyebrows, Yolanda knew exactly what you meant and it was not happening.
“Ah, Sweetie! Find out what’s wrong with the baby?” Dana asked you, her pen and paper in hand.
“A little gas. I’m gonna leave you with these drops, if she’s showing the same symptoms as earlier, put a few droplets in her mouth and she’ll be fine.” You slid the box towards her.
Dana smiled. “Thank you, doll. It’s always nice seeing you down here.” You mirrored her smiled.
“You know I love you guys.” You beamed. You couldn’t dilly dally much longer, there were at least three kids upstairs that needed you.
You found Yolanda hanging around Robby’s workstation bullying Langdon. You snuck up behind her to press a kiss to her cheek.
“Bye, Yoyo!” You knew it would embarrass her and open up a can of worms, but it was totally worth it.
You and Yolanda were long gone before the gossip started.
“Garcia and sweetie? No way.” Javadi said when the news got to her. She didn’t know you that well, but she knew how sweet you are and how rude Garcia is.
“Oh all the way. I saw the shit right in front of my eyes. Opposites attract, I guess.” Santos sighed, a tinge of jealousy panging her.
“They are kinda cute. I mean, the way Garcia softens when she’s around. Super cute.” Emma gushed. Trinity sent her a look. “What? I have eyes.” She shrugged.
Dana smacked her hand on the counter. “Alright, gossip group. Break it up before Garcia gets back down here.”
———
Hours later at home, Yolanda and you were trying to decompress with a glass of wine and some tv. She nudged your foot.
“You kinda messed up my reputation earlier. Don’t want people thinking I’m soft.” You chuckled, rubbing your foot up and down against her arm.
“You are soft, Yoyo. Soft for me.” You leaned up to press a kiss to her cheek. “Plus the whole thing was payback for all that teasing the other day.” You smirked.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so sensitive. Silly reason to blow my cover if you asked me.” Using words like “silly” was something Yolanda reserved for you and you only.
“Oh I’m the sensitive one. Says little Miss can’t be in a committed relationship.” Yolanda threw her head back laughing.
“That’s cold. But it’s true, you really sat me down.” Your smile softened a tad.
“Aww. Come here you softie.” You set your glass down to engulf Yolanda in a hug. She pretended to hate the physical touch, but of course you knew better.
౨ৎ hi, lovelies!! my name is cami, welcome to my blog!! ⋆˙⟡
"In a room the size of loneliness, my heart's the size of love. It contemplates its simple pretexts for happiness: the beauty of the flowers' wilting in a vase, the sapling you planted in our garden, and the canaries' song—the size of a window." -- Forugh Farrokhzad
⤷ all works are sapphic/wlw • i usually write for fem!reader but if you include a preference in your ask, i’ll adjust! • i don’t write smut and that's a real good thing bc it would be terribly written if i did • ADDRESSING AI • reblogs/requests are always appreciated!! ゛ ˎˊ˗
𓏲ּ𝄢 fluff ⛰︎slow burn ➴angst ☀︎series
THE PITT:
baran al-hashimi ⋆ ౨ৎ˚⟡˖
⛰︎➴☀︎ the wound (is the place where the light enters you)baran al-hashimi accepts a new attending position at pittsburgh trauma medical center, hoping for a fresh start after years of hard choices and an uneasy divorce. she does not expect. to run into the woman she once loved with a depth that shaped her early adulthood.
𓏲ּ𝄢☀︎ let my love keep you safe now | part one | part two| part three | part four | part five (coming eventually!)
you have been dating your girlfriend, baran, for about 6 months when she asks you to come with her to celebrate nowruz and meet her family. suffice to say, you’re scared shitless. med!school au
𓏲ּ𝄢 sick days kaveh's school calls the hospital: your five-year-old son is a little sick. you and baran compete for who gets to leave work early to pick him up.
𓏲ּ𝄢 time and attention (love without measure) this time, baran is sick. you step up to the plate to take care of your wife.
𓏲𝄢 first, do no harm everyone at PTMC knows chief emergency attending baran al-hashimi does not play about strict adherence to medical procedure. but when her wife is injured in a car accident, she has to decide whether she's willing to compromise on the rules.
➴ you come around, i'm ruined this is the part of loving a doctor nobody warns you about: the missed dinners, the late nights, the absence. you miss your wife even when she's around you. you miss her more when she's not.
𓏲ּ𝄢 persuadeable age gap (r is late 20s, baran is 40) - you and baran have been hooking up for a few months, never really going beyond that. one satruday you run into her at your favorite museum, and she has a guest...
𓏲ּ𝄢 armed and dangerous is it really any surprise that baran goes all out for her son's bring-your-parent arts and crafts day?
➴ nothingman part 1 | part 2 you had baran had agreed to not start officially dating until she is no longer your boss at PTMC. but when she accepts a permanent position there, the plan falls apart, and so does your relationship.
➴ both arms cradle you now you come out to your conservative religious parents as gay, and your girlfriend baran is there to witness the fallout.
➴ my angel two years after kaveh, you and baran decide to try again for a child, but it ends before it really begins.
𓏲ּ𝄢 you can't always get what you want (but sometimes...) baran thought it would be a fun, 'cool' mom moment to take kaveh to the park late at night because a special pokemon got released. when it starts monsooning, there's really only person she can think to call
cassie mckay ౨ৎ˚⟡˖
𓏲ּ𝄢 stop the world for a minute your period is an extra bitch this time around, so it's a damn good thing you have an angel of a girlfriend who’s more than willing to dote on you
𓏲ּ𝄢 the worst possible way to get her number working in PTMC, you have occasionally seen a bright-smiled, kind-eyed, very hot woman in the hallways, but the only thing you know about her is that her id has the "doctor" tag. you haven't had the chance to meet her properly until today. sucks that it's a meet cute from your deepest nightmares.
𓏲ּ𝄢i'll rewrite this whole life (and this time, there'll be so much love) cassie mckay reconnects with you, her estranged friend from high school, through a two-decades long misunderstanding that leads to something more
MARVEL:
natasha romanoff ⋆ ౨ৎ˚⟡
➴𓏲ּ𝄢 clumsy you are an absolute klutz, but natasha is there for you nontheless.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
gracieabrams
2087
