A/N: This is the very long anticipated (I wish) part two to my Richie x reader from months ago. I've been swamped with school and finally found the time to chuck out a second part. Hope you enjoy!!
TW: Mentions of death/suicide, smut, swearing
Part One
Richie's front door slammed shut as she was pushed up against it. A moan fell from her mouth as Richie's lips left hers and stuck to her neck, traveling down to her clavicle before wandering back up. The rest of their shift was utter torture. Every glance, every brush of his hand had her thinking of their alley way tryst- hot, relieving, and a smidge illegal. Their shift couldn't have lasted longer, leaving them (especially Richie) in an insatiable state of arousal. The moment they'd arrived at his apartment, their hands were on each other and had no plans of leaving until they'd finished what Richie started.
His hands wandered her body, pulling and squeezing at whatever he could get between his fingers and savoring each gasp that fell from her lips. He swallowed each moan straight from her mouth, feeling as it made him twitch in his jeans.
"Peach, baby… I am so hard for you." He murmured against her lips, tugging her hips into his in search of friction, "Need to take you to bed, please."
"Mhm," she cooed tauntingly, trying to get a rise out of him with a smirk, "I know, baby. You wanna be inside of me? Want me to touch you?" She accentuated her words with a hand on his pants, palming him through his jeans. It wasn't often that she took such a forward approach, but something about Richie made her want all of the control yet none of it at all, all at the same time. Her smirk widened against his lips at the sound of a delicious groan bubbling up from his chest.
"You're a fuckin' tease. Who woulda thought?" He pulled away from her lips to look her in the eyes, giving her a coy smile, "It's a good look on you, Peach." He tugged a sharp gasp from her as he hooked his hands around her thighs and hoisted her up around his waist like it was nothing— lugging around all of those bulk deliveries for the restaurant had paid off. His fingers dug into the skin within her jeans as he slowly carried her to his bedroom where he laid her out on his bed and climbed on top of her.
Her hands quickly pulled him down to meet her lips in another heated kiss, his own hands traveling under her shirt to feel her smooth skin. Asking softly for permission, he pulled her shirt over her head, hands quickly connecting to her breasts over the padding of her bra, thumb brushing over her nipples. The soft whimper that sounded from her was all he needed to take things further. He unhooked her bra and dropped it off the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving her body as he took in her bare breasts.
"Fuck me," he murmured to himself as his face buried itself into her neck, lips kissing and sucking at her skin as his hands worked to knead at her breasts. He kissed his way down, the stubble of his facial hair scratching at her sensitive skin as his lips crossed over her skin. He settled for a moment on the space just above her collarbones, kissing into the divots and nipping at her skin before moving further down. Richie's lips grazed along the valley between her breasts, head turning from side to side as he paid each mound the same treatment until he finally landed where he wanted to be. In one swift movement, his lips and tongue connected with one of her nipples, taking it into his mouth and ravishing it with his tongue. The muscle swirled around her sensitive skin, languid yet calculated. His mouth moved with a purpose, all he wanted from her in this moment was to hear her— to fulfill the fantasy he'd had in his head for so long. He'd spent so many lonely nights with his eyes screwed shut as he tried to picture exactly what she'd sound like beneath him and now he had it permanently engrained in his mind. He could cum just thinking about the situation he'd finally landed himself in.
It wasn't long before his ministrations drew a string of high pitched sighs from her chest as her hands cradled his head, pulling him closer. She giggled softly as he looked up at her with a big dopey smile before moving onto her other one and mimicking the same actions as before.
Her expression changed momentarily as her gaze drifted from where he was buried between her breasts down to where he ground his hips against the bed, desperately seeking friction of some kind as he worked her. The sight was downright pornographic. His fingers dug into her hips as his mouth and hips worked in sync, close to getting him off before he'd even taken his pants off. For a moment, she was half tempted to just watch him dry hump the sheets until he came, but the idea of getting him inside of her was just too delicious to pass up.
"Richie, baby." She murmured softly, gently prying his face away from her so she could speak to him with a coy smirk, "You wanna get off on the bed or in me?"
Richie swallowed dryly as he looked up at her, his pupils were blown wide and his chest was heaving slightly from the way he reeled at her spread before him. At a loss for words, a needy groan sounded from his chest while his hands hastily fumbled with his belt. The desperate clashing of metal that rang out as the belt flew off sent a chill down her spine. She pushed herself up onto her elbows as she watched him remove his clothing, one after another as fast as he could manage. As soon as they were both undressed, Richie climbed on top of her and began to kiss her roughly once more as he hitched her leg over his hip. As they kissed, Richie began grinding against her, skin against skin creating wet slick sounds as his cock rubbed against her cunt.
"Fuck, you're so gorgeous, Peach." Richie's voice was a soft whine, like he was pleading with her as he praised.
It was sudden the way he slipped his tip between her folds without warning, dragging it up to rub against her clit before moving back down to her entrance. Soft moans flowed between the two as he slowly pushed himself into her, parting her legs further with a gentle hand. It wasn't long before he moved within her, sloppily thrusting in and out as her nails dug into his back. Richie's thoughts were entirely drowned out by his pleasure. All that ran through his mind was the image of her face screwed up with pleasure beneath him as he fucked her.
Richie was gone.
***
The next few weeks fell into this pattern— shifts full of sexual tension that melted into nights of gentle fucking, intimate and personal. It wasn't long until Richie started bragging to the others at the restaurant about a girlfriend he refused to bring around, claiming they'd "scare her off". In reality, they'd decided to keep quiet about their endeavors, tensions were still too high between him and Carm. If Carmen found out Richie was sleeping with his sister, he'd probably have an aneurysm.
So they stuck to their usual routine at the restaurant. Their easy friendship with underlying chemistry they used to ignore now addressed yet hidden. Most things between them stayed the same. Their friendship had already began blossoming into more before truer feelings were revealed. The only difference was now they woke up next to each other. She'd roll over in bed only to be greeted by a lazy smile and a soft kiss, something she hadn't had in a very long time. They'd make breakfast together, drink coffee, and just exist in one space. It all flowed so easily between them.
Until they were around Carm.
All bets were off the table. Suddenly neither of them knew how to function as real people. Did they play dumb? Did they keep it extra tight lipped? Did they attempt to continue their dynamic and pray they didn't give too much away? Full name drops, robotic movements as they skirted around each other, burning food and dropping dishes, they were a fucking mess.
"Richie," she cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to ignore Carm breathing down her neck, "Do you mind passing me that knife, please?" She knew she was being weird, normally she'd just reach around him and grab the knife herself, but with Carm there, she felt like she couldn't go anywhere near him.
"Sure thing, Pea-" Richie course corrected faster than he could register, quickly replying with her first name rather than the usual Peach.
"Thank you." She sent him a tight lipped smile, careful not to brush his hand as she took the object from him.
Carm, for once, noticed something was up. Usually, he was too wrapped up in food or being pissed off to notice anything outside of his little bubble, but he could practically smell the tension between his sister and Richie.
"The fuck is going on here?" Carm's eyes narrowed as he looked between the two, carefully analyzing the scene before him, "You two are being real fuckin' weird."
"No we're not."
"Fuck off."
They replied in unison, stiffening at Carmen's accusation. Their quick denial only served to further Carmen's suspicion. His gut was telling him this had to do with Richie's new girlfriend— maybe their dynamic was frowned upon by this secret woman and now they had no clue how to act.
"This about Richie's new girl?" He raised an eyebrow at them, noting their ever stiffening demeanors the further he questioned them.
"No?"
"I said fuck off."
Again, two synchronized denials.
"Right." Carm nodded with a scoff, looking them both up and down, "I don't actually care why, but the pair of you need to figure it out because you're slowing the kitchen down. Got it?"
Carm's sister nodded sheepishly, embarrassed at having been caught in her awkward behavior. The second he left though, they fell right back into place. Their shoulders slump, hearts stopped racing, and they were able to give each other knowing smiles.
"You really sold that." Richie told her sarcastically, giving her ear a playful tug.
"Oh, right because telling Carm to fuck off every time he asked a question was super convincing." She received a quick eye roll for her retort, leading her to merely laugh, "Seriously, babe. You gotta do better."
"Whatever, Peach."
***
It was later that night that they finally decided to discuss sharing their relationship. The secret had gone on for a few weeks and people (not Carm) were starting to pick up on the clues— or at least heading down the right track.
So, wine (or in Richie's case, beer) in hand, they cuddled up on his couch and began devising a plan on making their reveal. They could just walk in together and make an announcement— "no, that's super lame, Richie. We're not announcing an engagement." They could tell someone and let it spread around— "That just makes it seem like a rumor, Peach. We're not in high school."
"Okay, how about this." She sat up, scooting slightly out of his arms so she could look at him, "We just act like it. Ya know, act like the couple we are. Kiss or hold hands or whatever the fuck. Just act naturally. No big announcement or rumor, doesn't have to be a big thing. We're a couple now, big whoop. Everyone pretty much saw it coming anyways."
Richie nodded for a moment, looking over to her with a proud smile, "That's a genius idea, baby. Simple and easy. I like it."
"Simple and easy." She repeated with a smile, clinking her wine glass against his beer, "I like the sound of that."
"You know…" Richie decided to change the subject, directing it away from the restaurant for once so they could truly relax, "I was thinking about taking you out. On a real date."
Her eyebrows furrowed, "What are you talking about? We've been on dates."
Richie shook his head, patting her thigh affectionately, "No, I mean like a real date. Sit down restaurant, steak, and wine type deal. I'll even wear a suit for you."
"Oh? A suit? How fancy."
"Yeah, you like the sound of that?" Richie smirked, proud of himself for even suggesting the idea of himself in a suit. Richie couldn't even start to pinpoint the last time he did something like this. Of course, his last serious relationship was with his ex-wife Tiff, but even then, they never really did things like that either, but he wanted to do things differently this time. With her, he planned to always go the extra mile— flowers, dates, showing her off, treating her better than she's ever been treated. Anything he could do, he'd do that and more.
Her head tilted back with a laugh, watching as his eyes lit up, "You're such a dork."
"I'm a dork, huh?" He set down her wine and took her into his arms, pulling another laugh from her lips. Richie fluttered kisses all over her face, his heart stuttering as giggles sounded from her. It was in that moment that Richie knew he either already was or was well on his way to falling flat on his face in love with this woman.
***
She felt rejuvenated. She had a new pattern to her life and the change was a rush. The introduction of Richie into her life had made a difference she didn't know she needed. That's exactly what she found herself telling her brother.
Sitting in front of "Michael Berzatto"s grave, she nursed a beer as she placed a fresh one against his headstone, "I know you're probably pissed your best friend got into my pants, but honestly, it's more than that." She chuckled softly, "You can blame yourself for that actually." There was a falter in her expression as she turned her attention to the beer in her hand. It was true, the only reason why she had gotten so close to Richie was because Mikey was dead, because they were both in mourning.
Would they have gotten together if Mikey didn't die?
"Jesus," she huffed, chewing at her bottom lip to avoid any emotion that threatened to overcome her, "You're a real asshole, you know that?" She told him that pretty often.
She couldn't help the anger she still felt towards him. He killed himself. He took away the one person she looked up to. Mikey was her father figure. Always had been. Now he was gone— and of his own volition.
It was because of this that it took her awhile to find it in herself to drag her ass to the cemetery, but one she started, she didn't stop. Every Saturaday morning at ten, she grabbed two beers and took them to the cemetery to share a drink with Mikey. (Yes, a beer at ten in the morning. Fuck off.) Then, she'd spend about an hour or so just talking to him about her life, updating him on things within the restaurant and the family, or just telling him about her week. Today's topic? She was finally admitting to him that she's dating Richie.
She knows it's silly. He's dead, he can't be mad about her fucking his best friend. Right? Truthfully, she can't be sure about that. So, she put it off. She put off saying it out loud. Confessing to something she swore would never happen.
"He's… sweet, ya know?" She smiled softly, "You probably never saw that side of him. Everyone always wanted to impress you, even him. I doubt he ever found the chance to show you that." A sigh, "I can't blame him for that. Even I always wanted to impress you. Make you think that I was like… cool and shit."
She bit down hard on her lip as it began to tremble with emotion. she found herself reminiscing a time when the biggest issue in her life was Mikey not thinking she was cool enough— he always thought she was amazing. She remembered more of him than she'd allowed herself to remember for a long time, "All I wanted was for you to want me around. For you to choose your family over the drugs… I mean, fuck, I lost you to the drugs before I lost you to that fucking gun."
"Fuck you, man." She whispered, "I love you so much, but fuck you."
Then she stood up from the grave and poured out the rest of her beer, watching the droplets dripping off the blades of the freshly trimmed grass and the weeds that had yet to be pulled. She stood there for a long moment, thinking. Thinking about Mikey. Thinking about Richie. About the restaurant. About her actual job. About all of it. Everything on her mind began to swirl before her, making her nauseous.
The sound of a small family gathering around a headstone across the way and pulled her from her thoughts. She watched their grief for a long moment— two children and their mother. She couldn't bring herself to stay and ruin their grief with her anger, so she left… and she didn't know if she'd be back next Saturday.
***
It was a constant thought revolving in her mind now. Would her and Richie still be together if Mikey hadn't died?
It was morbid, but she couldn't get it out of her head.
Sure, her and Richie were friends before Mikey died, but she was more so his best friends baby sister than a friend— let alone someone he could see himself with.. right? She couldn't help but wonder if they were only together because he was mourning his best friend and a recent divorcee. Was she just the most convenient fix to his issues? Surely, not. She hoped not.
But, then again… did she ever look at him like that before?
She thought about it over and over again until she could find points in her life where she saw Richie as more than just her brother's best friend.
There was the time when she turned twenty-one and she showed up to The Beef for her "annual birthday sandwich", only for Mikey and Richie to drag her to the nearest bar for her "first" drink. They had laughed and joked together for about an hour before Mikey disappeared to talk to some girl, leaving Richie and her alone. It wasn't awkward for even a second. They continued to joke and for a moment, the dim bar lights caught Richie's eyes for half a second long enough for her to literally see Richie in a different light. He was… handsome.
She recalled the way her stomach lurched. The way her heart began to race and the way she suddenly felt like Richie was the only other person in the entire bar. She began to realize that this was the exact moment things changed for her. Suddenly, Richie was more than Mikey's idiot best friend, he was someone who made her heart cartwheel in her chest.
"Peach?" Richie's fingers pinched her hip, pulling her out of her thoughts with furrowed brows, "You look like you're doing too much thinking. What's going on."
For a moment, she'd forgotten where she was— sitting on Richie's couch, back leaning against his chest as they watched the latest episode of their favorite tv show.
"I uhm…" She chuckled sheepishly, "Dunno, just thinking about work stuff."
Richie looked down at her laying in his lap and wrapped his arms tighter around her, "I call bullshit. What are you really thinking about?"
She didn't want to keep lying to him, but how does one ask their boyfriend a question like that? She thought too much too frequently and Richie caught her in those worries more often than not, but normally those thoughts weren't about him or their relationship.
"I was just…" She sighed, frowning softly, "Please don't take this the wrong way, it was just a really morbid line of thinking that I got stuck on."
"Peach, baby. Spit it out. I won't judge."
"Do you think we'd still be together if Mikey hadn't died?" She spoke slowly, cautiously. She was worried about Richie taking it the wrong way— even though her biggest worry was that Richie was only with her out of comfort rather than love.
"I…" Richie thought carefully for a long moment before slowly shaking his head, "No, Peach. I don't think so," he paused, watching her face drop before quickly recovering, "but not for the reason you think. Look, I've had feelings for you for a long time, but I buried them because you were Mikey's baby sister, I couldn't do him like that. It's just… after he died, we got closer and closer and those feelings started to resurface and selfishly, I realized he wasn't around to stop me anymore. I still feel like I'm a dick sometimes, but then I look at you and it's worth it."
She let the words sink in for a long moment. She was right, but not in the way she'd thought. She'd never considered that as a reason for why they wouldn't be together, but it made sense. If Mikey was around, there's no way they would have gotten together, he would've killed them.
"Oh."
"Oh, c'mon, Peach." Richie pulled her closer, "Don't be like that, okay? We're together, aren't we? That's all that matters."
"No, yeah." She nodded weakly, "I guess I just… wanted to know that I was more than just comfort for you… ya know?"
"Well, now you know you aren't just comfort— don't get me wrong, you're a huge comfort, but I uh… you know, I love you."
This made her sit up straight in his lap, turning to him as much as she could manage, "You love me? Like love. As in L-O-V-E, love?" She couldn't help the incredulous laugh that fell from her lips.
Richie looked ready to shrink into the couch and never return, "I said what I said, asshole. Jesus," he let out a breathy nervous laugh, "Can you just say it back and move on?"
She halted her laugh, muffling it with her hand as an excited smile took its place, "I love you too, idiot."
***
"You what?"
She looked at her brothers reddening face and stood her ground. She was breaking the news to Carmen that she was dating Richie— had been dating Richie for a minute now. She hadn't really enacted a plan persay. Sure, her and Richie had discussed it, but that was in reference to the enitre kitchen, not her brother. No, her brother needed to be taken to a quiet place to have it explained very cautiously. Carm is still under immense pressure, to be given news like this would surely send him over the edge, right? Right.
So, she cornered him in the walk in, closed the door behind her, and broke the news to him after a lot of beating around the bush. He remained silent for a long moment, staring at her with those piercing blue eyes, redrimmed with exhaustion and frustration. She watched as his face grew red and the way his jaw twitched before he finally spoke in that harsh (allegedly kitchen reserved) tone.
"Me and Richie are together. A couple. Dating. Whatever you wanna call it, we're it." She explained, crossing her arms against the frigid air of the walk-in— perhaps not the best place to do this, "We got together awhile ago, but we kept it a secret because I was worried about how you'd react. I decided it was time to tell you, so fuckin' surprise."
"You're dating Richie." Carm pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching, "As in Mikey's idiot best friend. As in the fucking idiot, Richie."
"Yes, Carmen. The idiot, Richie. The one and only. He's my boyfriend."
"Why the fuck would you do that to yourself? Why would you subject yourself to his idiocracy?" Carm stepped towards her, fingers itching to reach out and shake some sense into her.
"Oou, big word. Nice, Carm." She's such a fucking idiot. Like an idiot, she can help but antagonize him. It's a defense mechanism, really. Carm, or anyone, gets frustrated with her? Questions her? She freaks out and antagonizes.
"Sis," Carm puts up a hand, silently silencing her, "Don't need this right now, I really don't need this."
"Well, deal with it. We're not hurting you, we're not fucking in the middle of the kitchen, you'll live."
Carm took a deep breath, muttering something about needing a cigarette. However, there was a softening in his face, something strange, foreign to him. Over the last couple of years, he'd grown accustomed to this hardened anger. It was the only constant in his life at this point. Cooking and anger. That was his life. Yet, standing here before his sister who'd just delivered the worst possible news, he found himself thawing.
"Okay."
Her eyebrows shot up at the sudden change in Carm's tone, "Okay? As in you're cool and totally not going to kill Richie?"
"Yeah. Okay." His arms fell to his sides, grabbing the towel from his apron and habitually wiping off his already dry hands, "If you're happy, then okay. Just… I don't want to hear what you guys do in your free time."
"Deal," she laughed, shaking her head at him, "Wasn't planning on it. I don't think we're that close, Bear."
I don't think we're that close, Bear.
Carmen laughed in return, staring down at the ground as his mind ran through all of the things he wished he could say to her in that moment. He knew that she deserved more than just a little grace from him.
Carm and his sister had lost touch after he moved to New York for culinary school. They'd grown up as "twins", joined at the hip. They did anything and everything together, they used to be that close, they used to be able to tell each other things, but he left her in the dust and lost contact. Then, Mikey died, he dropped back into her life, and strong armed her into working at the restaurant during her free time. Carm expected so much of her because of how their relationship used to be, because he just assumed they'd pick up where they left off. It took that sentence to make him realize what he'd been missing all along— they were next to strangers now.
"Hey, sis?" Carm muttered, looking back up to her with a softened expression, "I love you."
As a fat person, I read every "x reader" as fat. And if I come across some "tiny waist" or whatever, I just ignore it.
And unless I want to make a point, I rarely tag my reader as fat. But you should know, I never write a skinny reader. They are always fat, plus size, chubby, plush, voluptuous, wide, massive, heavy. When they move, they bounce.
I am a fatty, writing for other fattys. Not as a fetish but because we exist and deserve representation.
(also I think you limit yourself as an author if you never write different bodies and just go with the easy standard, but that is just my very personal thing. You do you, we all have different reasons and dreams)
Looked at my half written fics and sighed. College is taking over my life.
Real talk, I have like twelve different fics nearly done and no time to finish them… BUT it will happen soon (on my knees, crying out to the heavens, and praying that I have the time again soon)
I mentioned before, I want to write a hurt/comfort ocd!reader fic, but I don't know who to do the pairing with. I have a couple of ideas, but can't decide.
Thinking about writing a fic about a reader struggling with relationship ocd or confessional ocd, but idk what pairing to do. Any requests? Hurt/comfort obvi
Summary: A fifteen hour shift with her supervisor/lover turns into something she couldn't have expected
Warnings: I don't work in health care, don't come for me if I get anything wrong. Smut, p in v, semi-public sex, angry sex, scolding, age gap mentioned
She didn't know if she liked day shift better than night shift. Dragging her ass out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to torture herself for fun— well, it didn't exactly change between day shift or night. It was all the same. Clock in, push her way through eighty-something people moaning and groaning in the waiting room, and head into the emergency department praying no one decided to piss on her today.
Sometimes she wondered why exactly she decided to take this career path. Blind passion and too much of The Resident? Probably. That's not to say there weren't times that she was happy with her choice. Times where she got to see parents cry tears of joy when their child made it through surgery, the laughs shared when patients describe how exactly the managed to smack their head against the side mirror of their car, or… him.
He's technically her boss. The emergency department as a whole is practically his. Senior attending physician Dr. Michael Robinavitch— her guilty pleasure. Which, of course she knew it was wrong. Not only was she a nurse, but she was nearly thirty years younger than him.
But, how could she not be drawn to him? He's kind, handsome, really fucking smart, and way too old for her. There was just something so alluring about how expressive his eyes could be. One look into those big brown eyes and you'd know just how fucked you were.
She didn't realize she was staring at him until Gloria's hip nudged her own and a redbull was waved in front of her eyes, "Someone's especially distracted this morning." Fuck.
"Dana, my savior." She laughed softly, taking the redbull with a smile. She brushed off the embarrassment of being caught staring, "Yeah, just thinking. Med students coming in today?" She had to ignore the knowing hum from Dana— she always knew exactly what that thinking was.
"Yeah, couple of 'em are already here." Dana looked at her with a playful smirk, "Little birdy told me one of them is Dr. Shamsi's kid." Dana, their wonderful charge nurse, alway a gossip. If there was one person in the ED you could count on to keep you from going off the rails, it was Dana.
Her jaw dropped as Dana nodded in the direction of a particularly young looking med student awkwardly trailing behind Dr. McKay, "You're joking! That has to be the most unfortunate piece of luck ever. I mean fuck. That's awesome to have a leg up, but… she had to have been breathing down that poor girl's neck through all of med school."
"Gossiping already?" A playful drum of his palms against the desk alerted the two nurses of Dr. Robby's appearance, "It's barely seven in the morning. That's record for you two."
Another nudge of Dana’s hip as she turned to face Robby made her heart flutter. She forced herself to clear her throat as her eyes met his. God fucking dammit. There was so much about him that made him just so fucking attractive— especially when she knew exactly what he was doing last night. Her. She couldn't tell a soul in this hospital and neither could he. So, she had to barely get by with Dana teasing her for having a crush on Robby.
"What else is there to do?" She joked, biting the inside of her cheek as she reigned in her thoughts, "My job?" That was their work dynamic. Sarcasm and stolen glances where they pretend like they weren't in bed together just hours earlier, fucking their stress away.
Although recently, something between them had shifted. What were once mornings where they'd wake up to other person gone, turned into getting ready together, drinking coffee, cooking breakfast. What was once mindless casual sex had become secret domesticity. She wanted so much more from him. These days, she'd had better luck getting off on thinking about him cooking in her kitchen and waking her up with coffee than anything else.
"How silly of me," Robby smirked, stealing a sip of her redbull, "You? Doing your job? I have no idea what I was thinking." He held the can in her direction with a twinkle in his eyes, "C'mon, GSW en route. ETA ten minutes. I need to take the med students with me and I trust you more than I trust them." He didn't ask or wait. He simply told her before calling out for a couple of med students to follow them towards the bay doors.
Dealing with the patient was a blur of blood, nauseated med students, and latex. She always worked well with Robby though. Assess the patient, take the vitals, push whatever Robby calls for, etc. Calm would wash over her like she'd entered a flow state. They were lucky today. They only lost one med student in the mess— she just tripped over the gurney she claims. To which Robby sent her to the break room under the guise of a workers comp.
She sighed as the other nurses rolled the now stable patient out of the room and towards the OR. The sight of bloodied gloves and syringe caps littering the floor just added to the exhaustion she felt. It was common place to just toss trash aside— in the heat of the moment, nobody has time to throw away used items when there's a patient actively bleeding out, but it still made her skin crawl to see the mess.
"Hey," one of Robby's large hands found her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze, "We gotta move, janitor needs to clean up before another patient comes in." His voice always softens when its just the two of them, like he momentarily sheds his role as her boss and can be just him.
"Yeah, I know." She cleared her throat, peeled off her gloves, and walked over to the trash in the corner, "Oh, ran into Abbott on my way in. Did he mention the pregnant teen coming in today?" There was a strange tension in her face as she brought up the teen that concerned Robby. She already seemed particularly on edge today and he couldn't imagine why.
"He mentioned it… why?" His head tilted to the side curiously with crossed arms, "Is there something I should know?"
When Jack Abbott mentioned the situation to her, it was brief and it was quiet. There was a sixteen year old girl coming in for an abortion with a fetal development past the acceptable deadline, but Jack had altered her chart to appear as though she was still eligible. The problem was that she missed her appointment this morning and would be coming in after his shift. He knew Madeline would share his sentiment— if she wanted to terminate her pregnancy, then they were going to help her. So, he put her in charge of insuring that it was done.
"You trust me?" She looked at him seriously. Of course he trusted her, but this was serious. His head cocked to the other side and everything that needed to be said was written clear across his face— it was a dumb question she already knew the answer to, but he was going to need more information, "Look, when we go in to do a follow up ultrasound… trust Jack's notes, yeah?"
Robby's jaw clenched as he let out an exasperated sigh. He didn't need to hear a single word more, he understood exactly what she was asking of him… and dammit if he wasn't going to do exactly what she wanted, "Okay. Okay, just… I have other patients, come find me when she gets here." Robby's chest constricted slightly, his feet turning him towards the door before they took pause. He turned back to her, his hand on the door and lips parted with words unspoken, but a tight lipped smile was all he could manage before he forced himself to tear his gaze away from her and leave the room.
Robby could feel her eyes on him even after the door closed between them, he always could. He'd tried to ignore those eyes, following him through the ER as he performed his rounds. Before he knew her, she'd always managed to pop into the exact room he was in, pretending to take patient's vitals. He wanted so badly to brush it off as some odd coincidence. That maybe he was just noticing her because she was new and pretty… and young.
But then he found his hands lingering on her back as he squeezed past, he found himself seeking her out to assist on cases, making sure she was the first face he greeted at work. Then, he found himself laying awake at night with his eyes squeezed shut, picturing the way she traversed the ED while his hips fucked up into calloused hands over and over.
It felt like hours before Robby could catch a break and it felt like his brain was stretched across an egregious amount of problems. One of which being two adult children who still hadn't come to their senses on his warnings to not intubate their father— something that was explicitly against his wishes. "He wouldn't have given up on either one of us." The daughter would tell him… to be quite honest, he was extremely tempted to tell her to wake the fuck up and listen to him, the doctor. He wouldn't though, he would maintain his minorly faux sympathy and just try to gently push them in the right direction.
The minor lull in chaos allowed Robby the chance to slip into an empty hallway for a breather. Sometimes he almost wished he was a smoker just so he could give the excuse of taking a smoke break, but the last time he smoked a cigarette was probably close to twenty years ago and he could still imagine the feeling— like he was breathing in a shitty bonfire.
A buzz from his pocketed phone pulled a fed up groan from his chest. He assumed it was someone looking for him, attempting to drag him back into the carnage. However, that groan quickly shifted into a hitch of his breath as he opened a text from her.
Still thinking about last night I have handshaped bruises on my hips lol
His heart sped up slightly as he closed the messages and cleared his throat. Something he'd begun to realize about being in a relationship with a younger woman such as her was that she enjoyed making him squirm in situations he needed to be composed in. A scoff fell from his mouth, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth when another message pops up. An image this time.
A mirror photo she'd taken in the the staff bathroom showcasing her pulling down part of her scrubs low enough to show that she did in fact have hand shaped bruises there, accented by a few deep purple hickies he'd left with his mouth. Her skin there was so soft and plush with fat, he could still taste her sweat on his tongue. Robby's fingers ghosted over the keyboard for a moment before clicking out a response.
You're trouble, you know that?
A glance down the hallway gave him a perfect view of the nurses station where she was staring back at him with a knowing smirk.
That's how the rest of the shift had gone. Every interaction growing in thick tension. She popped up in every patient room he went to check on, greeting him with that coy 'Hello, Dr. Robinavitch' and smirking to herself when he greeted her with a curt nod and a smile.
Robby's final straw was in a room belonging to a handsome looking man with a compact frature in his shin. Robby talked to the man and took his history while she took the man's vitals and hooked him up to an IV, but getting his history was like pulling teeth because all he wanted to do was talk to her. Calling her sweetheart or princess, each time making Robby roll his eyes and try to bring him back down to earth. It wasn't until the man was able to pull a laugh from her that it really started to bother Robby.
"Listen, Mr. Wilson, we can get you fixed up and out of here a whole lot faster if you help me out here." Robby spoke through a strained smile, his hands snapping on a pair of latex gloves to look over his injury with. That pulled a quiet chuckle from her, she'd caught onto his frustration— and it was definitely something she'd tease him about later.
"Sorry, doc." The man chuckled, shooting her a wink instead of actually addressing Robby, "Didn't know you folks hired models as nurses." Robby's jaw twitched and he noted the light blush that graced her cheeks in response to the man.
"Oh, stop." She laughed, gently inserting his IV, "Answer Dr. Robby's questions for me, Mr. Wilson." She glanced over at Robby and gave him a sly wink. She knew exactly what this was doing to him and he attempted not to entertain it.
Once they'd finished up, Robby was nothing short of rushing her out of there. His gloves were barely off and in the trash before his hand was on the small of her back, speaking in a low gruff voice only she could hear as they reentered the ED, "I'm going to stop by my computer to put in Mr. Wilson's information and you're going to go to the locker room and make sure no one is in there." A blink of shock crossed her features, words halted on her tongue, unable to be spoken before he disapeared off to his computer, leaving a cold spot on her back where his hand was.
Her feet moved before she could even register where she was headed. She sent Dana a tight lipped smile as she passed the nurses station, her heart practically beating out of her chest with anticipation she attempted to hide. She didn't know whether he was telling her to meet him there so he could scold her or fuck her— either way, she was already turned on.
"Do you enjoy frustrating me?" The locker room door closed behind her not too long after she'd made it in there herself. There he was, adorning that signature head tilt of frustration, his eyes squinted in annoyance, "You do realize we're at work, right? Do you understand how easily it could be to fuck up if you or I are focused on anything but the patients? Your age is really showing right now."
Her ears heated up, her lips turning down in the corners under his scrutinizing gaze, "I uhm… You're right. That was immature of me." Her eyes cast down to the floor, she was expecting a light scolding, but she didn't realize it would come with a small dose of reality. The reality that their age gap was really starting to show. Maybe she was just too young and immature for him… but, then… Her demeanor changed slightly as her eyes slowly lifted to meet his, stopping short below his belt where his jeans tightened around his growing bulge. She forced herself to bite back a smirk, she knew now wasn't the time, but how was a woman meant to remain composed when her lover stood before her tense jawed and erect.
He murmured her name, the syllables came out in a near growl, forcing her gaze up to his eyes, "Against the locker. Ass to me."
She faltered a moment, her heart stuttering out of shock. She hadn't expected him to react like this, to come in here under the motivation, not to scold her, but fuck her. The second she caught that look in his eyes, she turned her back, pressing her tits against the locker.
"Good girl." His hands were on her hips as he roughly pressed his erection against her ass, "Only good thing you've done for me all day." One hand trailed up her back, slowly raising goosebumps along her skin, "You gonna listen to me now?" He didn't let her nod or respond at any capacity, instead he gripped onto her hair and tugged it back, causing her to gasp sharply. He used his grip on her hair to tilt her head to the side and begin kissing the side of her neck, scratching at her skin with the scruff of his beard.
"Michael," she murmured softly, "Someone could see us." She knew she had to make him stop, but she didn't want to. She wanted him to keep going. Her heart raced with excitement as his lips trailed to the crook of her neck and she felt his knuckles brush against her ass in a rhythmic manner. It wasn't until she heard his heavy breathing that she knew he was getting himself off behind her.
"Pull your pants down," he whispered into her ear, still working himself off, "We have to be quick." She shoved down her scrubs for him before planting her palms against the frigid metal of the lockers, waiting with baited breath fo him to do what he'd planned.
She choked back a sudden moan as he began to slowly slide into her. It was a familiar feeling at this point, but with the added variable of being, not only in a public place, but at work… she already felt like she was nearing a very intense orgasm. She trembled slightly against the lockers as he slowly sped up, thrusting in and out of her cunt, wet and slick.
She could hear him grunting soft gravely moans into her ear as a hand came to cover her mouth before he suddenly began pounding into her. With one hand over her mouth, the other came to rest on the lowest part of her stomach, holding her back from hitting the locker every time he thrusted into her.
"Here's what's gonna happen," he managed to begin through gritted teeth, "You and I are going to finish, then you're gonna hit the bathroom, and when you come out, you're gonna put on the best show of your life and act like I didn't just fuck you in the locker room, okay?"
"Mhm-" she whimpered softly, the noise still muffled by his large hand.
"Can I cum inside of you?"
"Mhm." She crashed into her orgasm with a heated intensity that made her tremble and sweat. The feeling of him as he buried himself in her and came into her, swearing against her ear, heated grunts warming her skin impossibly further.
His lips came to gently press soft kisses to her temple, still slowly pumping into her to bring her down from her high.
"You good?" He murmured, waiting for her to nod before pulling out and tugging her scrubs back up over her ass, "Good. Be quick, it's getting loud out there."
Warnings: mentions of burns and blood, light swearing
Summary: Trinity's girlfriend takes a spill at home, leading her to take a trip to The Pitt
She tried her best to get up when Trinity did. Dating an ER doctor was hard, especially considering how rough the hours could be. So, when Trinity had to get up at the ass crack of dawn for work, she'd wait until Trinity was in the shower to get up and make her (and now Dennis) breakfast. She wanted to make them feel appreciated because she knew how hard they had it. Which is why she found herself now standing in her kitchen at five in the morning scrambling eggs and toasting up some biscuits she'd made over the weekend. She didn't mind it, truly. Especially when Trinity came in to say good morning.
"Morning, baby." Trinity wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist and pressed a kiss to her temple, "Biscuits? You really know the way to my heart, huh?"
"Morning, Trin." She chuckled, shoveling eggs onto a plate with a biscuit and handing it to her girlfriend, "Want coffee?"
"Always." This time she pressed a quick peck to her lips, "Thanks for breakfast."
She poured Trinity a cup of coffee and had another plate of breakfast ready to go when Dennis walked in.
"Oh, my life saver. Thank you." Dennis thanked her profusely as he took the plate, barely waiting for his butt to hit the bar seat of the island before shoveling a pile of eggs into his mouth.
Trinity was still stood in next to her in the kitchen, munching on her biscuit as she watched her girlfriend finally prepare her own plate. Trinity almost always watched her with a careful eye, studying every move like she was ready to diagnose her at any moment. Other times, she watched her just to watch. Just to take in the sight of the only woman she ever felt was worth her time— narcissistic as it may seem.
The moment Trinity brushed the crumbs from her fingers, her hands were back around the waist of her girlfriend, lips pressed just below her ear with a smirk, "You're so pretty, baby." She murmured, pressing a few more kisses to her neck, causing soft giggles to fall from her girlfriend's lips.
"Really?" Dennis looked up at them with a mouth full of food, "Right in front of my eggs?"
"Shut up, Huckleberry."
"Trin," she laughed, poking her side and gently nudging her away with a smile, "C'mon, you have things to do before work."
Trinity groaned, sending Dennis a middle finger as she internally blamed him for ruining the moment. She scooped up the last bit of her eggs and swallowed the last sip of her coffee before shuffling out of the kitchen to finish getting ready for work. Her girlfriend remained in the kitchen, turning to Dennis with an apologetic smile as she continued eating her own breakfast. Dennis soon followed Trinity out of the room to finish getting ready as well, leaving her alone in the kitchen.
She thoroughly enjoyed mornings like this, no matter how early. She'd found a new friend in Dennis and and the love of her life in Trinity, and the fact that she had the ability to spend mornings with the two of them with a smile on her face was a blessing. Especially when her girlfriend reentered the kitchen in her scrubs, bringing that smile right back to her face.
"Hello, Doctor." She joked, pulling Trinity in by the hips as she took in the sight of her in her scrubs. With her hair up in a half up style, her stethoscope around her neck, and that windbreaker she always liked on her, Trinity was one misstep away from turning her girlfriend on.
"I swear you have a doctor kink or something." Trinity murmured jokingly, smirking at her before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. The kiss was quickly reciprocated with hands squeezing hips or wrapping around a neck, their love tangling them together in a sweet embrace to top off their already sweet morning.
"Is the kitchen a makeout spot now or something?"
Trinity groaned, pulling away from her girlfriend, "Huckleberry, why do you insist on ruining every moment?"
"We need to leave, Trinity." Dennis spoke again, looking to her girlfriend for backup— because if everyone knew that if she was one thing, it was a stickler for showing up on time.
"Don't look at her like she's gonna back you up," Trinity pointed at him, her armed wrapping around her waist and glancing over to her, "Don't back him up."
She smiled sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders, "You do have to go to work."
"Oh my god, traitor." Trinity gasped, letting go of her, "You're gonna pay for that later…" A sigh forced it's way from her mouth, "Fine. Lets hit the road, Huckleberry." Trinity mouthed another traitor before following poor Dennis out of the door, leaving her to laugh to herself.
She had the day off and by extension the apartment to herself, so she had plans to catch up on some baking she'd been wanting to do— maybe she'd even stop by the ED with some cookies. She began pulling out bowls and ingredients, organizing herself and getting right into a batch of snicker doodles.
She always worked efficiently in the kitchen, but only when she was alone. She never realized it until she was with Trinity, but she had major control issues in the kitchen. Without realizing, she would completely take over everything on her own and grow annoyed with whoever tried to get in her way. The first time she was actually confronted was during a "baking date" with Trinity. She had been mixing the ingredients together when Trinity suddenly asked if she was actually allowed to do anything or "Am I just meant to sit and look pretty?" She felt horrible at first, beginning to recognize just how many times she'd colonized the kitchen and ignored whoever decided to attempt baking with her. Honestly? Trinity thought it was hot. Seeing her girlfriend in the element, so focused that one distraction could send her over the edge— something Trinity took advantage of on many occasions. She was learning how to be okay with other people getting in her space, especially when that person was her girlfriend coming over with a pleasant distraction. However… she was definitely thankful to be home alone as she got into the groove of her baking.
As she reached over to grab an oven mitt, her phone buzzed distracting her from her movements. It was likely a text from her girlfriend, letting her know that she arrived safely at work, so she decided to wait until her cookies were out of the oven to check. Still distracted, her gaze moved slowly away from the phone as she reached into the oven mittenless and grabbed her tray of cookies with her bare hand.
"SHIT-"
She quickly yanked her hand away, stumbling backwards as she cradled her hand to her chest. She turned to rush over to her sink, her skin screaming for cool water, and stumbled once more. This time, she tripped and ended up smacking her face on the edge of the counter. Her crispy palm was momentarily forgotten as blood flowed from her throbbing nose, crooked and burning with a white hot pain. Panic overwhelmed her, she had a severe burn on her hand already blistering large taut welts and a broken nose she could barely touch. Never had she experienced so many different feelings of pain at once, so all she could think to do was hop in her car and head for Pittsburgh Medical.
The waiting room was just as bad, if not worse than how Trinity had described it to be. People were bunched together like fish in a can, coughing and moaning and bleeding, some even yelling at the poor nurses at the front. Blood still trickling down her lips and tears prickling her eyes, she pushed her way towards the check-in window.
"Excuse me?" She barely choked out, holding a saturated tissue to her nose.
The nurse grimaced with sympathy as she took in the state of the poor woman, "Hi, honey. What's going on?" As she gave her information for check in, the nurse was already internally preparing to send her to see a doctor. With a broken nose like that, concerns were raised for a possible head injury. The nurse nodded, typed in each piece of information, and gestured for Nurse Donahue to take her back.
It was Doctor Frank Langdon that met her in the small triage room, a man Trinity had mentioned many times since her first day. There had been bad blood between the two ever since Trinity discovered he'd been skimming pain meds for personal use. Naturally, she made no mention of her relation to Trinity as he sat down to check out her hand and nose.
"What happened here, Miss?" Langdon looked at her with soft sympathy, unfortunately seeming to be a much nicer man than Trinity mentioned him to be— but perhaps that was the beauty of a good bedside manner.
"Grabbed a hot cookie sheet, burned my hand, then tripped and smacked my face on the sink." She smiled sheepishly, wincing as he touched her nose.
"Seems like an eventful morning." He muttered with a comforting smile, "Lets get this nose set, then we'll take a look at your hand… probably send you back for a CT just in case." She merely nodded, heart racing as Langdon prepared to set her nose back into place.
There was a sickening crunch as her nose jerked back into it's original position, tears sprouting in her eyes once more, "Fuck, man. Couldn't give me a countdown?"
Langdon chuckled apologetically, "It's best not to raise tension." He nodded to himself, checking out her nose once more before wetting a cloth and placing it against her nose and mouth, "Go ahead and gently wipe of that blood while I check out your hand, okay?"
She fell silent once more, staring out of the window of the room as she attempted to ignore the pain radiating from her body while Langdon treated her. She had a good feeling she'd run into Trinity eventually— maybe even Dennis… who'd in turn tell Trinity. She looked at Langdon, internally battling her urges to ask about Trinity. This was the easiest way to both completely out herself and potentially find a way to hide from her girlfriend. Eventually, going against her better judgment, she decided to speak up.
"So…" she cleared her throat awkwardly, shifting slightly in her seat, "What are the chances Dr. Santos isn't on the floor at the moment or won't see me when you send me back for a CT?"
Langdon stiffened slightly at the mention of Trinity, their issues remained unresolved and it was clear on his face before it was replaced by confusion, "Dr. Santos? Why would you want to avoid her? Do you know her? Sister or something?"
She chuckled softly, "I'm her girlfriend and I'd rather not get publicly scolded for rawdogging a hot pan."
"Girlfrie- Oh, uhm… I didn't know." Langdon cleared his throat, looking her in the eyes for a second before returning to her hand, "I uhm, can't promise anything other than I won't tell her you're here… HIPPA."
"Right," she laughed, "I guess that's fair."
Once he sent her out to her own bed in the middle of the ED, she knew it was only a matter of time before she was discovered. So, she sat quietly, nodded to familiar faces, and waited for her date with a CT scan. It was strange being in here as a patient. During the past few months, she'd visited a couple of times to drop off things for Trinity, even brought food in for the staff, but never came in as a patient. Instead of having the ability to people watch from the nurse's station, she viewed everything from an uncomfortable bed, her heart rate still slightly raised from the intensity around her. Everything was stark white and cleaner than her home will ever be, something she couldn't understand getting as used to as the people who work there have.
"What the hell?" She quickly looked up, quickly alerted to the fact that she'd finally been spotted, "Babe? What happened?"
She sighed as Trinity checked her over, attempting to take her vitals despite the noncooperation from her girlfriend, "Trin, please. I'm okay. Just had a little accident in the kitchen, that's all."
"That's all?" She scoffed, looking over her chart with raised eyebrows, "Second degree burns and a broken nose? Plus you're waiting on a CT? That is not nothing." She knew this interaction was bound to happen, she'd predicted it the moment she got here, but that still hadn't prepared her for the onslaught of hell fire Trinity rained down on her for being so careless, "I cannot believe you grabbed a hot pan without an oven mitt." There was no excuse to be given there. It was true and stupid of her to have done something like that, but in her defense it wasn't anywhere near intentional and in her mind it wasn't a big deal.
Langdon hadn't gotten to treating her hand, so Trinity jumped at the chance to take over for him. It was strange for Trinity to have her girlfriend in her space, her separate world, but even stranger was the fact that she was sitting in the Emergency Department treating her girlfriend. For her though? This was great. Getting pampered and preened by Trinity, getting to play patient for a bit was exciting— a bit of a turn on, really.
"What could you possibly be smirking about right now?" Trinity glared at her, ignoring the pull she felt at the sight of her girlfriend smirking down at her as she worked on her hand.
"Oh nothing," she let out a playfully dramatic sigh, "Just enjoying the view."
"You're such a pain in my ass."
After a few laughs, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Her joking had effectively diffused the tension in the room, leaving the two women to quietly soak in each other's presence. One could rarely find a quiet moment like this surrounding the two women because of their shared love for jokes and sarcasm— there was enough sarcasm between the two women to make the whole world roll their eyes. Yet, when these moments did arise, they were thick with the love flowing between them. Trinity was never viewed as the "lovey dovey" type. She was rough around the edges to most people— hard to love, some would say. Not to her. To her, Trinity was the pinnacle of loving girlfriends— attentive, caring, soft. When Trinity was alone with the girl she loves, she was nothing like Dr. Santos of the ED. To her, Dr. Santos and Trin were two different people. One, she saw on the regular in the shared space of their apartment whenever Dennis was around— she had a reputation she refused to let go of even in the safety of her home, but when it was just the two of them? Trinity was a completely different person. She melted at the sight of her girlfriend, bent at her every will, and practically worshiped the ground she walked on. It was a tedious balance between her work face and true Trinity, but she managed it. She always admired that about Trinity, she shifted so easily between hats it made her head spin.
"Alright, you're all fixed up." Trinity smiled, giving her thigh a gentle pat to gather her attention, "You're off baking until that heals, got it? Unless I'm around to handle the hot stuff."
Warnings: Graphic depictions of blood and violence-- its about The Long Walk, so duh. Some swearing
Word Count: 5k
Summary: Girls are now part of The Long Walk. What happens when one in particular catches Ray's eye?
The Long Walk has become an important tradition amidst the economic state of our country. The Long Walk has come to support and inspire young men, pulling them from laziness and poverty to bring them a renewed sense of purpose. For many years, The Long Walk had been strictly reserved to only men above the age of eighteen, however after careful consideration it has been decided that the strong young women of our country deserve the opportunity to prove themselves to our people. The Walk will now serve as inspiration for the young men and women of our country, a competition of both grit and courage. The contribution of women to The Walk has provided some logistical set backs, however with the genius of our dedicated military service members, we have devised a plan for our new regulations. We will now have one man and one woman from each state honorably chosen to join us on the path to success and pride. We trust that each state will send forward their very best and formidable representatives to bring honor to their country.
May luck be on your side.
***
The car ride to the starting point of The Long Walk was a long and quiet one. Her mother had fallen gravely ill the day she was drafted and accepted the challenge, attributing to the silence she now faced. The Long Walk was a chance to, not only bring unspeakable riches to underprivileged families, but to show true grit to the country. She knew that backing out was the ultimate show of cowardice and would bring great shame to her family. Nonetheless, her mother couldn't push down the feeling that this would be the last time she'd see her daughter. To be quite honest? She had a similar feeling. She knew she'd put her best foot forward and do her damnedest to win, but the odds weren't amazing. Fifty girls, fifty boys, and only one winner. That was pretty fucking low odds, especially for someone who had little to no preparation.
"I could turn the car around. Take you home. Forget about this bullshit." Her mother spoke, voice strained under the grief she already felt bubbling in her chest. Her mother was a strong woman, brave enough to speak out against the government from the confines of their home; unlike most who feared they could be heard in even the most private of places. However, it was no secret that she had reached her breaking point the day her draft letter came in. The day had been a mess of tears and fighting— she had decided to accept and her mother wasn't standing for it.
"Mom." She sighed, staring out of the window, "You know you can't do that— I can't do that. They'd come after me and maybe even you too." Silence fell over them once more as she continued to let her gaze follow the rolling hills they passed by. Greens and yellows mixing into each other, the occasional cow or bull. If she wasn't heading towards uncertainty and potential death, she'd be able to appreciate the beauty of the country side.
She could feel the words her mother wanted to speak hang in the air with a thick tension. It was clear she wanted to plead, cry, argue, do anything she could to convince her daughter to back out before it was too late, but she knew it was no use. She'd be wasting her breath and making the situation worse than it already was.
"As soon as you get there, sit down and stretch. Conserve your energy and loosen your muscles." Her mother glanced between her and the road as they neared the starting point, crowded with anxious young adults surrounded by tanks and guns, "Drink a bunch of water and take advantage of the warnings— use them to your advantage by taking little breaks every few hours— and, honey, whatever you do…" The car rolled to a stop and the engine died down before her mother turned to face her, "Don't stop walking."
Their goodbye was hard, but both women refused to cry. She hugged her mother as hard as she could, savoring the warmth and comfort of her mother's embrace. She knew this could be the very last time they ever hugged, ever spoke, ever looked into each others eyes and told the other they loved them. So she stole the moment, capturing it into a mental jar, and storing it into her memory. She'd hold onto it like it was the only hope she had to make it to the end, she'd take it out when she was close to giving up, and keep walking.
The sound of a mother crying out to her son cut through their strained farewell, sobbing into his shoulder as she attempted to hold him back from leaving. She watched as the son murmured comforting words to her, attempting to convince her that he'd be back, that she'd see him in a few days. That was the funny thing about being someone's child and getting drafted into The Walk, you weren't the one being comforted, you were doing the comforting; trying with all your might to convince those you were leaving behind that everything would end up okay. After all, it was the walker who decided to take up the challenge.
"I'll see you soon." She whispered to her mother, giving her one last squeeze, gazing at her one last time before taking off for the starting line.
It wasn't until the choked back sobs from behind her that reality truly set in, dropping like lead in the pit of her stomach. She had to make it back, she couldn't leave her family behind like this.
As she plopped down on the concrete and began to stretch, she listened to some of the boys introducing themselves— Ray Garraty (the boy with the sobbing mother), Peter McVries, Hank Olson, Gary Barkovitch, Collie Parker, and others. She took in the stature and confidence of each boy, sizing them up. She needed to know whether or not they were true competition. Then, one of them looked back at her. Peter McVries.
"What about you, sweetheart? Who're you?" He didn't mean it in a condescending way, that much was clear. Honestly, the first thing she noticed about him was just how genuine he seemed to be.
She cleared her throat and shared her name, responding with faux confidence. She knew being a girl put her at an automatic disadvantage, so she'd strive for overt confidence as protection, "I'm from California."
"A California girl!" Peter exclaimed, causing a few of the boys to chuckle, "Well, California Girl, welcome to The Long Walk."
It wasn't long before they were a few miles in, spirits were still high, and friendships were beginning to form. For her, it was a younger boy named Curly. He seemed closer to her age than most and his demeanor was kind— all the markers she needed for a temporary friendship.
"So, Curly," she smiled softly, giving him a gentle nudge, "How old are you really?"
It had been a small rumor spreading around that Curly had lied about his age to get drafted and she was more than curious. It wasn't unheard of for boys to lie about their age to enter the draft, but it hadn't actually worked before.
Curly's gaze darted around nervously, like many people, afraid of The Major's wrath, "Look, don't go spreading this around, okay? I don't need my ticket early…" She gave him an urging look, coaxing the confession out of him, "I'm sixteen."
"Warning, Number fifty-one. First warning."
She hadn't realized she faltered until her number was called. The warning caused her heart to jump into her throat, putting the panic back into her steps, "Sixteen? Jesus, Curly…" She'd assumed he was seventeen, maybe just a few months shy of eighteen, but sixteen? He was practically a baby.
"Yeah. So what?" He quickly grew defensive, speeding up his pace a tad, "I've got just as good a chance as any of you."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, she hadn't meant to offend him, "Curly, kid. No. That's not what I'm saying!"
"Kid?" Curly scoffed, shaking his head, "You find out how old I am and suddenly I'm 'kid'? I never shoulda trusted you with that- ah!"
"Warning, Number Seven. First warning."
It was sudden the way his straightened gait suddenly shifted into a limp, like all the muscles in his right leg suddenly seized up on him. With fisted hands and a severe limp, Curly began to sob, scream about a charley horse.
"Curly- shit!" She reached out, grabbed his arm, and strung him along.
The commotion quickly gathered the attention of the others. Some watched with hopeful eyes, ready to see the first go down and strengthen the odds, some watching grimly, and others panicked and gathering at his aid. Most notably was Ray Garraty, someone who hadn't exactly caught her eye until this point.
"Hey hey, bud." Curly's other arm was taken by Ray who walked backwards and faced the young boy as he attempted to urge him forwards, "Just keep walking. It'll loosen up. Just keep going, okay?"
After a moment, she began echoing Ray's words as her fear spiked, uncertainty plagued her, dread spread through her, "C'mon, Curly. Let's keep going, okay?" Her voices wavered, as she watched fear spreading across the poor boy's face.
He was the first person to make her feel like this wasn't all bad, a kind ear to help her through the first few miles. They'd spent several miles discussing their life stories, getting to know one another, and suddenly their time could be cut short, "Tell me more about your mom, Curly. You said she bakes a lot? What's your favorite thing she bakes?"
For a moment, his expression changed into something lighter, still moving with Ray's assistance, "Chocolate chip cookies— I know that's basic, but, man… she makes the best ones I've ever had." His hope faltered as the cramp seized up further, causing a sob to rip from his throat, "Oh, god. It hurts so bad. I can't do it. I can't!"
"No no, you're gonna keep walking, White. Aren't ya?" It wasn't a question, Ray was telling Curly he'd keep going because nobody wanted to see the boy get his ticket. After a moment, Curly had begun to nod along with Ray, confidence turning around for him, "If I let go, you gonna keep walking for me?"
Curly nodded breathlessly, "Yeah, I can."
"Promise?"
"Yeah, I got it. I'm feeling better." A smile spread across Curly's face as he stole back his pace, arms fallen back to his sides.
She laughed in relief, her gaze locked with Ray's as they shared thankful and reassured smile.
And then he fell.
Another cry forced its way out of Curly as his skin scraped against the concrete and earned him a second warning.
She didn't know how many of them had joined in, but several people began screaming, calling out to Curly and begging for him to get back on his feet, but he remained sat on the ground and sobbed.
"It's not fair!" He cried, shielding his head with his hands as the inevitable creeped up behind him, "It's not fucking fair!"
Nobody could pull their gaze from the scene before them as the gun raised to the back of his head. Curly was hunched forwards, still shielding himself, and crying up until a sickening bang followed by the sound of flesh splattering against the ground.
"Oh fuck," she gagged, stumbling again as Ray grabbed her arm and spun her away from Curly.
"Don't look," Ray murmured her name, holding onto her arm and stringing her along just like he did for Curly, "Don't look. Just keep walking."
Shocked, she babbled out a few incoherent words, no doubt about Curly's death.
"I know," he replied softly, "I know."
***
It was several miles before she spoke again. The trauma from Curly's death still lingered in the air, hanging heavy over the walkers. She told herself she wouldn't make friends because friendships on The Walk could never last, yet that's exactly what she did and now she was paying the price.
"Garraty." She sped up a bit and reached Ray's side, falling into step with him, "Thank you for earlier. You saved my ass back there."
"Hey," he breathed her name, the strain of walking on his breath, "Yeah, no don't worry about it."
Still, she nodded to him with a soft smile, "Just take the thanks, Garraty."
He laughed, "You're welcome."
Now that he'd caught her eye, she couldn't keep him out of her head. He was so kind to all of the walkers— even going as far as to try to save Curly and then help her. Would she have tried to help him if the same thing happened to him? She'd certainly like to think so, but she couldn't say that for certain. The Walk was supposed to be every man for himself, but there seemed to be a silent agreement between most of the walkers— they needed to stick together.
"How're you feeling, California girl?" Pete poked his head around Ray to get a look a her, glancing between the pair with intrigue, "Getting tired yet?"
"Feeling like shit, Peter." She chuckled with a shrug of her shoulders.
She felt worse than shit. There was something about her grief that felt all encompassing. She'd known Curly for a few short hours and yet she was grieving like she'd known him for years. They'd lost a few more people since then, and while it didn't get any easier, none of them were nearly as difficult as Curly.
There was a slight upside to the location, however. Assuming she could separate her thoughts from the situation they were stuck in, she found a way to appreciate the scenery. The occasional farm animal especially bringing a bit of extra joy. Then there was Pete and Ray who were doing their best to keep things light with their Four Musketeers bullshit.
After another ten miles had passed and nothing too crazy had occurred— maybe a straggler or two had earned their ticket, but that was the inevitable. The only thing certain on this walk was that all but one of them would get their ticket sooner or later.
As they continued to walk, she found herself drifting closer to Ray. It felt like there was this air about him that made her feel comfortable, like she was safer around him. They'd even been talking, getting to know one another. He told her about his mom, his life back home, what he did for fun, and she shared the same. Every bit of information kept her wanting more, leaving her with an insatiable need to know anything and everything about him. He was like a book and every page she flipped to had her attention drawn, begging for the next chapter, the next piece of information for her to devour.
"You got a girl, Garraty?" The question came off as casually as she could muster, the coy smile on her face aiding in that.
"I uhm," he cleared his throat a bit sheepishly, "I did, but I broke it off because of this." She wanted to apologize, but before she could, he threw the question back at her, "What about you, Cali girl? Got a special someone?"
"No," she laughed, "No one at home."
"Shocker," Pete interjected, "You're a handsome woman, California Girl." Hank and Art each gave Pete a playful shove, laughs passed through the group for all except Ray, who's gaze settled on her with curiosity. She looked back with a smile, allowing a moment to share between them. Like Pete had told them— each and every one of these moments were important and enjoying them would get them to the next one.
"Yeah, but Garraty's mom is a real looker!" Hank Olson threw in to break the silence, a genuine compliment he'd thought.
"I'm gonna punch you in the fucking face." Ray laughed and shook his head at Hank, bumping into her by mistake as his attention divided from walking.
"Warning, Number Fifty-One."
"Shit," his arm shot out to grab onto her and pull her right back to his side, "I didn't mean to do that."
Besides the jump in heart rate at the call of her number, she wasn't angry. There was something about Ray that left her feeling like he could shove her to the ground and she'd apologize for it. The thought left her stumped, in no world would she have ever taken that and yet, there she was telling him it was okay.
"Don't worry, I'll walk it off in an hour."
And she did. That hour came and went, along with it her warning. Her slate was once again wiped clean as the day came to a close. Exhaustion began to truly set in and with it, her nerves resurfaced. She hadn't thought about how she would get through this without sleeping.
"Hey," Ray nudged her, pulling her attention to him before gesturing to Hank and Pete. Hank was slumped forwards, still walking with Pete's assistance, while catching some sleep, "You look tired."
She nodded, looking between Pete and Ray… at least she could get a little bit of sleep, "You sure?"
"Sure about what?" Ray smiled playfully, "About you looking tired? 'Cause yeah, I'm pretty sure about that."
She let out a soft laugh, drifting into Ray's side and slinging an arm around his shoulders, "Whatever, Garraty." Surprisingly, she drifted into a quick sleep. Despite the odor of sweat and blood that clouded the group of walkers, she felt a strange sense of comfort.
"Honey, there's a letter for you." Her mother called out, voice laced with trembling concern.
As she entered the kitchen where her mother stood at the counter with a pile of letters and bills, there was a particularly official looking one extended from her hand. Without opening it, a silent understanding drifted between the two. There was only one thing it could be, yet neither were truly prepared for what the letter would tell them.
She didn't need to open it, she merely stared at the envelope with morose, "It's my draft letter."
"I know." Her mother murmured.
"I have to go."
Quieter this time, "I know."
She'd accepted the challenge without even opening the letter. She didn't feel she needed to. She set the letter back down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen towards the front of their home. She didn't stop there, she kept walking and walking, all the way to Silas's home. Silas, her best friend of ten years, the one person she could count on for anything, the first person she'd say goodbye to.
It was Silas's father who answered the door. He took note of her solemness and wordlessly turned around to fetch Silas. Today was the day all draft letters were sent out, meaning people didn't have to ask to know why a particular person was acting like they'd just signed their own death warrant— because they usually had.
"Hey, loser." Silas closed the front door behind them, sliding down onto the doorstep where their best friend sat and let out of a soft laugh, "Why d'you look like you're here to break up with me? Y'know that's not how friendships work. You're stuck with me."
She looked at them with a sad smile, "I'm taking The Walk. Got my letter in the mail today."
"Hey," Ray chuckled and nudged her side, "Welcome back to the land of the living."
She shook off Ray's arm, along with the sleep that still blanketed her figure, "Time s'it?"
"About three in the morning," he murmured, watching over her with concern. During her sleep, he'd taken the time to look over her, take in her features. Ever since Curly died, something in him was stirred by her, a feeling he hadn't had in a long time. From there, he couldn't help the protectiveness he'd begun to feel towards her. She was so quiet and kind, he felt that he had to shield her from the grief The Walk had brought them. It was such a stupid school boy crush; one that made him feel like a hormonal fifteen year old again. He wanted to know her, to know every inch of her brain and body, to touch her and hold her. Things The Walk could put a stop to in a second flat. All he could do was try to learn as much as he could about her for as long as The Walk would allow, "Woke you up because there's a hill coming. You'll wanna be awake for that."
"Fuck," she muttered, staring out in front of her as the ground raised up into a sickeningly tall hill, "We're gonna lose a lot of people."
"Yeah," he agreed, picking up his pace as the incline of the ground pulled at his thighs, "Just keep your pace, you'll be fine."
"Yeah, I guess." She caught herself from almost snapping at him out of the panic she felt bubbling up, she didn't need his reassurance— or she didn't want to, but at the same time, it was comforting to know that he cared.
They forced themselves up the steep incline, forcing one leg in front of the other and pushing up from the ground. Each step harder than the last, the weight of their bags suddenly feeling a lot heavier than they started as. She fought upwards, an ache pulling at her hamstrings as each step carried them higher and higher. She tried to count her footsteps, one two three four, each one a reminder of how far she'd gotten up the hill. She refused to take a single warning.
The gunshots were what faltered her. One after another, they were losing walkers like flies. Warnings followed by gunshots. People were screaming and crying— it was a flurry of pain and suffering that brought tears to her eyes. She sniffled with a small grunt as she pushed herself forwards, flinching each time another gunshot rang out against what would have otherwise been a soft and silent night. She craved liberosis, wanted nothing more than to stop walking and allow herself to be taken, but she knew that her mother and Silas were waiting for her at home.
"You better fucking win." Silas told her through tears, "You have to come home. You can't leave me here."
That final goodbye still stung. There were no tearful goodbyes or heartfelt apologies. Silas was angry at her, they refused to support her decision to go through with The Walk. She either came home to a grateful best friend and relieved mother, or died knowing Silas would hate her for it.
The road finally straightened out with the rising sun, warm light licking her skin and melting away her tears. She'd made it, Ray made it, Pete made it, everyone she'd grown to care for made it and that was a win in it of itself.
"Ha! You get paid to shoot me and look at me now, motherfuckers!" Ray shouted at the passing soldiers, guns raised at him as they waited for him to make a mistake. He must've earned warnings while she was asleep— he'd had one already, she couldn't help but worry she'd caused the other two.
"Garraty," she smacked his arm, grabbing his attention with confusion, "Did you get two more warnings while I was asleep?"
Poor boy looked like he'd been caught red handed, he didn't want her to find out that they'd both earned warnings while she slept, but he couldn't lie to her face, "We both did."
She blinked hard, staring holes into his head with a furious glare, "Why didn't you tell me?! What if I'd gotten my ticket up the hill without knowing what was coming?"
"I knew you wouldn't." He tried to reply confidently, but she saw right through it.
"I cannot believe you." She scoffed, "That was fucked up."
Ray could feel her interest slipping away from him with lightning speed. He'd only meant to protect her from the panic he knew she'd feel if she knew she had two warnings, but he quickly realized his mistake and that only made him panic further, "Hey no, wait. Look, I'm really sorry. Okay?" His apology bordered on a whine, desperation clear on his tongue as he closed the space between them, "Please, just— you only have two, it's okay. You'll walk them off." It was a bit pathetic how desperate he was to earn an acceptance for his apology, so much so that she was inclined to give in.
"Just…" she huffed, rolling her eyes at how easily she gave in, "Don't fuck me over again. Got it?"
"Absolutely no fucking over." Ray sent her a big dopey smile, his hair bouncing across his forehead with each jovial step he took.
It made her smile. Just a bit.
***
There was something unsettling about mile two hundred. They'd made it far, friends had fallen and new friendships began. Every mile had been the same up until now. Now, she felt something deep in her gut that splayed concern across her features. She knew Ray felt it too, ever since the Major's last announcement, he'd been deathly silent. Each step she took grew heavier under the weight of suspicion. She could feel something was coming and she had a good sense that she wouldn't be able to stop it.
She thought back to her last conversation with Silas, the last conversation she'd had with her mother, everything related to what had happened before she left. The tears, yelling, fighting, it all resurfaced at once like bile in her throat. How could she have possibly thought that she'd make it back from this. Only one person would and who was she to think that person would be her?
She couldn't have possibly known that a minuscule rock stood between her and freedom.
She took a step forwards, unknowingly onto a pebble the size of a nickle that caused her to skid slightly until a sickening crack rang out from below her. She let out a sharp gasp, falling to the ground below her and scraping her hands along the concrete.
"Warning, number fifty-one."
Ray's arms shot out to pick her up from the ground, earning himself a warning as well. He felt himself grow panicked as he took in the state of her. She was badly injured and in no shape to continue walking, despite how hard he tried to drag her along.
"Ray," she cried out, gripping onto him, "My ankle." Bone ground against bone in her ankle, leaving her a sobbing mess as she dug her fingers into his arm.
Ray felt his head spinning as he tried to steady her, the sound of her ankle snapping still ringing in his ears, "I know, I know, just keep walking."
"I can't!"
"Yes, you can!" He snapped, stringing her along despite the wave of nausea that overcame him.
Pete rushed to the other side of her, lifting her arm over his shoulder and aiding in carrying her. Pete and Ray were practically carrying her as she sobbed in their arms. The two boys glanced down to see her foot twisted at an awkward angle, fragmented bone protruding from her skin. They knew it was over for her the moment they noticed. There was no way they could carry her far and it wouldn't be fair to her to allow her to suffer for much longer.
It was in that moment that she took out that little mental jar, the reminder of her mother she hoped would serve her as inspiration to keep going. She pictured her mothers face when she's accepted the challenge, when she said goodbye just a couple of days previous, and what she'd look like if she came home… but it was no use. The pain was too great, the effort it took to keep walking too hard to overcome. This was it for her.
"I can't keep going." She whispered finally, "You gotta let me go."
Ray choked back a sob, he'd felt so attached to her that the idea that she'd given up was painful to him, "I know." He whispered her name, glancing over at her dried tears, face set in defeat.
"Let go of me." She whispered back as she pulled her arms away from them, "I have to go."
Sorrow mounted between the two men as they let go of her arms, turning to walk backwards as she stood still for the first time in two hundred miles. It was a gut wrenching sight. That previously spunky girl now slumped forwards in the road under the pressure of her pain. She sent the two a final nod before turning to face the soldiers that approached her.
"Look me in the fucking eyes when you shoot me!" She screamed hoarsely, "Look me in the fucking face!"
She was now on her third warning, her final ten seconds approaching faster than the boys could walk away. They couldn't pull their eyes from her as she stepped towards the raised gun in front of her, still screaming at them.
"Final Warning, number fifty-one."
Pain ripped through her face faster than sound of the gun could reach her ears. She could feel metal fly through her skull, a pain so horrible she couldn't even scream. She was barely conscious by the time she hit the floor with a dull thud, bleeding into a thick hot puddle of herself.
Ray heard screaming he didn't even register as his own until Pete whirled him around and pulled him away from her body. Pete was now doing for him what he'd done for her when Curly died. It was a devastating reminder of the purpose behind The Walk.
When he looked back one last time, her body was completely still. The slightly breeze blowing her hair against the puddle of blood she laid in was the only movement her body could manage.
In one crucial moment, all hope for her returning to her best friend and mother was gone, left in the middle of the road and falling behind the low hum of the tanks that followed the remaining walkers.
The only reminder of her now was the 51 tag clutched in Rays hand.
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