[pinkthrone445]

~Welcome back~ Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing:Ex wife Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader

Summary:you were not expecting, that the person that the hospital sent to replace your brother while he was away, was your ex wife. Not knowing how to deal with her, you try to keep your distance until some news makes you worry for her.

Warnings:infertility talks, blood(is the ER), insults, depression. Spoilers S2.

Type:hurt/confort/family/short (for what I usually post)

AN:I'm watching the Pitt and I really want to write about them, specially Baran, Dana and Cassie so if you want, you can send requests about them!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in something!

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Almost by the end of your shift, you passed by Dana's side on the nurse station and put your hand in her pocket without asking her, to steal one of her cigarettes, usually you didn't smoke more than a few days a month, but you needed today. Dana felt your hand slip into the pocket of her scrub top before she even looked up and without missing a beat, she caught your wrist.

-"...Excuse me?"-

You pried her fingers away with practiced ease and held up the cigarette you'd stolen-"I'll give it back"-

-"You planning on un-smoking it kid?"-she raised an eyebrow

You shrugged-"Maybe"-

She stared at you for a second. Then at your face. Then back at the cigarette-"...Rough day?"-You gave her a look so flat it answered the question for you-"...Right"-She reached into her other pocket, pulled out a lighter, and placed it in your palm-"Bring that back"-

-"Yes ma'am. Love ya"-you murmured taking a few steps back to the ambulance bay

-"And don't finish the whole cigarette"-

-"I'll try"-

Dana sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead-"God, why do I keep enabling you?"-

-"Because you love me"-

-"I tolerate you"-

-"You'd cry if I transferred. You can't live without me D!"-you yelled

-"I'd throw a party"-

-"You'd cry at the party, but that's okey because I can't live without you either baby"-

Dana rolled her eyes so hard it was almost theatrical-"Get out of here before I remember you were supposed to quit smoking" -

You smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. A tiny one. Barely there-"Thanks, D"-

She watched you walk toward the ambulance bay doors. The smile disappeared the moment you thought no one was looking.

Outside, the late afternoon air was warm. The city carried on around the hospital as though nothing inside it had shifted. You leaned against the brick wall near the employee entrance. Tucked the cigarette between your lips. The lighter clicked once. Twice. The tip caught on the third try. You took a slow long drag. Closed your eyes. The nicotine burned all the way down. For a few seconds... Your head was quiet. No memories. No locker room. No flower. No cookies. Just smoke drifting into the Pittsburgh sky.

The employee entrance opened behind you. You heard footsteps. You didn't turn, you learned how those steps sounded a long ago

-"...Dana's going to kill me"-Baran. Of course. You exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

-"Why?"-

-"She saw me ask where you went" -

You gave a dry laugh-"She's probably drawing up your death certificate already"-

Baran stopped a respectful distance away. She noticed the cigarette immediately-"You quit"-

-"I did"-

-"You haven't smoked in..."-she looked the cloud of smoke leave your mouth

-"Years" -you said looking at the sky, you stopped smoking when you started trying to get pregnant. She nodded.

-"I'm sorry"-she murmured

You looked at the cigarette between your fingers-"No"-Your voice was calm-"You're not" -

She frowned-"I am"-

You shook your head-"No"-

You finally turned to look at her-"If you were sorry..."-You held up the cigarette-"...You wouldn't be here and I wouldn't be smoking again"-The words landed with brutal simplicity. No shouting. No accusation. Just a fact. Baran's gaze dropped to the cigarette. Then back to your face. She had no defense. Because she knew. Years ago, when you'd finally quit, she'd celebrated by throwing away the last pack in your apartment. You'd laughed and chased her around the kitchen for it. Now... She was looking at the first cigarette you'd lit since those days. And she couldn't escape the thought that somehow she'd become the reason it was burning.

You took a long drag of it closing your eyes, half of it desapeared already. You held the smoke for a few seconds and then you breathe it out letting scape away from her her face, the wind carried away. She stared at you for a few seconds until an ambulance quickly drove to the entrance in front of you, interrupting the silence with the sirens

-"Fuck" - you murmured turning off the cigarret against the sole your boot and putting your glasses back on your face

-"Shooting on a police rade, a kid got caught in the crossfire, two bullets on the abdomen, one went out the shoulder, the other is still inside" - they explained quickly as you got closer at the ambulance. Baran quickly stepped by your side-"Police officer incoming in the ambulance behind us, also bullet wounds" -

-"I take this one" - you said

-"I will help you" - she said quickly

-"You can take the other one, I will work with McKay" - you quickly said

-"I'm the doctor in charge" - she remind you

-"And for the fucking good of the patient and his care, I'm telling you I'm working with McKay and you can take the other one, doctor Al-Hashimi" - you said going trough the doors leaving her behind. Baran stood frozen for half a heartbeat. The trauma bay doors were already flying open. The kid was screaming. Blood soaked through the sheets. McKay was pulling on gloves before the stretcher had even stopped moving. You didn't look back

-"On three! One, two, three!"-The team transferred the boy onto the trauma bed. You were already cutting through his shirt

-"Age?"-

-"Fourteen!"-

-"Vitals?"-

-"BP eighty over forty-eight! Heart rate one-fifty-six! FAST's probably positive" -McKay muttered.

-"It doesn't matter" - you answered-"He's going to the OR if we can get him there alive"-you said seeing how the kid lost consciousness. A nurse handed you trauma shears-"Two large-bore IVs"-

-"They're in" - Perla said

-"Massive transfusion protocol"-

-"Already activated"-

You pressed both hands against the wound as another wave of blood welled up between your fingers-"Come on, kid..."-He briefly woke up and cried out for his mother. You swallowed the ache that shot through your chest-"Hey"-You leaned closer-"My name's Doctor Robinavitch. I need you to stay with me, okay? Can you tell me your name?"-

-"...Luis..."-he said weakly

-"Good. That's good. Luis, keep talking to me"-

Behind you, McKay looked at the monitor-"Pressure's dropping"-

-"Come on..."-

The monitor shrieked-"Seventy over thirty-nine" -

-"Blood's here!"-the nurse yelled

-"Hang it!"-You barely noticed the world around you anymore. There was only the patient. Only the bleeding. Only the next decision.

Across the hall... The second stretcher burst through the doors. A police officer. Mid-thirties. Gunshot wound to the chest. Baran caught the bed as it rolled in.

-"I'm Dr. Al-Hashimi"-She climbed onto the patient's side immediately-"What have we got?"-

-"Entrance left chest. Exit unknown"-

-"Breath sounds?"-Langdon fell into step beside her

-"Absent on the left"-

-"Tension pneumo" -she said instantly-"Chest tray. Now"-Her hands moved automatically. Years of training taking over. But despite herself... Her eyes flicked through the glass separating the trauma bays. Just once. She saw you. Covered in blood. Hair falling out of the ponytail you'd hastily tied that morning. Completely absorbed in saving a frightened fourteen-year-old. She looked away immediately. Focus. Patient first. Always.

Dana had watched the exchange outside. Watched you refuse Baran's help. She understood. It wasn't about punishment. It wasn't about pride. You'd made the safest clinical decision you could. You knew exactly what would happen if you and Baran stood shoulder to shoulder over an unstable trauma patient while carrying everything that had exploded between you over the last twenty-four hours. One distracted second. One hesitation. One misread instruction. In the emergency department... One second could cost a life. Dana nodded quietly to herself-"Good call, kid"-

Back in Trauma One, after the kid was stable enough to be taken upstairs, you looked down at yourself. Your gloves were soaked red. So was the front of your scrubs. McKay looked at you.

-"You okay?"-

You stared at the blood on your hands. For just a fraction of a second... It wasn't Luis's blood you saw. It was the years of procedures. Negative pregnancy tests. Miscarriages. Hospital rooms. Loss. Then the image was gone. You peeled off your gloves with a sharp snap-"...Yeah."- Your voice sounded steady. Too steady-"I'm okay"-McKay knew better. She just didn't say it -"Do you want to go out with me today McKay? Anywhere, I just could really use the distraction"-you asked your fellow doctor as you held the door open for her. McKay was peeling off her gloves when she looked up at you. For a moment, she just blinked. Not because of the question. Because of you. In all the years she'd worked with you, you almost never asked people to go out after a shift. You went home. You read. You watched terrible documentaries. You slept. Rinse and repeat.

-"...You asking me out" -she said carefully-"or asking me to keep you from spiraling?"-

You let out a tired breath-"The second one"-

-"Good"-A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth! "Because I would've had a very awkward conversation with Dana if it was the first"-

You huffed a quiet laugh-"I figured"-

She tossed the gloves into the trash-"What happened?"-

You stared at the floor for a second-"...My ex wife came back... The new attending, Al-Hashimi..."-

McKay's eyebrows shot up-"The ex? The one nobody's allowed to ask about?"-

You nodded once-"That one"-

-"...Damn"-she murmured looking at Baran trough the glass. She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms-"So that's why you've looked like somebody canceled Christmas all day"-

-"I look that Bad?"-

-"You look like you've slept four hours in the last week"-she said pointing at your face

-"Jesus Mackay, remember talking to you when I need a boost of confidence about how I look" -you murmured and laughed with her. She smiled at you and asked gently

-"What do you need?"-

You answered immediately-"I don't want to be alone tonight"-There wasn't an ounce of shame in your voice. Just honesty. McKay respected that. She nodded.

-"Okay... I can do that"-

You looked up-"Okay?"-

-"Yeah"-She shrugged-"But no hospitals. No talking about work..."-

-"And no talking about her..."-you murmured looking at Baran. McKay studied you for a second

-"...You sure?"-she asked

-"No"-You admitted it with a tired smile-"But I will try because if I start, I won't stop"-

She nodded slowly-"Then no talking about her"-A comfortable silence followed. Finally she grinned-"There's a dinner about fifteen minutes away"-

-"The one with the absurdly large pancakes?"-

-"The very one. Very nutritious food for doctors"-she said and you laughed. A real one this time. Small. But real.

A few feet away, Baran was finishing her notes when the laughter caught her attention. She looked up instinctively. She saw you. Saw McKay smiling at something you'd said. Saw you nod when McKay gestured toward the exit, clearly making plans. Something twisted in her chest. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Relief. Because you had someone. Someone who noticed when you needed company. Someone who could coax a laugh out of you after the day you'd had. She lowered her eyes back to the chart in front of her. The words blurred. She realized, with a quiet ache, that for years she had been that person. And now... Someone else had learned how to catch you when you were falling.

The next day, the elevator doors opened onto the emergency department with their usual metallic chime. McKay stepped out first, balancing two paper cups of coffee. You followed a second later. Your hair was still a little damp from the shower, your backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. And you were wearing one of McKay's hoodie. It was obviously too big. The sleeves covered half your hands. The hospital logo embroidered near the pocket wasn't even from The Pitt. It was from the residency program she'd attended years ago. You yawned.

-"I still think your couch is trying to murder my back"-

McKay snorted-"You chose the couch" -

-"I wasn't kicking you out of your bed"-you murmured

-"I offered"-

-"I know"-

-"And you declined"-

-"I know" - you nodded

-"You are impossible" -she gave you a small push

-"So I've been told"-She handed you one of the coffees. Dana looked up from the nurses' station. She took in the scene in less than two seconds. The matching coffee cups. The oversized hoodie. The sleepy conversation. The fact that you looked... Lighter. Not happy. Just... like you'd slept. Her eyebrows climbed. You looked over-"Morning, D"-

She leaned on the counter dramatically-"Should I even ask?"-

McKay answered before you could-"Her bike was too far from my apartment to make sense this morning"-

Dana's eyes immediately went to you-"You slept?"-

You nodded-"Like a rock"-

-"For how long?"-

-"...Seven hours" -

Dana blinked-"You?"-you nodded-"You voluntarily?"-

-"I know"-

She pointed at McKay-"What did you do, drug her?"-

McKay looked offended-"I fed her pancakes"-Dana nodded thoughtfully as you laughed at them.

Across the department...Baran had just finished signing off a lab request when she heard it. Your laugh. She looked up automatically. Her eyes found you almost instantly. Then...The hoodie. Not yours. McKay's. Coffee in your hand. Standing close enough that your shoulders bumped as you both walked. McKay reached over absentmindedly and plucked a strand of damp hair off your shoulder.

-"So you don't spend all morning wondering why you're itchy"-

-"Oh my hero in dark scrubs" -You teased her and she pushed you playfully. The gesture was so casual. So familiar. Baran felt something inside her chest tighten. Not because she assumed anything had happened. She knew better than to jump to conclusions. No. What hurt... Was seeing someone else occupy the quiet, ordinary space she used to. Someone else making sure you'd eaten breakfast. Someone else teasing you about your terrible sleeping habits. Someone else lending you clothes because you'd spent the night somewhere that wasn't your own apartment. She looked back down at the chart. The words refused to stay in focus. Baran swallowed. Her eyes drifted back to you one last time. You were smiling at something McKay had whispered, tugging the oversized sleeve down over your hand as you took another sip of coffee. She sighed and looked away.

You spend the whole day avoiding Baran completely, she entered a room and you left, she stood by your side and suddenly you had something more interesting to do, until the end of the day arrived. By noon, it had become almost... impressive. Not childish. Intentional. Clinical. If Baran walked into Trauma Three, you found a reason to check on a patient in Four. If she stopped at the nurses' station, you suddenly remembered a phone call you had to make. If she started toward radiology... You somehow needed to be in the opposite direction. It wasn't dramatic. You never rolled your eyes. Never sighed. Never glared. You simply... weren't there.

McKay noticed first-"You know she's been trying to catch you all day"-

You signed off a discharge summary-"I know"-

-"You've rerouted yourself through pediatrics twice"-she looked at you with those expressive blue eyes

-"I had patients"-you murmured looking down to a chart

-"You don't work in pediatrics"-

-"They were... very sick children..."-

McKay gave you a look-"You are unbelievable"-

-"I prefer adaptable"-

Dana noticed too. She watched Baran arrive at an empty workstation just as you disappeared around the corner. Again. Five minutes later... The same thing. Then again. By the fourth time, Dana couldn't help herself. She looked at Baran.

-"...She's doing it on purpose"-

Baran gave the smallest nod-"I know" -

-"She's good" -Dana said looking at you on top of her glasses

A sad smile crossed Baran's face-"She always was"-

Even Robby would've laughed if he'd seen it. You moved through the department like someone playing chess five moves ahead. You knew Baran's habits. She always checked the board after finishing a patient. She always grabbed coffee around three. She always reviewed imaging before writing notes. You knew because... You'd spent years working beside her. Now you used that knowledge to make sure your paths never crossed. Ironically... Knowing her so well made avoiding her effortless.

Around five in the afternoon, Baran finally caught Dana while helping stock supplies-"...Can I ask you something?"-

Dana looked over-"Shoot"-

-"...Does she always hold a grudge this long?"-

Dana looked at her for a long moment. Then answered honestly-"No"-Baran frowned. Dana shook her head-"Actually..."-A faint smile-"She's usually the first person to forgive"-The smile disappeared-"So if she's still this angry..."-

Baran finished the sentence herself-"...It must've really hurt"-Dana didn't say yes. She didn't have to.

Near the end of the shift, you were finishing your final note when McKay leaned over your shoulder-"So... You successfully treated Dr. Al-Hashimi like she had the plague"-

-"I did"-

-"You feel better?"-she asked

You thought about it. Then sighed-"...No"-

McKay nodded-"I didn't think so"-

You rubbed your eyes beneath your glasses-"I'm just... Tired"-You looked at her

-"...Yeah... I know" -She nudged your shoulder gently-"Come on. Let's finish up"-

Across the department, Baran watched you laughing quietly at something McKay had said while you logged out of the computer. You still hadn't looked at her once all day. Not once. She realized, with a slow ache spreading through her chest, that this was far worse than your anger yesterday. Yesterday, you'd shouted. You'd cried. You'd pushed her against a locker. Today... You'd acted as though she simply wasn't part of your world. It wasn't hatred. Hatred still acknowledged someone's existence. This... This was absence. And after years of being the one who walked away... Baran was finally learning what it felt like to be left standing alone.

At the end of her shift, Baran sat in her car for several minutes without starting the engine. The parking garage was beginning to empty, headlights sweeping across the concrete as one employee after another drove home. She didn't move. Her hands rested on the steering wheel. Still. Heavy. She let her forehead fall against the leather. A slow breath in. A slow breath out. It didn't help. She closed her eyes. When she'd accepted the position at The Pitt, she'd told herself this was about medicine. About the hospital. About Robby returning from his sabbatical. About the opportunity. Every explanation had sounded reasonable. Safe. Then she'd seen you. And every carefully constructed reason had crumbled in the span of a heartbeat. She hadn't expected forgiveness. Not even close. She hadn't expected you to smile. Or hug her. Or ask how she'd been. She'd expected anger. Coldness. Silence. She deserved all of it. But...When Dana had casually mentioned you lived alone... When Robby hadn't mentioned anyone. When she'd noticed there was no ring on your hand. A tiny, selfish part of her had breathed. She's okay. She's not with someone. It wasn't that she wanted you to have been waiting for her. She knew how unfair that would be. She hadn't wanted your life to stop. She just... She'd hoped there wasn't someone else occupying the place she'd once held. Then yesterday had happened. The diner. McKay. The hoodie. This morning's coffee. The easy laughter. The way you'd looked rested for the first time since she'd arrived. And all day... McKay had drifted naturally into your orbit. A hand brushing your shoulder to get your attention. The two of you exchanging patient updates without even needing full sentences. Laughing over some joke no one else understood. Nothing romantic. Nothing inappropriate. Just... comfortable. Comfortable in a way Baran remembered being with you.

She swallowed hard. Maybe she'd imagined there was still an empty space in your life. Maybe there wasn't. Maybe someone else had slowly, gently filled it. Not with grand declarations. But with pancakes. A couch. A borrowed hoodie. A cup of coffee waiting in the morning. A shoulder to cry on. The ordinary things. The things relationships were really made of.

She let out a slow breath and started the car, but before she could move, a strong knock almost knocked her window down and also made her heart jump, when she saw you standing there she frowned confused and lowered the window

-"What the fuck? Are you trying to kill me Robinavitch?" - she put a hand on her chest

-"What the fuck is wrong with you Baran?!" - you yelled more than her and frowning, she was confused

-"Many things, but I feel like you are upset for something specific" - she murmured looking at your eyes. You shoved your phone on her chest. Baran stared at the screen. Her own name. Robby's messages.A conversation that had never been meant for her eyes.

Robby: "She didn't tell anyone, because of course she didn't"

"She's been having seizures"

"Stress makes them worse... She had two the first day"

"Just... keep an eye on her if you can. She'll hate me for telling you"

Her stomach dropped. You knew her problem since you started dating, you just didn't knew they were back. Slowly, she looked back up at you. You were furious. Not the quiet anger she'd seen in the hospital. This was something else. Your hands were shaking.

-"You had seizures"- She opened her mouth, nothing came out-"You had seizures again and you didn't fucking tell me?!" -

Your voice cracked on the last word. Baran blinked-"...We are not together anymore"-

-"Oh, don't" -You pointed a finger at her-"Don't you dare"-She flinched-"Don't stand there and act like that explains anything"-

-"It wasn't your responsibility"-

-"No" -You laughed sharply-"It wasn't. But you know what?"-You took a step closer to the car-"I would've wanted to know anyway"-

Baran looked down-"I know"-

-"No"-You shook your head-"You clearly don't"-

She closed her eyes-"I didn't want..."-Her voice faltered-"I didn't want you worrying about me"-

You actually looked offended-"Worrying about you?"-You pointed at the phone still in her lap-"I spent years thinking I'd never hear your name again... And now I find out you've been having seizures..."-Your breathing became uneven-"...and I had to hear it from my brother? Because you, who were just a few steps away didn't had the gut to tell me?"-

Baran whispered-"I was handling it"-

-"You zoned out at work... Twice in a day!"-

She froze-"...He told you that too"-

-"He told me because he was scared! Of his patients and you!" - Silence. You rubbed both hands over your face-"You absolute..."-You stopped yourself before finishing the sentence.

Baran almost smiled despite everything-"You were going to call me an idiot"-

-"I was going to call you something much worse"-you murmured still upset

-"...Fair"-

You let out a frustrated groan and paced one step away from the car before turning back again-"Don't dare to drive after one of those episodes"-

-"I haven't had one in weeks... Only the first day" - she murmured

-"That's not the point" - you quickly replied

-"I'm cleared by neurology"-she explained

-"I don't care" -you crossed your arms over your chest

-"I know"-That answer only made you angrier

-"You know what your problem is?"-She looked at you quietly-"You spend every fucking minute of your life being the perfect unshakable Baran. You can do it all! All your whole life deciding what's best for everybody else"-Your eyes burned with frustration-"You decided what was best when you took the army's offer. You decided what's best when you left. You decided what was best by not telling me. You decided what was best by hiding this" -Another step closer-"You never once stopped to ask whether anyone else wanted or even deserved a vote"-

Baran's eyes filled again-"...You're right"-

The admission came so quickly that it caught you off guard-"I am"-

-"You are"-She nodded-"I've done that my whole life... Our whole life..." -She looked down at her hands gripping the steering wheel-"I learned very early that if I carried everything myself..."-A sad smile-"...other people got to rest"-She looked back at you-"I forgot..."-Her voice broke-"...that people who love you don't experience helping as a burden" -Your anger faltered. Just for a second. She continued-"I wasn't trying to push you away"-

You laughed bitterly-"You literally left the state"-

-"I know...I mean with this" -She gestured vaguely toward herself-"The seizures. The appointments. The medications. I kept thinking..."-She looked away-"...'She's finally healing'... Don't make her start worrying about you again.'"-You stared at her. Speechless. Finally, you exhaled through your nose.

-"...You are so unbelievably stupid"-

A watery laugh escaped her-"I've been told"-

-"No"-You pointed at her-"I mean it medically"-

That earned the tiniest genuine smile-"The scans came back normal"-

-"I wasn't asking for the MRI results... But I was talking that something is definitely wrong in your head for you to be this stupid..."-Another beat of silence. You leaned your forearms on the open window frame of her car. The anger was still there. But beneath it... Something older. Something familiar. You looked her straight in the eye-"If you ever have another seizure..."-She held your gaze-"...you call someone and tell them"-

-"I will"-

-"No"-You shook your head-"Not 'someone'"-

She frowned-"...Who?"-

You answered without thinking-"My brother or Dana"-The words hung there. A compromise. Safe. Professional. Something neither of you could argue with. Baran nodded slowly.

-"...Okay"-

You took your phone from her lap and pushed yourself away from the window-"...Good"-You turned to leave. Then stopped after only two steps. Without looking back, you muttered-"...And don't skip your medication"-

Baran's eyes widened-"How did you..."-

You glanced over your shoulder-"You're not the only doctor in this city"-Then you walked away toward your motorcycle, leaving Baran sitting behind the wheel with one undeniable truth echoing in her mind. For all the distance you'd tried to put between the two of you... The first thing you'd done after finding out she'd been sick... Was run to make sure she was still okey.

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Taglist: @melschemmentitties @dollett-3 @nfr-girly @upsidedowndanvers @c0bb2002 @gf4lwt @sunsool @spicesolariis

[lotties-ashwagandha]

LOOK AT WHERE WE ARE NOW

baran al-hashimi x fem!reader, 1.7k words. past yolanda garcia x baran and past yolanda garcia x reader.

inspired by this request. baran neglects to mention that she’s been working with her ex-girlfriend, yolanda garcia, during her time at ptmc. what makes it worse? yolanda is your ex, too, and you find out about her connection with your wife while joining baran at a work gala. this is by no means my best work and is in fact very silly but I’m in a slump so it’s okay.

“This doesn’t fit how I thought it would,” you say quietly, looking at yourself in the mirror. You smooth the front of your outfit down and turn to the side, examining the way it fits. 

Baran, who has been sitting on the bed packing her purse with the necessities — extra lipstick, hand sanitizer, bandages for when her new shoes inevitably give her blisters — looks up briefly to meet your gaze in the mirror. “It fits you perfectly.” 

“You think so?” 

She zips up her purse, gets up off the bed and comes to stand behind you by the mirror. In its reflection you can see her outfit too, the long burgundy dress she bought specifically for this occasion, the black high heels. 

“Look at me,” she says, and waits for you to glance back and meet her eyes. Her voice is measured, sure. “You’re perfect. You always look perfect, tonight is no different.”

You can’t hold her gaze. You look into the mirror instead, taking in the way you look beside one another. “We look good together.” 

“We do. That’s why I want you with me tonight.” 

You hum in feigned disapproval. “Is that the only reason?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Wow, you’re not even going to pretend otherwise?” 

Baran steps closer, takes your left hand in both of hers and raises it to examine. She adjusts your diamond wedding ring, spinning to the center of your finger. 

“This,” she says, “is why I want you with me. You’re mine, and I want to show you off.” 

Your heart swells and you nod, unable to keep up with the joke anymore. She says it so easily — you’re mine — that it leaves you speechless. 

“They’re going to love you,” Baran says. She leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, and when she pulls back there’s a mark on your face from her lipstick. “I love you.” 

— 

With a drink in your system and a seat comfortably close to Baran’s at your table, you’re feeling amazing. 

Introductions went well with her coworkers. You’re able to put faces to names now, conversation is easy, and you’re comfortable as long as Baran stays at your side. 

She leans close to you, speaking into your ear. “I told you they would love you. Smart people.” 

You don’t deny it. You reach for her hand on the table, entwine your fingers with hers, and watch as the seats at your table keep filling. 

“What do you think?” Baran asks. She looks at you hopefully. 

“Everyone seems nice,” you say. “Except Robby. You were right about him.” 

She nods. “Well, at least now you’ve seen him for yourself. It’ll make my stories more vivid.”

You raise your joined hands and press a kiss to her knuckles. “I like being here with you. We should come to more of these, I want to support you.” 

“I’d like that.” 

At the other end of the table, Trinity Santos leans in conspiratorially to whisper to Cassie. But she’s a terrible whisperer, you learn this quickly, and the whole table can hear it when she says, “Did Garcia and Walsh ride together?” 

Beside you, Baran tenses. Her grip on your hand tightens, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and she turns to look at you guiltily. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, leaning closer to her. “Baran, are you okay?” 

“I kind of—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. With every passing second, she looks more anxious. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

At first, you don’t understand why. Her words only make you nervous, and a thousand terrible possibilities flash through your mind all at once. 

“I didn’t know she would be coming,” she continues. “Please stay calm. We can talk about it at home.” 

You turn and look at the door to the event center and your stomach drops to your heels. 

—

“I can't go back out there, Baran! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She sighs, leaning back against the sink in the restroom. She looks down at her shoes. “I didn’t think it was important.” 

“You didn’t think to tell me that you’ve been working with your ex-girlfriend all this time? My ex? Our ex, which I can’t believe I’m even saying.” 

Baran looks up to meet your eyes. She gives you a pleading look, begging you to let it go, but you can’t yet — you’re still angry. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice softer now. “Please don’t.” 

“I’m not looking at you in any special way.” 

“You’re giving me that look you do when you want me to forget whatever you’ve done to piss me off and pull you into my arms,” you accuse. “But that is not happening right now.” 

“Baby…” 

“No,” you interrupt. “There’s nothing you can say right now to make this better.” 

“We share an ex,” she says. “So what? We’re gay, that’s the landscape. Everyone has dated everyone else, it’s nearly incestuous!” 

“I’m not angry about that. I’m angry that you’ve had a thousand opportunities to tell me you work with her, and you haven’t taken any of them.”  

“She works in surgery,” Baran says tiredly, as if she’s already thought this over a thousand times to assess the risks and talk herself down — she likely has. “She’s not always down in the ED.” 

You cross your arms. “Do you talk to her?” 

“When I have to, and it’s always professional. I dated Yolanda in college and it was nothing, less than nothing. I know your relationship with her was similar.” 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I knew you would react this way,” she answers. “I knew you would be upset, and I didn’t want to make you upset. And you know very well that seeing Yolanda at the hospital would be at the bottom of the list of terrible things that happened on my first day at PTMC.” 

That last part is probably true, and you won’t argue it. But you also won’t bend and tell her that everything is fine, you forgive her, it’s water under the bridge. 

The restroom door opens. In walks Yolanda Garcia, who sees the two of you and pauses. 

“Evening, ladies,” she says. She looks between you, a small smile playing on her lips as if she knows exactly what you and Baran have been in here arguing about. “Trouble in paradise?” 

Baran gives her a sharp glance. “Yolanda, please.” 

“No, no, I’m kidding. Seriously, I hope I didn’t cause any problems earlier. I walked in and the two of you disappeared.” 

You can’t look at either of them. You don’t trust yourself. You study the floor, the space between the white tiles. 

“Crazy how you two ended up together,” Yolanda says, crossing her arms. “Married and everything. I was like the curve in the queer little road that brought you together.” 

“You didn’t bring us together,” you tell her bitterly. “If anything, you’re having the opposite effect.” 

She clutches her chest as if you’ve just shot an arrow through her heart, like you’re some malevolent equivalent of Cupid. “Harsh.” 

You move closer to Baran. You suddenly remember all the reasons you left Yolanda, all the reasons you started seeing Baran. 

“Can you two argue about me somewhere else?” Yolanda asks. “I really have to pee, and I don’t want to hear about how much you two hate me while I’m tinkling.” 

You reach out a hand for Baran to take. Immediately, she slips hers into it. 

— 

Despite the heavy summer heat that blankets the city during the day, Pittsburgh can still get chilly at night this time of year. You shiver when you walk out the doors of the convention center, but you don’t stop.

“We can’t go home,” Baran says. “I know you’re angry, but we can’t just leave!” 

You lead her through the parking lot, past rows of cars that make you wish you’d parked closer. 

“Being around Yolanda is part of my job!” she continues, struggling to keep up with you. “Can you slow down a little?” 

You finally reach the car. You stop, turn around, and Baran nearly runs into you. 

“You have to stop hiding things from me,” you say. “You know it’s a bad habit of yours to keep quiet about things you find upsetting. That needs to stop.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes,” she assures you, stepping closer. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want to fight with you. After not telling you about her that first night, I thought I could avoid it altogether.” 

You shake your head. “Look at where we are now.” 

“Yes,” she says again, and grabs your left hand. She compares it to hers, making you look down at your matching diamond rings. “Look at where we are now.” 

You can’t argue that. 

“I’m married to you,” she reminds you. “You’re married to me. Yolanda has no place in this.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise,” she meets your eyes. “You know the reasons why I left her. They were your reasons, too. That’s why we work well together.” 

You look down at your rings again. You find yourself drifting closer to her, and if you tilted your head up then you would be in perfect range to kiss her. 

“I don’t want anyone but you,” Baran says. 

You look up, meeting her eyes briefly before leaning in and kissing her, drawing closer to her. The sharpest edges of your anger dull, she softens you. 

“I shouldn’t have been so harsh,” you tell her quietly after you part.

She shakes her head. “I should have told you about Yolanda.” 

You kiss her again, deeper this time, letting her back you up against the side of the car. The handle of the backseat door digs into your back and you gasp at the sharpness of the sensation, releasing a shaky exhale, and Baran’s lips dip down to your neck. 

“Tell me what you want to do,” she murmurs. “Do you want to go home?” 

You consider it. It’s appealing to abandon this place and go home with her, let this continue in the privacy of your home. But you’re all dressed up, the night has just begun, and you think Baran would buy you another expensive drink from the bar to atone for her mistakes if you asked her to. 

“Not yet,” you answer. “You don’t get off the hook that easily.” 

“I usually do. This must be a grave offense, because there’s this spot on your neck that if I…” 

You push her away gently, kissing her one more time before taking her hand and leading her back through the parking lot. 

thank you for reading <3

the pitt taglist: @slutforabbyanderson @babyblueb3ll @thursdayygrrrl @postflash @poseiden12345 @bobbybeyonce @azishimi @chaithetics @cmckaysdollpuppy @misismilian @mimzamo @maximoffwitch @krumblin @sadoutlaw @mistydear @sepidehmoafiglazer

[as-syllable-from-sound]

okay imagine this.. reader x baran again from me.. they start dating towards the end of baran’s time at the ptmc and they agree that once it’s over they’ll become official and then baran takes a permanent job there and ends things with readers and it’s a whole bunch of angst, yearning, and arguing and what not..

nothingman, pt. 1 (baran al-hashimi x reader) ˚₊· ͟͟❥ wc: 3.7k

tags: heavy heavy heavy angst, fighting, reader is PISSSSSED, hurt no comfort, nurse!reader, boss!baran, age gap but its legal obv, medical inaccuracies, baran's son mentioned!

note: we are so back. this was such a yummy request thank you thank you thank you for sending it!! this also isn’t beta read so if you see errors just scroll🥹

Technically, you and Baran Al-Hashimi are nothing. She is not your girlfriend. You are not hers. You would be reaching, probably, to even call her a friend.

But you have had a grand total of seven dinners together since Baran first came to PTMC. All of them were at restaurants on the far periphery of the city alternating between Uzbek, Ethiopian, Vietnamese, Szechuan, and once—out of some perverse sense of irony—a French-Vietnamese bistro in a strip mall wedged between a tanning salon and a place that only serves bubble tea. 

Each restaurant was chosen by the older attending. At first, you kinda just assumed she was just a really big foodie, or just had a taste for the kind of garish decor and laminated menus those kinds of restaurants always had.

It took you until the third dinner, in a Kurdish place lit only by tea candles, to finally understand why Baran had never suggested anywhere closer to the hospital, or her neighborhood, or even central Pittsburgh: Baran is the acting department head; you are her employee.

Come March, you'll no longer be her direct report. But for now, even the implication of fraternization is enough to set off the rumor mill, not to mention the inexorable march of the Title IX committee armed with a constitution of policies, some of which you have memorized. 

Suffice to say, you're content with the arangment. You can play the part of the pretty little secret if it means getting seated across from Baran in a family-run restaurant where no one knows your last name, let alone what you’re doing there together.

Maybe it’s cowardice. You never ask for more than what Baran offers. When she cancels, you say “of course,” and when she texts you at midnight after three weeks of silence, you take an Uber across town without asking why. You have only spent the night together once, and even then, Baran was up before you, fully dressed, drinking coffee at the window and writing something long and complicated in a small, battered notebook. She did not try to explain. You did not try to understand.

Despite all the secretiveness, dinners with Baran are a truly lovely affair. She's attentive and never checks her phone, lets you order whatever you want, entertains your performative bicker over the check before picking it up with a firm glance. She walks you to your car after and waits for the text that you made it home, and in October, in the stairwell of the parking structure on the north side of the hospital, on a completely ordinary Wednesday night, she kissed you and then stood there afterward with her forehead against yours, eyes closed, not saying anything, just breathing.

You have been waiting for March since October. You're three weeks out.

She texts you on a Wednesday afternoon: Are you free Sunday? There's somewhere I'd like to take you.

Of course you're typing out and sending yes before you've finished reading it. The attention to punctuation and capitalization would make you shit your pants if the message was from anyone else, but that's just how Baran talks, and by extension, types. You've gotten used to the formality of it all by now.

Sunday comes and she's at your door in dark trousers and a coat that probably cost more than your rent, and she smiles when she sees you.

"Hi," you breathe, a giddy smile on your face. "Sorry, I just have to grab my shoes and we're good to go."

"Take your time," she encourages easily, but she doesn't step into the threshold of your doorway. You shoot her a look.

"I'm not diseased, I promise," you joke, still light, still high on the anticipation of spending an evening with the beautiful doctor, but your smile fades when she just tilts her head and doesn't enter.

You pause, give her a chance to come in. She doesn’t. 

"Okayyy," you say slowly, slipping on your slides. "Well, nevermind. I'm ready. Let's go."

She takes you to a wine bar twenty minutes from the hospital. You sit across from each other in low lighting and dutifully do the first-fifteen-minutes-of-a-date thing, the catching up, the small careful questions. A server comes. Baran orders sparkling waters for you both. 

You look at her, tracking those careful hands once the bottle comes and she’s pouring it into two glasses for you both. She'd ordered you a glass of something you hadn't even known you wanted in September and gotten it exactly right, and tonight she is ordering sparkling water? 

You feel a wave of nerves crash over you and it’s then you notice how weird the restaurant she’s chosen is. It can hardly qualify as such, it’s more of a bar. Every other patron is in a suit, but not a date night suit, business attire. They all look like lawyers and bankers. There’s not a couple in sight, no candle-lit intimacy. People seem like they’re coming here for deals. 

You swallow. "No drinking tonight?”

"Early morning tomorrow."

Her fingers press white against the glass, the knuckles bloodless, and you watch her look at the table instead of you. The nothing taste of having not eaten enough today sits at the back of your throat, sharp and hollow as your tongue finds the inside of your cheek nervously.

"Baran—" you start.

"There's something I need to tell you," she says, at the same time.

Baran wraps both hands around the glass and you watch her do it.

"They've offered me the permanent position," she says. "Full-time department head. I accepted on Friday."

The chair beneath you is the kind that looks comfortable and completely isn’t, the hard edge of the seat digging into the backs of your thighs, your vertebrae, sending a painful twinge up your back.

You blink. “I’m sorry?”

"I wanted to tell you in person. I thought—" She stops, looking down at her hands. "I thought we should talk about it."

"When did they come to you?"

She pauses and takes a deep breath. "There had been some preliminary conversations. Back in October."

Your brain helpfully supplies a mental calendar of October: the forehead against yours, her eyes closed, one minute, two minutes, the promise of March was in October, the first dates, if that’s even what you can call them. 

"Preliminary conversations?" you repeat, voice rising.

"Nothing was decided then," she says quickly, and there's something almost pleading in it. "I swear, Y/N, it was just conversations. Feeling things out. I didn't know if I was even going to take it."

"But you knew it was a possibility."

"Yes." She looks pained. "Yes, I knew it was a possibility."

"Regardless, did you think I didn't need to know that?"

"I didn't know what to say." She leans forward, and you can see the tension in her shoulders. "I was trying to figure it out. The job, us, all of it. I didn't want to worry you about something that might not even happen."

"Worry me?" You stare at her. "Baran, we were—I thought we were—"

"I know." She reaches across the table like she might take your hand, then stops. "I know what you thought. What we both thought. But this position—it's permanent. It's stability for me and for my son. I can't just—" She stops, frustrated. "You don't understand the pressure I'm under."

"Then help me understand, Baran."

"You're young," she says, and it lands wrong immediately. You watch her realize it, watch her try to backtrack. "I don't mean that as—I just mean you're in a different place. You don't have a child depending on you. You don't have—" She stops. "This job is everything. It's my career. My son's tuition. Our health insurance. I can't risk that for—"

She doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't say for you. But you both hear it.

"So what was I, then?" Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. "Just something you were trying out until you got what you actually wanted?"

"No." She looks genuinely distressed now. "No, that's not it. Y/N, I care about you. I do. But I have to be realistic about what I can afford to lose."

"And I'm not worth losing anything for?”

"That's not what I'm saying." Her voice rises slightly, defensive. "You're twisting this into something it's not. I made a career decision, a good one at that, one I had to make. The fact that it affects us doesn't mean I was trying to hurt you."

"But you knew it would,” you reply. “You had to know it would.”

She's quiet for a moment. "I knew it would complicate things."

"Complicate." You laugh, and it sounds bitter even to your own ears. "Yeah, okay.”

"I said if circumstances changed—"

"But you knew they weren't going to change!" Your voice breaks. "You knew in October that they weren't going to change, so why the fuck would you dangle that in front of me to begin with?”

"I wasn’t certain!" She's getting frustrated now, you can hear it. "I was trying to see if there was a way to make both things work. I didn't lie to you, Y/N. I just—I didn't know what to do."

"So you did nothing."

"I did what I had to do." There's an edge to her voice now. "I made the choice that made sense for my life. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but I can't—" She stops, takes a breath. "I can't put my entire future on hold for a relationship that might not even work out."

You gape at her. “Do you really — do you seriously have that little faith in me? Do you trust me that little?”

“Can you let me talk? You’re not being fair.”

"I'm not being fair?" You stare at her. "Baran, I have been waiting for you since October. Don’t pretend you don’t know that’s true because I’ve told you that, and you’ve kept taking me out on dates, and—" Your voice cracks. "And you've known the entire time that it was never going to happen."

“I was trying to figure out if there was a way—"

"There wasn't." You pick up your bag. "And you knew that. You just didn't want to tell me."

"Y/N, please—" She reaches for you, and you pull back.

"I need to go."

"Can we talk about this?" she huffs. “Y/N, come on.”

"I think you've said everything you needed to say." You stand up, and your hands are shaking. "Congratulations on the position."

You watch something in her face go through a door and shut. She doesn't try to stop you and doesn’t follow you out.

When you glance back through the window, she's still sitting there, staring at her untouched water.

—

You show up Monday because you have to show up Monday, because Baran Al-Hashimi is your department head now, permanently, indefinitely, and the department doesn't know what happened in a wine bar on Sunday. The department just needs you there, so you are there. 

She doesn't treat you differently. She keeps with your last name in briefings, first name in the hallway, she defers to your clinical judgment when it's relevant, and you have no idea what it costs her and you are not going to ask. You have learned how to stop asking things. You should be given something for it.

Three weeks in she falls into step beside you between the supply room and the east corridor and says how are you doing.

"Fine," you say.

"You don't seem fine."

You completely ignore that, turning toward the nursing station where you can see Trinity and Dennis talking to Robby. You know Baran won’t do anything with an audience. 

Predictably, she stops several feet away, grabbing your arm to get you to stop too.

"I'm not trying to—" She stops. "I'm asking because I want to know."

"I frankly don’t care what you want,” you reply face intentionally void of emotion. “Please let go of my arm.”

"Y/N, I know you’re upset," she says, all quiet, big eyes trailing over your face. She drops your arm cautiously as if testing to see if you’ll dart. "I don’t want you hurting.”

"That’s not how it works,” you shoot back, “I’m trying to do my job without letting this get in the way, so how about you grow the fuck up and do yours.”

Baran’s eyes go a bit wide at that, plush lips dropping open as she scans your face in shock. “You're being entirely unfair."

You bark out a laugh. "That’s rich.”

"I never promised you a relationship, Y/N."

You stare at her. "Seriously?"

"I promised you that if circumstances changed, we could explore one."

"And are those oh-so different to you?” Baran straightens up. “Yes, Y/N! Those are two very different things!”

"So what line are you drawing between them? What, you'd keep me on a leash? Just far away enough so you could test out if you were actually willing to be with me? What was I to you, Baran, a free trial?"

Baran's expression sharpens immediately.

"No," she says. "And you know that's not what this was.”

"Don't tell me what I know." Your voice rises despite yourself. "You don't get to decide what this feels like from my side. You don't get to spend months building something with me and then act shocked when I have a reaction to finding out you've been making plans I wasn't even aware existed!”

"I’m more surprised by how determined you are to interpret everything in the worst possible faith!"

"The worst possible faith?" you repeat. "You sat across from me in that bar and told me you'd known since October there was a possibility you'd stay. October. Do you understand how insane that sounds to me now?"

"You are an adult," Baran says, voice clipped now. "With your own agency. I did not manipulate you into developing expectations."

You take a step closer before you can stop yourself. "Oh, sure, you just conveniently benefited from them, right?"

“Y/N—”

“Fuck all the way, off, Baran,” you snap. “You’re my boss permanently now, remember? So unless it’s for work, leave me the hell alone.”

—

April arrives, March bleeds out. The two of you are still in the same building, in the same department, wearing the same laminate badges in the same fluorescent light, and all the waiting was for nothing, has soured into a cold-hard nothing, and will stay that way. It sits in a lump in the corner and rots, rots, rots. 

—

It’s Lena Handzo, the night shift’s charge nurse, who tells you that Dr. Al-Hashimi turned down a conference in Boston last month. 

"Said she couldn't leave the department for that long," Lena says, eyebrows raised and smirking, and you make a noncommittal sound go back to your work. 

Lena frowns. “What’s up with you? You love gossiping with me.”

“Long week,” you reply sympathetically, not looking up from your computer. “I’m behind on my logs, too, and if I hear one more Attending bark up my ass I think I’ll just have to quit.” Lena tsks. “Let’s not do that.”

“I won’t, if I can get these done,” you say. “Thanks for the update, Handzo.”

She nods, patting your shoulder. “Honey, you know it’s my pleasure. I’ll see if I can keep everyone off your back.”

You are still thinking about it three hours later when Baran spawns right behind your swivel chair. You smell her before you see her, something deep and earthy and vaguely antiseptic and painfully recognizable. 

"Do you have a patient in bay seven?" she asks.

"Doctor Mohan has a patient in bay seven," you reply shortly. “I’m just assisting.”

"Do you want me to take a look?"

"Suit yourself.”

You hear the sharp intake of breath behind you. You imagine her power stance, hands clasped behind the lululemon, the curls that couldn’t quite be contained with the claw clip. You fight every animal instinct that begs you to turn around and snarl. You imagine you must look like an animal on edge, ears perked up in attention, waiting for a sign that she’s gone—

"I heard you covered the Delgado case this morning," she says.

Your eyes stay trained on the keyboard, fingers pressing the keys, clicking one, then another, then another. "I did."

"That was above and beyond. You didn't have to stay for that."

“Well, I did.”

"I believe it turned into a twelve-hour shift," she says. "You were only scheduled for eight."

"Mhm.”

She is quiet for a moment. "Are you sleeping?”

“Are you meant to be asking me that, Dr. Al-Hashimi?”

"I'm asking as someone who—" She stops. Recalibrates. "Yes. As your department head. Who notices when staff are working themselves into the ground."

"Then I appreciate your concern for my wellness." The words come out flat, professional, empty. "I'll make sure to log my hours appropriately."

"That's not what I—"

"Perlah," you call out, louder than necessary, swiveling your chair just enough to address the nursing station without looking at Baran. "Would you pass along the updated labs for bay seven when you get a chance?"

Perlah glances up, then past you to where Baran is standing. Her eyes flicker with confusion before she nods. "Sure thing."

You turn back to your screen. Baran hasn't moved.

"You look exhausted," she says quietly. Too quietly for anyone else to hear over the ambient noise of the station—Dennis on the phone, Trinity’s keyboard clicking, the distant beep of monitors.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You look exhausted."

"With respect, Dr. Al-Hashimi, I don't think my appearance is really—"

"Y/N." Her voice has an edge now. "Stop.”

"Stop what?"

Her jaw tightens. "This little pity party. As your department head—"

"Already pulling rank? How's that working out for you, by the way? The career move, I mean. Worth it?"

"That's not—"

"Because you look tired too, if we're doing wellness checks." You tilt your head, examining her with clinical detachment. "Actually, while we’re on topic, when's the last time you slept?"

Something flashes across her face. Hurt, maybe. Good.

"We are not doing this here," she says, ice chilling her voice.

"Doing what? Having a conversation? Isn't that what you wanted?" You turn back to your screen. "Or did you just want me to say 'yes ma'am, thank you ma'am' and make you feel better about—"

"Watch yourself." Her voice drops, sharpens. "I understand you're tired, but you need to watch your tone right now."

"Or what?" You spin around. "You’re gonna put something in my file?" You're talking faster now, the words tumbling out. "You already have access to that anyway, so—"

"I said that's enough." Her voice is quiet. Deadly quiet. Samira has definitely stopped typing. "You're not in a state to be here right now. Go home."

That catches your attention. You gape at her.

"I have four hours left on my—"

"I'm aware of your schedule." Each word is precisely placed. "As your boss, I am telling you to go home. Clock out. Leave."

"On what grounds?"

"Because you're exhausted, acting immature, and you're disrespecting your superior in front of the entire station. This is not a discussion. Go home before I have to make this official.”

The worst part is she's right, to some degree. But what cuts is the way she is using the position, the authority, the thing she chose over you—to send you away. To protect herself. To prove that she can.

"Fine." You stand up too fast, chair rolling backward. "Anything else, Dr. Al-Hashimi?"

Something flickers across her face. But her voice stays steady. "No. That's all, Y/N."

You grab your bag. You don't look at Perlah. You don't look at anyone.

You definitely don't look at Baran as you walk past her toward the exit.

But you feel her watching you leave.

—

"Dr. Al-Hashimi? Can I borrow you for a second?"

"Of course." Baran doesn't look up immediately. She finishes the lab she's reviewing, hands it off to Langdon, sets down her pen. Baran follows the woman who she is slowly recognizing as Melissa from HR three steps away from the station, just far enough that the noise covers their voices.

"We received a resignation letter this afternoon," Marissa says. "Effective immediately. I wanted to let you know before processing it."

"Who?"

Marissa says your name.

Baran goes very still. "What?"

"It was submitted about two hours ago,” Melissa supplies. "It surprised me too. But I just wanted to check if there were any performance issues we should document, or if—"

"No." Too fast. "No, nothing like that. She’s—she’s an excellent nurse."

Marissa nods slowly. "Okay. Then I'll process it. We'll need to arrange an exit interview, but given the circumstances—"

"Yes. Fine. Whatever the protocol is."

Marissa hesitates, blinking at the tone. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Thank you for letting me know." Baran's already turning back toward the nursing station. “Excuse me."

She beelines down the east corridor, past the supply room, into the medication room at the end. It's empty. She closes the door.

Her hands are shaking. She presses her palms flat against the counter and tries to breathe. 

She pulls out her phone, fingers hovering over your name in her contacts. She hasn't texted you in weeks, the most recent message still the invitation for dinner, and your eager response with its exclamation points and little beaming emojis.

She types: What are you doing? You're throwing your career away over this? You worked so hard to get here.

She stares at the words, thinks about nursing school, the late nights you told her about, the clinical rotations, the NCLEX. How proud you were when PTMC hired you. How much this job means to you.

Her thumb hovers over the send button.

She presses it.

masterlist

[pinkthrone445]

~Welcome back~ Part 2

Part 1

Pairing:Ex Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader

Warnings:infertility talks, blood(is the ER), insults, depression.

Summary:you were not expecting, that the person that the hospital sent to replace your brother while he was away, was your ex wife. Now you had to get used to the idea of seeing her every day even if it broke your heart all over again.

Type:hurt/confort/family/short (for what I usually post)

AN:I'm watching the Pitt and I really want to write about them, specially Baran, Dana and Cassie so if you want, you can send requests about them!

Also if you want to be tagged on this or all of them, you can let me know!

-----🩺 --------🩺 --------🩺 --------🩺-------🩺-----

At the next day you had the morning shift, you thanked yourself for picking the previous night shift and helping you avoid Baran's first shift and interaction and giving you a whole day to feel your feelings and to somehow rest a little bit more.

When you got early at your shift you went straight to your locker, the room was completely empty, a single flower hang from the lock of your locker, your favorite flower, you grabbed it and look the tiny paper attached on it

-"Sorry. 'B'"-you signed and wrinkled the note in your hand pressing your teeth together. The door opened and her perfume hit your nose before her voice did, somehow that pissed you more

-"Good morning..."-she whispered and her eyes went to the flower on your hand. Before she could process it, your hand was against her chest pressing the flower between your hand and her chest, you were pissed, you were pressing with so much force that her back hit the wall with a soft huf

-"Put this flower where the sun doesn't shine next time" - you said between tight teeth. She had heard you say that before to someone else, she knew you meant her ass. Her eyes looked directly at yours, and even if you were pissed, those were still the same eyes that she loved. Before she could think about it, her eyes dropped to your hand, it was still against her chest, when you realized you tried to pull your hand back but her hand closed against your wrist holding you there

-"Hi..."-her voice came barely as a whisper, her hand was warm against your wrist, she was always warm. She saw the exact moment your anger turned to sadness

-"What are you doing here?" - you murmured with a unstable voice, you swallowed trying to ease the lump in your throat

-"I don't know..."-she whispered looking at your eyes-"I... Was in a plane as soon as I heard the hospital name" - she confessed and you signed, she let your hand go and it slumped by your side as if you had no strength at all to hold it

-"If you were the one walking away, why did you had to come back to change my life again?" - you asked dropping your eyes, it hurt to look at her, but it hurt more realizing that you still missed her

-"I'm sorry for everything..."-she didn't knew what to say, only asking for forgiveness as many times as it was necessary

-"If I never looked for you, never bother you when you decided to leave, you were not supposed to come back... it's not fair... it's not fair to have to forget you for a second time when the first time was so hard Baran!" - you yelled pissed and push her with both hands on her shoulders against the wall, her back hit the lockers with a dull metallic clang. She was taller and stronger, you knew that, but she was not going to fight you back, she deserve it, all of it. She didn't raise her hands. Didn't step away. Didn't stop you. She just looked at you. Your breathing was ragged, your shoulders shaking with every word. Outside the locker room, the emergency department buzzed to life. Somewhere a trauma pager went off. Someone laughed in the hallway. Inside, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to the few feet between you-"It's not fair" -you repeated, your voice cracking-"I buried us...Long ago" -

Baran's eyes filled-"I know"-

-"I buried the future we planned" -

-"I know"-she repeated

-"I packed the nursery because you couldn't even look at it anymore"-The words landed like a punch. Baran's face crumpled. You kept going-"I donated the crib"-She stopped breathing-"The little clothes"-Her eyes squeezed shut-"The books"-A tear escaped despite her trying to stop it. Your voice was more angrier and hurt every time you added an item to the list-"The stupid giraffe you won at the fair because you said every kid needed an ugly stuffed animal" -Her head bowed-"I couldn't keep any of it"-

-"I know..."-she said looking at the floor, she couldn't look at you

-"No!"-Your voice rose again-"You don't know! You weren't there!" -You hit her shoulder with the flat of your palm. Not to hurt her. Just because the grief had nowhere else to go-"You weren't there when strangers walked into our house and carried away everything we'd dreamed about" -Another shove-"You weren't there when I sat on the nursery floor because I couldn't figure out which box our failed future fit into" -Another-"You weren't there!" -

-"I know"-

-"You weren't there!"-now your fist hit her shoulder

-"I KNOW!"-The words burst out of Baran before she could stop them. The room fell silent. Her chest heaved-"I know I wasn't there"-Tears streamed freely now-"I know exactly where I wasn't" -Her voice broke so completely it barely sounded like her anymore-"I wasn't beside you as I promise in our wedding. I wasn't holding you. I wasn't the person I promised I'd be" -She covered her face for a second, dragging a trembling hand down over it-"I hated myself every single day for that" -You stared at her. She took a shaky breath-"I couldn't walk into that room. I couldn't hear another doctor tell us 'I'm sorry.' I couldn't watch you smile at me after every failed cycle because I knew you were trying to keep me together when you were breaking too" -She looked up again, tears clinging to her lashes-"So I ran" - The confession hung in the air-"I ran because every time I looked at you..."-Her voice disappeared-"...I saw everything we were losing" -

Your own tears spilled over-"And you thought I didn't?"-She flinched-"I looked at you" -you whispered-"and I saw my wife... I didn't see failure. I didn't see empty cribs. I saw you" -Your lips trembled-"You were enough for me..."-

Baran let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp-"I know that now" -

You laughed bitterly through your tears-"Now?"-

-"Yes" -

-"Now"- you repeated.

She nodded helplessly-"It took losing you to understand that I wasn't running from infertility"-Another tear slid down her cheek-"I was running from my own grief"-

Your shoulders slumped-"So you left me alone with mine... I blame myself for not being able to have a family... And I blamed myself because I wasn't reason enough, or worth it enough to keep you by my side... For you to fight for me as I was fighting for you... For us"-you whispered the last part. Neither of you spoke. Because there wasn't anything she could say that would make that sentence less true.

A long moment passed before Baran finally whispered-"I would give anything..."-She swallowed hard-"...Anything...to go back and be brave enough to stay" -

You closed your eyes. For one impossible heartbeat, you could almost picture it. The apartment. The coffee. The two of you growing older together despite everything. Then you opened your eyes again. Reality rushed back in. Your voice came out barely above a whisper-"...But you didn't"-

Baran's chin quivered-"No"-

-"You left... You decided to leave" -

-"...Yes"-

-"And I had to learn how to survive without you" - you said with a broken voice

She nodded once-"I know"-

You took one slow step backward. Then another. Creating space where your hands had been on her only moments before. A trauma alert blared overhead-"Level One Trauma. ETA three minutes"-The hospital didn't care that hearts were breaking in the locker room. Patients still needed doctors.

You wiped roughly at your face with the heel of your hand and put your glasses on. When you spoke again, your voice had taken on the steady, practiced tone you used with difficult cases-"Shift starts in three minutes, Dr. Al-Hashimi"-The use of her title made her flinch more than any shove had. You reached for your locker, grabbed your stethoscope, and looked at the flower crushed between the two of you. Then you walked out, leaving the flower to slide silently to the floor between her feet.

Fours hours after, you stopped for two minutes at the nurse station, your fingers massaging the place where your glasses rested and always marked your nose

-"D... I need a coffee, a strong with a lot of sugar... Can you please pretend you don't know where I am if anybody asks... I need 10 minutes"-Dana looked up from the chart she was reviewing. She didn't answer right away. She simply studied your face. The slight redness around your eyes. The way your shoulders sagged despite your best efforts to stand straight. The tiny crease between your eyebrows that only appeared when you were carrying more than you could say out loud.

-"...Kiddo" - You gave her a tired smile that fooled absolutely no one

-"I'm okay"-she nodded-"I'm serious"-she nodded again-"I just need coffee"-

-"You need therapy"-

-"I already have therapy"-you murmured

-"You need another therapist"-

That earned the faintest puff of laughter-"Look who is talking"-you murmured

-"There you are kiddo"-Dana murmured-"I was wondering where your sarcasm went"-

-"Maybe it went on vacation like my brother" -You rubbed your eyes beneath your glasses-"So..."-

-"You want ten minutes"-

-"Please"-

Dana glanced toward the board-"You've cleared your patients" -you nodded-"I can cover" -

-"Thanks" - you sighined

She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice-"...She's been looking for you"-Your jaw flexed-"She asked if you'd eaten"-

You let out a dry laugh-"That's rich" -Dana didn't defend Baran. Didn't criticize her either. She just watched you-"I don't want to talk to her"-you murmured

-"I know"-the blond nodded

-"I don't have anything left to say today"-she just stared at you-"I just..."-You searched for the words-"...I need ten minutes where nobody needs anything from me"-

Dana's expression softened immediately. Not because of Baran. Because of that sentence. She reached over and squeezed your forearm-"Go"-You blinked-"If anyone asks I'll tell them you're helping me with inventory"-

You smiled weakly-"I've never helped with inventory, no one will belive that"-

She shrugged-"Neither is me voluntarily organizing supply closets, yet somehow administration keeps buying it"-That drew a real laugh from you. Tiny. But real. Dana smiled. You nodded your thanks and slipped away from the nurses' station, taking the back hallway that led to the staff lounge.

The break room was empty. Mercifully. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The vending machine rattled softly. You dropped into one of the plastic chairs with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere much deeper than your lungs. The coffee machine sputtered as it filled a paper cup. Black. Then sugar. One packet. Two. Three. You stared at the cup. Added a fourth.

-"...Still trying to kill your pancreas"-The words were quiet. Not teasing. Just... familiar. She have seen you prepare sugar with a few drops of coffee for a few years now on difficult days. You closed your eyes. You hadn't heard the door open. Baran stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle. She looked almost apologetic for existing in the same room-"I asked Dana where you were"-You gave a humorless smile without looking at her-"And she lied"-

-"She tried-You picked up your coffee -"...Guess she needs more practice"-Baran remained by the door. She didn't come closer this time. She'd learned that much already.

-"I wasn't looking for a fight"-she said. You took a sip of the coffee. It was too hot. Too sweet. Perfect-"I'm fresh out of those"-Silence settled between you once more. The kind that used to be comfortable. Now it only felt crowded with ghosts

-"Look doctor Al-Hashimi"-you said with your back turned to her, you heard her shaky breathing at your voice, you signed and turned around-"Baran... It was always easy asume that between us two I would be the one to go looking for you... I never thought it would be the other way around... And I never prepared for this situation...And I'm mad at you, and I'm mad at myself for not being more upset at you, because you deserve it, you deserve that I ignore you... -Baran didn't interrupt. She stood in the doorway with both hands hanging uselessly at her sides, listening. You rubbed the coffee cup between your palms before continuing-"...You deserve that I walk past you like you're just another doctor"-Your eyes met hers-"You deserve that I don't answer when you say my name" -A tear rolled down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away-"But every time you look for me..."-You laughed bitterly, shaking your head-"...some stupid part of me still notices"-Your voice cracked-"It notices that you're tired. It notices you skipped breakfast. It notices you still bite the inside of your cheek when you're anxious"-Baran's lips parted, but no words came-"I hate that" -You swallowed hard-"I hate that after everything... my first instinct is still to ask if you're okay" -Silence. She was crying openly now-"I don't want to love you anymore"-The sentence left your mouth so quietly it almost disappeared beneath the hum of the vending machine-"...But I don't know how to stop"-Baran's breath hitched so sharply it hurt to hear. She took one hesitant step forward. Then stopped herself.

-"I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't expect another chance. I don't expect..."-Her voice broke-"...anything"-

You nodded-"Good" -Not cruel. Just tired-"So... what do you want from me?"-

She stared at you. Really stared. As if she'd been asking herself the same question since stepping off the plane. Finally, she whispered-"I think..."-She looked down at the floor-"...I just needed you to know that leaving wasn't the same as stopping loving you"-

You closed your eyes. A tear escaped despite your best effort to stop it-"...That's the worst part"-

She frowned-"What?"-

-"If you'd stopped loving me..."-You opened your eyes again-"...I'd know where to put my anger"-The words hit her harder than anything else you had said-"But instead..."-You shrugged helplessly-"...You loved me. And you left. And somehow those two things have had to live in my head together for years"-

Baran covered her mouth, trying to hold back another sob-"I know"-

-"No"-You shook your head-"You don't"-Your gaze drifted to the floor for a moment-"When you left..."-Your voice became almost painfully soft-"...I spent months wondering what was wrong with me"-She froze-"I kept thinking..."-You gave a hollow laugh-"...If I were prettier...If I were stronger...If I'd smiled more...If I hadn't wanted children so much... If my fucking ovaries worked properly! ...Maybe you would've stayed"-

Baran looked as if the air had been ripped from her lungs-"No..."-

You nodded anyway-"I had to deal with the lost of our desire to have babies and I had to deal with the lost of the love of my life. That's what heartbreak does. It rewrites the story until you're the villain" - She was crying too hard to speak-"I know now none of that was true" -You looked back at her-"But knowing it..."-Your hand rested briefly against your own chest-"...doesn't erase the version of me that believed it"-

Baran shook her head over and over-"I never..."-

-"I know" -You cut her off gently-"I know you never wanted me to think that" - Another silence. Long. Heavy.

Finally after the agonizing silence she whispered-"...Can I tell you one thing?"-You didn't answer for several seconds. Then, with all the exhaustion of someone who had been carrying grief for years, you gave the smallest nod

-"One thing"-

She took a careful breath-"There wasn't a single day..."-Her voice trembled-"...Not one...that I didn't love you" -The words hung between you. Beautiful. True. And devastating. Because they changed absolutely nothing.

You signed leaving your mug at the table and took a package of cookies from your pocket and push it against her chest, just like you did with the flower earlier. The package of cookies hit her chest with a soft thump. Baran caught it automatically making her lost balance for a second

-"Eat" - you murmured-"and let me have ten minutes by myself without having to deal with the thoughts of you being back on my fucking life" - you murmured leaving the cafeteria.

For a second she just stared at it. The exact same brand. The same ones she'd used to steal from your locker because she claimed they tasted better when they belonged to someone else. Her fingers tightened around the plastic wrapper. "Eat" you said. The word wasn't gentle. It wasn't affectionate. It was an order. The kind doctors gave patients who hadn't taken care of themselves. The kind you used to give her.

For a long moment, Baran didn't move. The break room hummed quietly around her. Coffee machine. Vending machine. Fluorescent lights. Ordinary sounds. But her chest felt too tight. Because despite everything you'd said... Despite the anger. The hurt. The years. You'd noticed she hadn't eaten. Again. You'd been furious with her. You'd practically told her to get out of your life. And somehow...You'd still remembered to take care of her.

Baran looked down at the cookies. Then slowly sat in the chair you'd just abandoned. Your coffee cup was still there. Half empty. Four sugar packets torn open beside it. A habit unchanged by time.

Her throat tightened. She remembered sitting across from you at three in the morning after back-to-back shifts. You stealing her fries. Her complaining. You stealing more just because it annoyed her. The memory arrived so vividly that for half a second she expected to look up and see you there. Instead she found an empty chair. An empty room. And a package of cookies in her hand.

Baran let out a shaky breath. Then she opened them. Because you'd told her to. And because some part of her had always listened when it was you.

Five minutes later, Dana walked into the break room carrying a chart. She stopped. Baran was sitting alone at the table. Eating cookies. Crying. Dana blinked.

-"...That's a new one"-Baran laughed through her tears. A pathetic little sound. Dana's eyes landed on the cookie wrapper. Recognition flashed immediately - "She gave you those?"-Baran nodded. Dana sighed-"Jesus"-

-"What?"-

Dana pulled out a chair and sat down across from her-"You really don't get it" -

Baran looked exhausted-"Get what?"-

Dana gestured toward the cookies-"That's how she loves people" - Baran stared at the package. Confused. Dana continued-"She'll yell at you. She'll call you an idiot. She'll threaten to shove flowers up your ass"-Despite herself, Baran laughed once, a wet, broken laugh-"But if she notices you skipped lunch..."-Dana pointed at the cookies, and she pulled a wrapper of the same cookies off her pocket-"...this happens"-The room fell quiet. Baran looked down. At the crinkled package. At the cookies she'd been too distracted to buy for herself. At the tiny act of care hidden inside a moment of anger. Dana's voice softened-"You know what scares me?"-

Baran looked up-"What?"-

Dana leaned back in her chair-"The fact that she's this angry..."-A pause-"...and she's still taking care of you anyway"-The realization hit like a freight train. Because Dana was right. If you truly didn't care... You wouldn't have noticed. You wouldn't have remembered. You wouldn't have shoved cookies into her chest and barked at her to eat. You would've walked away. Instead... You'd done exactly what you'd always done. Taken care of her. Even while your own heart was breaking. And somehow that hurt Baran more than if you'd hated her.

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Taglist: @melschemmentitties @dollett-3

[pinkthrone445]

~Welcome back~ Part 1

Part 2

Pairing:Ex Baran Al-Hashimi x Reader

Summary:you were not expecting, that the person that the hospital sent to replace your brother while he was away, was your ex wife.

Warnings:infertility talks, blood(is the ER), insults, depression.

Type:hurt/confort/family/short (for what I usually post)

AN:I'm watching the Pitt and I really want to write about them, specially Baran, Dana and Cassie so if you want, you can send requests about them!

Also if someone wants to be tagged on the Pitt stories you can tell me 💕

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You were with both of your headphones on, eyes closed and your head moving softly side to side, your leg bouncing lightly off the floor of the break room

-"So bye bye miss American Pie..."-the song lightly flooded your mind, it was a song you always listened to when you were a bit stressed. The night had been complete chaos, well the usual chaos of the ER, you just needed a moment to breath and finish your juice box.

A light tap on the tip of your nose made you open your eyes, you smiled softly seeing Dana in front of you

-"Hey Kiddo, you still with us?" - she asked dropping the nicotine gum she was chewing on the trash can and getting a new pot of coffee ready

-"Hey D, I still have two more hours left..."-you murmured taking off one of the headphones-"Did my brother arrived?" - you asked. You were on the night shift just for today, and as always, the last hours were torture

-"I don't think so, I haven't heard a 'death trap' arrive so that means that he is not here yet" - she said and you laughed softly

-"I have a bike too, you know?" - you murmured putting your headphones on the case and slipping them on your pocket

-"And I still think it's stupid for both of you" - she smiled and grabbed your showlders as you both exited the room back to the ER

-"Maybe I will go crazy like him and take a sabbatical to drive my bike all around America" - you teased and she slapped your shoulder

-"One Robinavitch out at a time please, my heart can't handle being worried about both of you at the same time" - she joked placing the coffe on her station and you put your glasses on smiling

-"Fair, I will wait for him to come back and then I will be the one making your heart race" - you teased-"I hope his replacement it's a bit less grumpy that my brother, and less stubborn too" - you said

-"I think you are asking for a miracle" - she joked

-"Yeah, but the least I can do is dream" - you smiled-"Where do I go?" - you asked looking at the screen and waiting for her instructions. Dana snorted, shaking her head as she pointed to a room

-"Trauma Two. Guy with two fingers detached from his dominant right hand. He swears he 'barely touched' the saw"-

You sighed dramatically- "They always barely touch it" - You laughed under your breath, adjusting your glasses as you started toward Trauma Two.

-"You know" -Dana called after you-"if you're lucky, Robby'll get here before shift change" -

-"Lucky? Lucky will be if I manage to slip out before I see his grumpy face"-you teased

-"If you see him, he can take over the paperwork"-

-"Now that's a miracle"-

Dana pointed a finger at you-"Don't get cocky, Kiddo" -Before you could answer, the familiar hiss of the ambulance bay doors echoed through the ER. Someone at the front desk looked up.

-"Day shift's here"-The department shifted almost imperceptibly. Fresh scrubs. New faces filtering in. Night staff exchanging tired nods with the people relieving them. You barely paid attention. Until Dana did. She was halfway through scribbling something on a chart when her pen stopped.

-"...Well" -

You frowned-"What?"-Dana didn't answer immediately. Instead, her eyes stayed fixed on the entrance. The smile she'd been wearing a second ago faded into something... cautious. You followed her gaze. Robby had just walked in, helmet tucked under one arm, already arguing with one of the paramedics before he'd even reached the desk. You smiled instinctively-"There's my pain in the ass"-Dana didn't laugh. Your smile faltered confused until you saw someone else exit one of the bays. Standing a few feet behind your brother, removing her gloves with practiced ease, was a woman you knew so well that your heart recognized her before your mind allowed itself to. Dark curls pulled back. Hospital ID clipped neatly to fresh black scrubs. She was speaking with charge, nodding as if she'd always belong there. As if years hadn't passed.

Dr. Al-Hashimi. Your lungs forgot how to work. No. No, she was supposed to be hundreds of miles away. She wasn't supposed to be here. Nobody told you. Nobody warned you. Your fingers tightened unconsciously around the little juice box still in your hand until the cardboard crinkled. Dana looked at you immediately.

-"...Kiddo"-You couldn't answer, only frown. Across the ER, Al-Hashimi accepted a patient's chart from one of the residents. She turned. Her eyes drifted across the department without really seeing anyone. Then they landed on you.

Everything stopped. Not the monitors. Not the overhead pages. Not the nurses weaving around stretchers. Just the two of you. Recognition hit her like she'd walked into a wall. The color drained from her face. For one impossible second, neither of you moved. You just tightened your jaw.

She looked exactly as you remembered. Just... older around the eyes. More tired. She opened her mouth, almost imperceptibly.

Then the patient on the bay two chose that exact moment to scream. That shattered the silence between you. You flinched. Someone called your name from Trauma Two. The spell broke.

Al-Hashimi lowered her gaze first, swallowing hard before turning back to the nurse with a professionalism so practiced it almost looked effortless. Almost. Dana stepped a little closer to you, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

-"...They didn't tell you, did they?"-she whispered

-"Does it look like they told me?" - you asked pissed

-"Jesus, you and your brother have the same charm" - she teased you and patted you back as you entered bay two, she watched you disappear behind the curtain before letting out a quiet breath-"...Yeah" -she muttered to herself-"Definitely siblings"-

The patient was pale, sweating, clutching his right wrist with his left hand while a paramedic held a blood-soaked towel over what was left of two fingers

-"Good morning, my name is doctor Robinavitch, I will be assisting you today, let's see what we have here" - you said sitting on the chair next to his hand

-"I barely touched the saw"- the man insisted through gritted teeth

You didn't even look up from pulling on gloves-"They always barely touch the saw"-The paramedic snorted

-"It kicked back"-the patient insisted

-"Of course it did"-You peeled the towel away carefully. The room immediately smelled sharper. Blood. Bone. Fresh-cut tissue. Your brain welcomed it. Medicine was easy. Medicine had protocols.

Medicine didn't suddenly walk back into your life wearing black scrubs and the same wedding band she used to spin around her finger whenever she was thinking. No. She wasn't wearing it anymore. Neither were you.

-"Doctor?"-You blinked. The nurse was looking at you.

-"Sorry"-You reached for the detached fingers resting in a sterile bag of ice-"How long ago?"-

-"Twenty-three minutes"-

"Good"-You nodded once-"Page plastics. Keep the hand elevated. Pain meds. Flush the fingers with saline. Let's see if we can give this guy his fingers back."-

The patient looked at you hopefully-"Can you?"-

You offered the practiced smile every ER doctor learned-"We're going to do everything we can"-It wasn't a promise. You'd stopped making promises years ago.

Across the department. Al-Hashimi wasn't hearing a single word the charge nurse was saying-"...You'll be in Trauma Four with Dr...Dr. Al-Hashimi?"-

She blinked-"I'm sorry?"-

-"I said you'll be with Dr. Collins until orientation's finished"-

-"Right" -Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears-"...Of course"-She signed the paperwork automatically.

-"...You okay?"-the nurse asked. She almost answered yes. Instead, her eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the curtain where you'd disappeared.

-"...Who's in Trauma Two?"-

The nurse glanced over-"Robby's sister... They call her 'Ro' because another 'Robby' would be confusing..." - she explained

-"I know" -The words escaped before she could stop them. The nurse frowned.

-"You two know each other?"-

Al-Hashimi swallowed-"...We used to work together in another hospital..."-

Twenty minutes later. The fingers had been wrapped. Plastics had arrived. The patient was headed upstairs. You stripped off your gloves, rubbing sanitizer into your hands harder than necessary.

-"Nice save" -the plastics fellow said.

-"Thanks" -

-"You heading home?"-

-"After I finish charting" - you let out a humorless laugh

-"You look exhausted" - he murdered

-"I am" - He smiled sympathetically before disappearing down the hallway. You leaned both palms against the workstation. Just breathe. Two hours. Just survive two more hours. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard completing your charts.

Then a voice. Quiet. Careful. Like speaking too loudly might shatter glass.

-"...You still drink those."-You froze. There it was. That voice. You hadn't heard it in years. Not in person. Not since the night she'd packed the last box into her car. You didn't turn around. Your eyes stayed fixed on the chart in front of you. The little juice box still sat beside the keyboard. Your grip tightened around the mouse. Silence. You heard her shift her weight-"I didn't know you still worked nights"-

-"I don't.-Another silence. Long enough for a monitor somewhere to alarm twice-"I just picked one up"-

-"...I see"-Nothing. Neither of you knew where to put the years. Finally, she spoke again-"...You look..."-She stopped herself. You let out a humorless laugh

-"Don't"-

-"I'm just..."-she mumbled

-"Don't tell me I look good" - you said without looking at her

Her throat tightened-"I wasn't going to"-

-"What are you doing here doctor?"-you murmured. That almost hurt more, you couldn't even say her name or look at her

-"I got called to replace your brother while he was out..." - she explained, you knew that

-"I mean what are you doing talking to me..."-You finally turned. The distance between you couldn't have been more than six feet. It felt like another country. She looked at you fully now. The tiny scar above your eyebrow. The glasses she'd always teased you about, that she loved seeing you in those. The exhaustion you hid from everyone else

-"I wanted to see if we could get along while we work together" - she said with those big brown shiny eyes that used to own your heart

-"Just stay out of my way and we will be okey" - you murmured passing beside her bumping your shoulder against her to be able to walk away. Your shoulder clipped hers. Not hard. Just enough that she had to take half a step back. She didn't stop you. Didn't reach for your arm. Didn't say your name. She just stood there, watching you disappear into the current of stretchers, nurses, and monitors. For a long moment, she didn't move. Then she closed her eyes.

-"...Yeah" -she whispered to no one-"I deserved that"-

You didn't look back. You refused. If you looked back, you might remember too much.

The tiny apartment with the yellow kitchen light.

Her stealing your hoodies because they smelled like you.

The way she'd rest her head on your shoulder after thirty-hour shifts and mumble, "Five more minutes."

The nursery. God... The nursery. You'd painted it yourselves. Soft sage green. One wall had tiny stars because she'd insisted babies needed something to look at. You'd spent an entire Saturday arguing over whether the crib should face the window.

It had never held a baby. When the last IVF cycle failed... You'd come home carrying takeout because neither of you had the energy to cook. She'd walked into that room. Stared at the empty crib. Then quietly closed the door. After that... She stopped talking. Not overnight. Little by little.

She picked up extra shifts.

Then conferences.

Then research.

You'd wake up alone.

Go to bed alone.

Eat dinner alone.

Until one night she'd admitted, without even looking at you - "I don't know how to be here anymore"-

You'd asked if she still loved you. She'd cried. She never answered. A month later... She was gone.

-"You good?"-You blinked coming back to the present. Dana was handing you another chart-"You've been staring at that blood pressure for a full minute" -

You looked down. 128/76. Right-"I'm good"-

She didn't buy it for a second-"You want me to switch assignments?"-

-"No" - you quickly answer

-"You sure?"-Dana studied your face-"...You don't have to prove anything"-

-"I know"-you stole her pen to sing some prescriptions

-"But you're going to anyway" - You gave the tiniest shrug.

-"I'm already here... Besides I was here first, I won't hide to avoid her, she is the guest here, not me" - you said frowning

She sighed-"Robinavitch stubbornness" -

-"It's genetic" - you replied

-"Unfortunately" - That earned the ghost of a smile. Just enough that Dana relaxed a inch.

Across the department, Al-Hashimi was reviewing imaging when Robby wandered over, helmet hair still refusing to obey gravity. He glanced between her and the spot where you'd disappeared

-"...That went well" -She didn't answer-"You know" -he continued-"when she says 'okay,' that's usually the polite version of 'fuck you' because we are at the ER"-he said

-"I noticed" - she didn't looked at him. He crossed his arms.

-"I almost didn't recognize you"-She looked at him-"You've got more gray" -

-"So do you... And more depressed"-A dry laugh escaped both of them. It lasted all of two seconds.

Then Robby's expression settled into something more serious-"I didn't know they were hiring you..."-

-"I know" - she said. Silence. Finally, he asked the question he'd been carrying since she walked through the doors

-"...Why'd you come back?"-She looked across the ER. Not at him. At you. You were laughing politely at something a nurse had said, though anyone who knew you well could tell it wasn't reaching your eyes. Her own softened with something painfully close to regret.

-"I told myself it was for the job"-Robby didn't say anything. She swallowed-"...I'm starting to think I lied to myself"-

Robby let that sit between them. Then, in a voice that was calm but unmistakably protective, he said-"Whatever you're hoping for..."-She looked at him-"...Don't expect her to make this easy."-

A bitter smile tugged at her lips-"I don't" -

-"No" -he said quietly-"You really don't"-He'd been there after she left. He'd watched his little sister pack away a nursery she'd never gotten to use. He'd sat on the floor of her apartment eating cold pizza because it was the only thing he could convince you to swallow. He'd watched you learn how to laugh again. It had taken years. And he wasn't about to let anyone, no matter how much he'd once cared for them, underestimate the cost of putting those pieces back together.

After two successful hours of avoiding being in the same room with Baran, you went to your brother with your backpack on one shoulder and the helmet on your hand

-"Mikey"-you said and your brother turned around frowning, he didn't liked when you called him that at the hospital, and that was enough reason to call him that on every opportunity

-"What?"-he crossed his arms

-"I'm leaving" - you opened your arms and he pushed you away with a finger in your forehead

-"Why do you want to hug me?" - he asked doing a weird face

-"Because is your last day" - you said laughing at his face

-"But you will see me at your place before I leave... So don't be annoying" - he said and grabbed your arm pulling you apart to the locker room-"Do you want me to stay? I can still cancel... If I stay maybe they will send her back, I'm not so sure..."-he asked worried and you smiled softly

-"It's Okey, I can handle her... And you need a vacation, I prefer having to see her here that seeing you having another panic attack because you need to be away from here" - you murmured, his expression softened again.

-"You don't owe her a conversation."-

-"I know" - you nodded

-"You don't owe her forgiveness" - he said softly

-"I know" -

-"You don't owe her another chance" -

You swallowed-"I know"-He reached over and bumped your shoulder with his. The gentlest version of a hug he'd ever admit to giving in the hospital

-"But..."-You looked at him-"...Don't spend the next three months pretending she doesn't exist if it's only going to tear you apart every shift" -

You let out a slow breath-"I'll survive" -

Robby looked at you for a long moment. Then, very quietly, he said-"I know you will" - His voice caught almost imperceptibly-"...You always do"-And somehow, hearing your big brother say that didn't feel like praise. It felt like the loneliest sentence in the world. You punched his arm, because God forbid the Robinavitch's siblings to have real feelings for more than five minutes

-"Come on Mikey don't go sentimental on me, you have a reputation to maintain" - you teased him and he rolled his eyes

-"See you at home" - he said and you left, you said bye to Dana and the rest

-"Be careful!" - Dana yelled at you, she hated that you had a bike and that you drove tired on it

-"Yes mom! See you tomorrow!" - you yelled back teasing, at that moment the elevator door opened and Baran was in front of you, she dropped her eyes to your helmet

-"Drive safe" - she murmured and you passed by her side not even saying goodbye. The elevator doors slid shut between you. Baran didn't move. She stood there staring at the polished steel doors long after they had closed, your reflection already gone-"...Bye"-The words felt ridiculous now. Too small. Too late. Dana watched the exchange from the nurses station. She sighed under her breath-"She hates me" - Baran murmured for herself walking to the nurse station. Then Dana looked at her carefully.

-"You left"-She said. There wasn't any accusation in her voice. Which somehow made it worse. Dana helped you moved too, she was there when your brother couldn't, they never left you alone specially when you were having depressive episodes

-"I know" -Baran said

-"No"-Dana shook her head-"I don't think you do"-

Baran's shoulders stiffened. Dana rarely involved herself in other people's relationships. But she'd watched the two of you when you visited your brother. Watched the way you looked at each other, they way your brother teased you about it. Watched Baran warm your hands after winter motorcycle rides. Watched the day that you completely chanced and shut down too-"I watched her after you left"-

Baran closed her eyes-"...Dana..."-

-"No" -Her voice stayed calm-"You should hear this"-Baran didn't interrupt again-"She came to work. Every shift. Never late. Never complained. Never snapped at patients"-Dana folded her arms-"And then she'd go home. That's all she did. Work. Home. Sleep. Repeat" -Baran's breathing had become noticeably shallower. Dana noticed. She kept going anyway-"It took almost a year before I heard her laugh... Almost a year"-

Baran looked down at the floor-"I..."-

-"You don't need to explain yourself to me" - Dana's tone remained gentle-"I know why you left. I know infertility breaks people. I know grief makes strangers out of soulmates" -She sighed-"But grief doesn't stop hurting the person who gets left behind" -

Baran pressed her lips together so tightly they almost disappeared-"...I never wanted to hurt her... I just didn't knew hot to be with her anymore, every time I saw her I just saw what we couldn't have... And I felt I hurted her more if I was there than if I wasn't... I didn't mean to..."-

-"I believe you" -Dana answered immediately-"I really do"-

Another silence. Then, almost in a whisper, Baran asked-"...Is she happy?"-

Dana thought about it. About your apartment. About movie nights with Robby. About the way you'd slowly started smiling again. About the tiny juice boxes that still lived in the staff fridge because they somehow made stressful shifts more bearable. Finally she answered honestly-"...She learned how to be" -Baran closed her eyes. Learned. Not became. Learned. As if happiness had turned into another procedure. Something practiced until it became muscle memory. A nurse called Dana's name from across the department. She pushed herself away from the counter-"I've got patients" - She took a few steps before stopping. Without turning around, she added quietly-"For what it's worth..."-Baran looked up-"...She still defends you" -

Baran frowned-"What?"-

-"If anyone says you abandoned her..."-Dana glanced over her shoulder-"She shuts it down... 'She didn't leave because she stopped loving me,' she'll say... She left because staying hurt too much" - Baran felt every ounce of air leave her lungs. She hadn't known. Not once. Not in all these years. Dana offered one last sad smile before walking away to answer the call light. Baran remained where she was. Surrounded by the relentless rhythm of the emergency department. Monitors beeping. Phones ringing. Stretchers rolling by. And for the first time since returning to Pittsburgh...She understood that the hardest part wasn't that you'd stopped loving her. It was that somehow... You hadn't.

[sapphicswph]

at ease

warnings : gn!reader x baran al-hashimi . hurt / comfort . workplace stress . exhaustion / burnout . emotional fatigue . lots of fluff .

wc : 2.9k

you can find the request here

you push the door to your house open, keys still hooked around your finger and jingling softly as you step inside. the takeout bag in your other hand is warm against your palm, the bottom already starting to darken with grease spots from the containers packed tight inside. baran trails right behind you, her dark hair is pulled back into a low bun, strands have come loose around her face and neck, sticking slightly from the sweat. the door clicks shut behind her and she pauses just inside, kicking her shoes off one at a time without bending down all the way, the socks underneath slightly damp at the toes from being on her feet nonstop.

she doesn’t say anything at first, just heads straight for the couch like her body knows the route on autopilot after a fifteen hours shift. her shoulders stay high and tight, the same way they were when she finally clocked out. you set the bag down on the coffee table, the paper crinkling under your fingers, and flick on the corner lamp so the soft yellow light spreads across the room without being too bright.

“i stopped at that spot you like on the way,” you let her know since she fell asleep in the car and she’s still a little groggy from her nap. you start pulling out the containers one by one, “extra garlic naan, the chicken with the yogurt sauce, and that rice you always go for.” baran sinks into the cushions with a slow exhale, her head tipping back so her eyes close for a second, the lines between her brows still there from whatever she’d been holding in all day. “you didn’t have to do all that,” she says, but her tone is soft, almost grateful because she’s too drained to argue. “but thank you… really. i don’t think i could stand in front of a stove right now even if i wanted to.”

you move to pull out the lavender incense stick and a lighter from the drawer, the smoke starts curling up thin and steady once you set it in the holder, the scent drifting through the room slow enough that it doesn’t overwhelm. you head into the kitchen for plates and forks next.

when you come back she’s already got her feet up on the couch, knees bent, and you settle right beside her, handing over her plate first before you reach for her feet. “c’mere, let me see those feet,” you say, patting your lap with your free hand. she gives you this small, tired half-smile, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes all the way but still shows she appreciates it, and swings her legs over so her heels rest on your thighs. your thumbs press into the arch of her right foot first, slow firm circles working out the knots from the long day, and she lets out this quiet breath that sounds like some of the weight is finally shifting.

“god that feels good,” she murmurs around a bite of chicken, her fork pausing mid-air. “my feet are still buzzing. we had three back-to-back traumas right after lunch and we had to shut down the system, because of some cyber attack.” she mumbles the last part and rolls her eyes.

you keep your hands moving, switching to her ankle and then up her calf, pressing deeper where the muscle feels tighter. she takes another bite and keeps talking in a measured way you adore, even when she’s wiped. “the system was supposed to save us time, but today it just added steps. and robby was in one of his moods about it… i came with suggestions during the lull just to help out, and he looked at me like i’d suggested we start handing out homework.” she huffed and shrugs one shoulder but you catch the tiny tension that pulls at the corner of her mouth. you switch to her other foot, thumbs digging into the ball right where she carries most of her weight, and she shifts a little closer on the couch, her hand settling on your knee.

“eat something first,” you remind her gently, nodding at her plate again. “the rice is still warm. you can tell me more after.” the food tastes exactly right, the yogurt sauce tangy and the naan soft with that slight chew, and the two of you eat in mostly silence, broken only by her occasional comments about the day.

once the plates are mostly empty you stack them on the table and tug her forward just enough to reach her back, your hands sliding under the hem of her scrub top to press along her spine in long steady strokes. your palms work from the base of her neck all the way down to her lower back, feeling the tight spots start to loosen under your fingers, the way her posture finally begins to melt inch by inch.

she’s quiet for a while, just breathing, the lavender still in the air, mixing with the leftover warmth from the food. “you always do this at the right moment,” she says after a while, her forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. “i don’t even have to say it anymore.” you hum in agreement and keep going, thumbs working into the muscles between her shoulder blades where she holds everything from trying to keep the department running the way she believes it should. “yeah, well… i’ve watched you power through enough of these shifts to pick up on the signs by now,” you reply easily. “plus… you get this tiny crease right here when it’s really bad.” you tap the spot between her brows lightly with one finger before going back to the massage, and she huffs a small laugh at that, the sound tired but genuine.

you grab the remote once her back feels less rigid and play the show she always puts on when she needs something calm in the background. the opening music starts soft while you both sink deeper into the couch, her legs draped over yours again and your arm looped around her shoulders.

baran picks at the last bit of naan on her plate, tearing off tiny pieces, and you notice her glancing over at you every couple minutes like she’s making sure you’re still right there beside her. “this is the episode where they finally sort out the whole inheritance mess,” she says around a mouthful, pointing at the screen with her fork. “i told you last time it would be worth sticking with if you gave it a chance.” she grins while looking at you. you chuckle and squeeze her knee lightly. “i’m mostly here for the background noise and the way you quote the lines under your breath.” which she of course rolls her eyes at.

halfway through the episode you stand up and grab your phone from the charger, pulling up her playlist. the first song starts low with acoustic guitar filling the space, and you turn the volume just enough to hear it over the tv. baran raises one eyebrow when you hold your hand out to her. “come on,” you say, wiggling your fingers. “you’ve been sitting since we walked in the door. one dance. it’ll help shake the rest of the day loose… pretty please?” she looks at you like you’re suggesting something only mildly ridiculous, but the corner of her mouth twitches upward anyway. “i’m exhausted. and i do not dance,” she answers, trying to look stern, only to end up looking adorable instead.

you tug her up gentle but steady until she’s standing in front of you in the middle of the living room, her socks sliding a little on the floor. “you don’t have to be any good at it,” you tell her. “just move with me a little.” the song picks up tempo and you spin her once under your arm, keeping everything light, your hand steady on her waist so she doesn’t lose balance. she lets out this surprised breath that’s half a laugh and follows the motion, her free hand landing on your shoulder.

you keep it deliberately silly after that, dipping her back dramatically even though neither of you really have the energy for this, twirling her again so pieces of her bun falls out. “see? peak romance right here,” you joke, pulling her back in only to step on her toe by accident on the next turn. baran snorts, and then the laugh comes out, low and bubbling up from her chest as her shoulders shake. “you are terrible at this,” she says through the giggles, but she’s still laughing, forehead dropping against your chest while her arms loop around your middle.

you smile and wrap both arms around her and just sway to the music instead of trying any more spins, holding her close while the song keeps playing. “yeah but it worked,” you murmur into her hair, one hand rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades again.

the next track on the playlist is even slower and you stay in the middle of the room, rocking gently together while the tv keeps going quietly in the background. her breathing starts to even out against your chest, the last bits of tension draining from her body, her fingers trace idle little patterns on your back through your shirt. “today was a lot,” she admits after a minute, voice muffled against you. “between the system crashes and trying to keep everyone focused and that one family that wouldn’t stop yelling about wait times.“

you press a kiss to the top of her head and hold her a little tighter. “you’re still doing it though. all the changes you’re pushing for, even when it feels like no one is seeing it. they’d be worse off without you, even if they’re a bit slow to see it.” she nods once, not pulling away, and you sway through another full song like that.

when the song ends you guide her back toward the couch but pause halfway. “wait here a second,” you say suddenly like you just now remembered something, leaving baran looking like a question mark. you rush into the bathroom to start running the water for a bath. you adjust the temperature until it’s warm but not too hot, the kind she likes. you add a scoop of her unscented epsom salts because you know they help with the ache in her body.

the tub fills while you grab a clean towel and her favorite robe from the hook on the door. back in the living room you take her hand and lead her down the hall. “bath’s ready,” you announce proudly when she gives you a questioning look. “nothing fancy, just warm water and some salts. figure it’ll help, you know.” she doesn’t argue, just lets you help her out of her scrubs in the bathroom, the fabric peeling away slow from her skin that’s still a little sticky from the day. she sinks into the tub with a long sigh, the water lapping up around her shoulders, and you sit on the edge, rolling up your sleeves so you can rub her shoulders while she leans back against the porcelain.

“you’re spoiling me tonight,” she says, eyes half closed, a small smile playing on her lips. “i could get used to this kind of welcome home.” you laugh softly and keep your hands moving, thumbs pressing into the tight spots at the base of her neck. “good, because i like spoiling you.” you pause and smirk, “why did the scarecrow win an award?” you ask. she opens one eye and eyes you skeptically, she knew what was coming, though. your terrible jokes to cheer her up that she secretly loves, but would never admit it. “because he was outstanding in his field.” you say in a quiet, dramatic voice. baran groans but she’s smiling wider now, the sound turning into a quiet chuckle. “that was terrible,” she murmurs, flicking a little water at you. “but okay, keep going… while you’re at it.” your smile and ego only grows because you know she loves it.

you tell her a couple more while the water stays warm around her, each one sillier than the last. “okay, what do you call a fake noodle? an impasta.” she scoffs at that one, giving you a ‘really?’ look. you roll your eyes with a small smile. “okay… that one didn’t stick,” you mumble and think for a second. “why don’t skeletons fight each other? they don’t have the guts.” she laughs out loud at that one, mostly because of your determination to cheer her up. her head tipping back against the tub edge with a chuckle as she looks at you with heart eyes. “you’re really reaching now,” she says, but there’s no bite to it, just tired fondness.

after the bath you help her dry off and into the robe, the fabric soft against her skin, then guide her to the bedroom and into the bed, where you pull the blanket over both of you. she curls into your side immediately, head on your chest and one leg hooked over yours. you keep one arm around her shoulders and the other hand combing slowly through her damp hair, working out the last tangles with your fingers.

you stay like that for a long while, just holding her, your fingers tracing slow lines up and down her arm under the blanket while her breathing steadies against you. every so often you feel her shift a little closer, like she wishes she could get impossibly closer to you, her hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together without saying anything.

“tell me something good from today,” you ask after a bit, voice low so it doesn’t break the calm. “doesn’t have to be big. just one thing that wasn’t awful.” she thinks for a second, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “the abandoned baby we had. i got to hold her for a minute while we waited for social services and she settled right down against me.” you can feel her smile against your chest, “made the chaos feel a little less heavy for a second.” you hum softly and pull her closer, your nose brushing her hair.

“even on the worst shifts and you still find those moments… that’s why you’re good at what you do, baran.” she nods against you and the time stretches on, quiet and easy, the two of you tangled under the blanket. you crack another dumb joke after a few minutes, just to keep the lightness going. “hey, why can’t you give elsa a balloon? because she’ll let it go.” she groans into your chest but you feel her body shake with silent laughter, her arm tightening around your waist. “enough now,” she mumbles, lightly swatting your chest. she just nestles in deeper though, her legs shifting so they’re pressed fully along yours.

you keep the jokes coming anyway, each one worse than the last, your voice low and teasing against her hair. “what do you call cheese that isn’t yours? nacho cheese.” baran lets out these little huff-laughs each time, her face half-hidden against your shirt, the sound muffled but real. “stop, seriously, these are so bad.” she says at one point which makes you laugh and mumble something about how she’s just jealous of your good jokes. but her hand squeezes yours tighter and she doesn’t actually want you to quit, the jokes calms her down.

you feel the way her body has gone fully pliant against you now, all the earlier tension gone, her breathing slow as she listens to your heartbeat under her ear. minutes blends together while you alternate between rubbing her back in slow circles and just holding her close, your fingers occasionally brushing through her hair again to push stray strands behind her ear. she sighs contentedly every time you do it, like the simple touch is enough to ground.

later, when the blanket has gotten a little too warm, you shift so you’re both lying fully stretched out on the bed, her back to your front with your arm draped over her waist. your fingers trace lazy patterns on her stomach through the robe, just a simple contact that makes her sigh again. the jokes taper off into comfortable silence, but every so often you lean in and whisper another one just to hear her react.

“last one, i promise. why don’t eggs tell jokes? they’d crack each other up.” she giggles at that, the sound soft and sleepy, her shoulders shaking lightly against you as she turns her head to press her face firmly into the crook of your neck. “you win. i’m officially cheered up by terrible humor,” she whispers back, her voice hoarse from the long day. you stay wrapped around each other like that for what feels like hours. her hand finds yours again under the blanket, fingers lacing tight, and you keep tracing those slow patterns on her skin until her breathing evens out completely.

you press one final kiss to her shoulder and close your eyes too, letting the day slip away while you hold her close.

[as-syllable-from-sound]

HI CAMIIIII!! we miss you !! hope you're doing well wherever you are <33

just wanted to say that the wound and the nothingman series are keeping me on the edge of my seat i feel like an obsessive bf checking my notifications, pls grace us wiith your works!! (i need a reward, it's the last leg of my first year in uni and it is bloody, i feel like a soldier who just wants to go home and the wound and the nothingman is the picture i hold on to and look at in my pocket watch or compass or heart shaped locket even!!)

HI MY LOVEEEEE it is so funny you sent this ask because i shit you not i had a nightmare last night about having a deluge of messages in my inbox with everyone threatning to jump me because i haven't finished my fics but this message is SO SWEET and was actually wonderful to wake up to !!! so thank you!!!

first: the first year of college is so so so so brutual. i am sending you so much good energy you have no idea.

i promise you the wound is NOTTTT abandoned, chapter 25 is almost done, but there's a scene in it that i've re-written probably no less than nine times because it lowk changes the trajectory of the rest of the story depending which plot i choose?? like they're not gonna kiss per se (yet) but one of the plots isn't too far off from that so i'm strugglinw with choosing. and i am a procrastinator to my core so you can imagine how well that's going.

i digress!! i have a hard deadline for myself on july 27 to post chap 25 because that marks the one month anniversary of chapter 24 going up... but come hell or highwater you guys WILL get chapter 25. it will maybe just kind of suck.

as for nothingman i plead the fifth. i haven'et even started the next part so i won't give you guys false hope with a timeline :((( but i am not dead!!!!

thank you checking in on me, i can't wait for you to see chapter 25 :)<3

[rielyconfused]

I AM SATTTT and also i feel like this is the equivalent of receiving a letter while i’m in the barracks ??? THANK YOU CAMIII MWAHHH (also i doubt u have the ability to make a fic suck you could kill reader and id be in tears only because you wrote it so beautifully— pLEASE DONT KILL READER THO or anyone, well maybe, if it was robby.. i wouldn’t be too opposed)

[al-hashimis]

in her care

baran x reader

You’re determined to hide how sick you are from Baran. But fate has another plan… one that lands you right in her ER.

wc: 4.8k // tags: sickfic, fem reader, protective baran, illness symptoms, lots of pet names, fluffff

a/n: I can't seem to stop writing sickfics w baran...hope you enjoy!! 🤭💗

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As the automatic doors slide open, a blast of air conditioning hits you head-on, making you shiver violently and tuck deeper into the coat that it’s definitely too warm outside for you to be wearing. 

But despite the sunny spring weather outside, you’re absolutely freezing and you are not taking off your fuzzy jacket anytime soon. Walking into the medical building, you grab a mask from the dispenser up front and also sanitize your hands for good measure. You know you probably look like a walking biohazard, what with your red nose, flushed cheeks, and obvious fever chills, and you’d like to do your best to keep anyone else from catching whatever bug from hell you have. 

You affix the mask to your face and wearily walk down the tiled hallway, squinting at the signs through your watery eyes. You’ve been to this building of PTMC before, where you see your usual doctor, but it’s your first time going to urgent care. 

You steadfastly ignore the bright red “EMERGENCY” sign pointing in the opposite direction. No way you’re going over there today. Your mission is simple: find urgent care, get meds, go home – all without running into Baran. 

A small wave of guilt coils in your stomach as you follow the signs to urgent care. You normally love dropping by to see Baran while she’s on shift, you often bring her lunches when she forgets to pack one, or pick up a box of donuts for all the staff to cheer them up. You love to see her smiling at you, the tension easing between her eyebrows as she wraps you in a warm hug. 

But not today. You’ve been hiding this cold – well, you’re not sure it’s just a cold at this point – from her for four days now, which is longer than you thought you’d be able to get away with. But she’s been extra busy and stressed from work, pulling some overtime to catch up on charting, and it was easy enough to postpone your nightly video calls until things calmed down a bit. 

You planned to just ride the cold out and have her be none the wiser. You have no intention of being yet another source of stress in her life, and you can take care of yourself just fine. The only problem is…your body doesn’t seem to be quite on the same page. You’ve been running a 102 fever for three days straight and your throat is so sore that you’re barely able to drink water. This morning, when the room spun after you stood up and you almost blacked out, you decided maybe it was time to consult a doctor. Not your girlfriend. But urgent care should work. 

You shuffle around the corner into the urgent care waiting room, and your heart drops. There’s a handwritten sign taped to the front desk, written in all caps: URGENT CARE CLOSED. GO TO EMERGENCY ROOM FOR CARE. 

You stand stock still, staring at the sign and feeling a bit like you want to cry. Right. Closed. You’ll just have to go to a different hospital. Sure, this is the one closest to you and the only place you know your insurance covers, but you can find another urgent care. You’ll just have to drive home, research in-network places, then drive out to another place, wait to see someone, and…

Even just the thought of it all is exhausting. Without really deciding to, you drop into one of the vinyl chairs in the lobby of the deserted urgent care. You just need a minute to rest and then you’ll get it together and go home. 

A middle-aged, brown haired woman in scrubs standing behind the front desk looks over at you. She puts her hand on her hips, frowning at you. “You okay, hon?” she calls. 

“Fine,” you try to say, but your voice is gravelly and you dissolve into a coughing fit instead. 

The woman clucks her tongue but you’re too distracted trying to breathe to pay attention. When the coughing finally eases, you wipe irritated tears out of your eyes to clear your vision, and realize that the nurse is now in front of you, holding out a paper cup of water. 

“Here you go, hon, small sips,” she says, giving you a sympathetic look. “That’s some cough you’ve got there.” 

You nod silently, not wanting to risk another coughing fit, and pull down your mask to take a few sips of water. The nurse’s frown deepens when she gets a good look at your face. 

“Stay right there sweetie, I’ll be right back,” she says, striding away. You’re too exhausted to question where she’s going. 

The nurse returns with a blood pressure machine and a thermometer. Before you really can muster up a protest, the cuff is around your arm and the thermometer under your tongue. The nurse frowns at the machine when it finishes, tutting again. 

“Ah, yep, thought so,” she says, unwrapping the cuff. “Your pressure’s low and your temp’s way too high. I’ll call over to the ER. They need to see you ASAP.” 

“No – I’m fine,” you croak, sitting up a little straighter. You cannot go to the ER, not while your girlfriend is there. “I’ll just go to a different urgent care.” 

But the nurse has already returned to her position at the desk and is on the phone with someone. She gives you a stern look and points to the seat, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she wants you to stay put. 

You’re not going to impose on Baran like this. You clumsily get to your feet, intending to head back the way you came. But as soon as you stand, your vision starts going spotty. You sway on your feet, blinking rapidly and trying to get your balance. Suddenly everything sounds far away, muffled, and you can’t quite think straight. 

Before you realize what’s happening, someone is pushing you down into a wheelchair and telling you to put your head between your knees. 

Only halfway conscious, you do just that. 

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Baran takes a sip of tea, relishing the floral, jasmine taste. The tea has long since gone cold but it’s the first moment she’s had all day to drink any. The emergency room has been nonstop today, as it often is, and she’s been flitting from one urgent case to another, barely having a moment to breathe. 

Dana, a few paces away, hangs up the red telephone and nods to her. “Got a fresh one for ya, doc,” she says. Baran sighs slightly and Dana gives her a sympathetic smirk. “You chose this life, remember?” 

“So I did,” Baran says, smiling a little. She nods for Dana to continue. “Details?” 

“Just got a call from urgent care, they’re still closed from being short-staffed, so they’re diverting everyone to us.” 

“Lovely,” Baran sighs, taking another sip of tea. 

“Isn’t it?” Dana grins. “Anyway they’ve got a female, late twenties, febrile, tachy and hypotensive. She almost fainted in the waiting room, one of the nurses is bringing her over.” 

Baran nods, a list of tests and diagnoses already taking shape in her mind. “Which room?” 

“I’ve got North 8 open,” Dana says, glancing up at the patient board. 

“Sounds good. Assign her to Samira and I’ll supervise,” Baran says, putting her cup away in the corner of the desk where she usually leaves it. “I’ll want vitals right away, please.” 

“You got it,” Dana says, already striding away to find Samira. 

Baran takes a steadying breath and heads over to check on her pediatric patient with a leg laceration. 

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The bright lights of the emergency room bring you around. You’ve been in a daze, your eyelids heavy and your thoughts sluggish as you were wheeled down here from urgent care. But now you’re resting in a hospital bed, fluorescent lights beating down on you, and your head is starting to clear. 

You haven’t seen Baran yet, which seems like a minor miracle. Maybe you’ll actually be able to get in and out of here without her noticing? It seems like a longshot, but hey, you can hope. One thing’s for sure: she will definitely not be happy to find you here. 

A woman with dark hair and kind eyes pulls aside the curtain, coming over to your bedside. You’ve met a lot of the doctors in the ER but she’s one that you haven’t run into before. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Mohan and I’ll be treating you today,” she says, giving you a friendly smile. She glances down at the tablet in her hands. “I heard you gave Martha over at urgent care a bit of a scare.” 

You wince. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” you say croakily, coughing a little into the mask you’re still wearing. “Just a sore throat and a fever.” 

Dr. Mohan gives you a sympathetic look. “These things can escalate quickly. We’re going to give you some fluids and something to bring down your fever, and also run a panel to see what kind of virus this is, okay? And we’ll do a rapid strep test as well.” 

You nod, still feeling like this is all overkill for a bad cold, but knowing that you’d probably risk fainting again if you tried to get up. 

“Try to get some rest,” Dr. Mohan continues. “I’ll have my attending come take a look at you, and a nurse will get your IV started.” 

Your stomach drops. “I don’t need an attending,” you rush to say, eyes going wide. “I’m fine with just you.” 

Dr. Mohan’s lips curve up, her eyes crinkling with slight amusement. “While I appreciate that, I’m a resident and it’s standard procedure to have my attending consult with me on patients. She’s plenty friendly, I promise. I’ll be back soon.” 

You start to protest again but Dr. Mohan has already slipped out of the room. You sink back against the pillows, defeated. Something tells you Baran won’t be feeling so friendly when she gets wind of you being here. 

Five minutes later, a familiar voice calls out from behind the curtain. “Knock, knock,” Baran says good-naturedly, pushing aside the curtain with her eyes fixed on a tablet. “How are you feeling, Ms…?” 

You see the exact moment she reads the name on the chart. Her eyes go comically wide and she immediately snaps her head up, her mouth dropping open with shock. 

“Azizam? What –?” The tablet is forgotten somewhere on the bed as Baran rushes to your side. She looks more panicked than you’ve ever seen her, and guilt settles like a stone in your stomach. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid all week, worrying her like this. 

“Are you alright?” Baran cups your face, taking your mask off so she can see you properly. “Oh sweetheart,” she says when she sees your face, frowning deeply. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? How long have you been sick? You should have told me.” 

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure, but your raw, congested voice isn’t helping your case much. You reach for Baran’s hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of it in the way that soothes her. “Babe. I’m okay. Just breathe.” 

“This is not okay,” Baran retorts, but she lets out a long breath and closes her eyes for a second, seeming to gather herself. 

“Alright. First things first,” she says, slipping into that familiar doctor tone you know so well. She frowns up at the monitor you’re attached to, then reaches for the discarded tablet. “Your pressure is low, sweetheart. No wonder you fainted.” 

“Almost fainted,” you correct with a small grumble. 

“So very reassuring,” Baran says dryly. She taps on the tablet, her eyes quickly scanning your chart. “102 degrees for three days, azizam? And you didn’t say anything?” 

She looks up at you, hurt clearly shining in her chestnut brown eyes. 

A lump rises in your throat that has nothing to do with your cold. “I’m sorry,” you say honestly, reaching for her again. “I was just…” you sigh, which unfortunately triggers a coughing fit. 

Baran sits next to you while you work through it, rubbing your back in broad, soothing strokes. “Oh, eshgham,” she murmurs when the coughing dies down, stroking your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. “Sweet girl. You are so sick. I’m going to take care of you now, alright?” 

You blink up at her, scrubbing a few tears off your face. You’re not sure if they’re from the cough, emotions, or both. “You’re not mad?” 

Baran sighs, pressing her lips to your temple again. She gets up to fill a plastic cup with water and brings it back to you, resuming her spot at your side. 

“I’m very worried, and I want to know why you felt like you couldn’t tell me you weren’t well,” Baran says, stroking your hair while you sip the water. “But no, sweetheart. I’m not mad. I have a feeling you thought you were protecting me.” She raises a knowing eyebrow. 

You feel your cheeks heat guiltily. “You’ve just had so much going on this week,” you rasp, taking another sip of water. “I thought maybe it would just pass and you wouldn’t have to deal with me. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.” 

Baran looks at you for a long moment, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and affection. Then she shakes her head and murmurs something in Farsi that you don’t understand, kissing both your cheeks. 

“What?” you ask, looking up at her in confusion. 

Baran rubs her thumb over your cheek, giving you a soft look. “I said, you are my life, darling, and you don’t even realize it. I’d do anything for you, azizam. Taking care of you isn’t some burden you need to protect me from. I’m your partner. I want to take care of you,” Baran says earnestly, holding your gaze so you’ll read the honesty in her words. 

Your eyes fill with tears again. “...I’m sorry,” you mumble. You really don’t know what else to say. Now that Baran is here, looking at you with nothing but love in her eyes, all your reasons for hiding this from her seem completely ridiculous. 

“Dooset daram,” Baran murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you. No more sorries, joonam. We can talk more later. Right now, let me just focus on taking care of you.” 

She flips her hand over and presses the back of it to your forehead, frowning with concentration as she feels your temperature. 

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t the thermometer more accurate?” 

Baran gives you a quelling look. “The thermometer is helpful medically. My hand is helpful as your girlfriend who wants to know how you really feel.” 

You decide not to argue with that logic, since you’ve put her through enough already. 

Baran’s hand moves to your wrist next and she looks at her watch, taking your pulse. She counts for a little while, then glances at the monitor. If her nod is any indication, she agrees with the pulse showing on screen. Your heart warms at her thoroughness. 

“When did the symptoms start?” Baran asks, looking at you closely. You can tell she’s watching to make sure you don’t hide anything. 

“Four days ago,” you answer honestly. “Sore throat first, then congestion, then fever.” 

“And the dizziness? When did that start?” 

“Started this morning,” you grimace. “When I got up.” 

Baran sighs, that concerned look back on her face. “Have you been eating, sweetheart? Drinking enough?” 

“It’s been hard with my throat,” you admit. 

Baran lets out another long breath, leaning in to give you another kiss. “Alright. You need IV fluids and a strep test. And also a viral panel and some acetaminophen.” 

You nod, smiling a little. “That’s what Dr. Mohan said.” 

“She’s a good doctor,” Baran says. She runs a hand up and down your arm. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You’re not leaving until my shift is over.” 

You make a face. “That’s like five hours from now.” 

“Mhm,” Baran hums, giving you a no-nonsense look. “Just enough time for you to get plenty of fluids and rest, and for me to drive you home.” 

You start to open your mouth to protest but Baran holds up a hand. “Sweetheart. Don’t argue. You’re not going to win, and you already barely have a voice.” 

You snap your mouth shut. 

Baran chuckles softly, bringing the blankets up to your shoulders and tucking you in. “Just rest, azizam,” she says warmly. “That’s your only job right now, okay? I need to check in on some other patients, but I’ll make sure they get that IV started right away and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just ask anyone for me if you need anything, alright?” 

You nod, your eyes already starting to feel heavy. Baran stands and watches you for a moment, looking reluctant to leave. 

“You can go,” you croak, your eyes already falling shut. “I’m fine, babe.” 

“You’re not fine,” Baran murmurs, and you feel her lips press to your forehead. “But I’m here now.” 

You hold that comforting thought in your mind as you drift off to sleep. 

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You’re woken a short time later by someone pushing back the curtain and entering your room. 

“Hi, I’m Perlah,” says a petite woman you vaguely recognize, giving you a friendly smile. “I’ll be your nurse for today. I need to get an IV started on you, okay?” 

“Sure,” you croak, coughing a little and sitting up straight. “I’m a tough stick though.” 

Perlah grins at you like she appreciates the challenge. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

True to her word, she gets your vein on the first try and inserts the IV. You can feel cool fluid running into your arm, which makes you shiver again. Perlah frowns at you. 

“I’ll get you a warm blanket,” she says, giving you a critical once-over. “And check on the orders for the acetaminophen, it’ll help your fever.” 

“Thank you,” you reply, sinking down into your pillows. There’s something so relieving about being somewhere where you’re not managing your illness on your own anymore. Everyone in the Pitt is taking such good care of you. 

After Perlah leaves, it isn’t long before Baran returns. She checks your IV site first, tilting your arm this way and that until she seems satisfied that it’s been inserted correctly. Then she goes over to the infusion pump and examines the settings, frowning slightly. 

“Am I gonna live, doc?” you try to joke, although you cough right afterwards. 

Baran turns to look at you, seeming to surface out of her medical musings. “Just checking that everything’s correct,” Baran says mildly, sitting down at your bedside and feeling your forehead again. “Can’t be too careful.” 

“Perlah knows what she’s doing.” 

Baran gives a vague hum, then strokes some of your hair away from your eyes. “How are you feeling?” 

“Marginally better?” you offer, shrugging a shoulder. 

Baran gives you a dubious look. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Well then why did you ask?” you huff, crossing your arms. You’re not actually mad at her, though, she’s always like this when you’re sick. Overprotective and endlessly worried. 

“My apologies, azizam,” Baran murmurs and kisses your forehead. She fusses with your blankets, smoothing them out. “I just wish I could get you feeling better already.” 

“Being here is helping a lot, actually.”

“Because you shouldn’t be alone when you have a fever this high,” Baran chides gently, her brown eyes soft as she gazes down at you. “You must have been miserable, all alone in your apartment, feeling like this.” 

She looks genuinely pained by the thought, so you reach for her hand and squeeze gently. “I’m okay, babe. I survived,” you try to reassure her. “I’ve taken care of myself alone before.” 

“Well that stops now,” Baran says, a hint of firmness creeping into her voice. She strokes your cheek, her fingers soft against your skin. “No more hiding things, alright sweetheart? If you don’t feel well – even if it’s something small – you tell me, right away.” 

You hesitate, looking up at her. “...Even with all your work stress?” 

“Absolutely,” Baran confirms, nodding. “You are my priority. I’m never too tired to take care of you.” 

Your stomach does a funny little swoop. You already knew how much Baran cares about you, of course, but it’s another thing to have all that love and attention directed at you, and to see the fierceness in her eyes. 

“Dooset daram,” you say. You lift her hand and kiss the back of it.

“I love you too, eshgham. More than anything,” Baran smiles, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to both of your cheeks. She smells like her familiar combination of green tea and rosewater curl cream, and the scent makes you feel instantly comforted. 

Perlah enters the room, carrying a small plastic cup with two pills in it and a blanket. “Got your meds,” she says, refilling your water cup and bringing it over to you. “Bottoms up, please.” 

Baran watches eagle-eyed as you swallow the pills, then stares at Perlah as the nurse adjusts the settings on the IV pump. 

Perlah turns to Baran, chuckling a little. “Geez, you got me feeling like I’m back in nursing school. Think I’ll pass clinicals?” 

Baran’s cheeks flush and she drags a hand through her hair. “Sorry, I don’t mean to hover. You’re doing great, Perlah, thank you.” 

You give Perlah a knowing look. “Don’t take it personally. She’s overprotective,” you explain with a grin. 

“It’s hard not to be when you show up at my ER unannounced, hypotensive and only half-concious,” Baran retorts, her voice dry. 

You shrug, cough-laughing. “Fair enough.” 

Perlah and Baran step away, and you return to resting. A little while later, Trinity Santos pops around the curtain. She’s carrying a cafeteria tray with several items on it. 

“Hey, I heard our favorite goddess of the donuts was here and not feeling too hot,” Trinity says, walking into the room. She pulls up the table next to your bed and sets the tray on it. “Mohan says you need to eat, so I got you the good stuff. No tuna salad, and the chicken noodle soup, not the minestrone. I don’t know what’s in that minestrone but I can tell you it isn’t good.” 

“Thanks, Trin,” you smile, feeling touched. Even though Trinity would never outright admit she cares about you, gestures like this lets you know that she really does. 

Trinity shrugs, eyeing you. “Don’t mention it. Just get better, ‘kay? You’re still super pale.” 

“I’ve been told my blood pressure is low,” you say. You start to sort through the food, trying to figure out what will hurt least on your still-painful throat. 

“It is,” Trinity confirms, glancing up at the monitor. “You’re a little tachy too. You need rest and fluids.” 

You hold up your arm with the IV in it. “Working on it.” 

“Good,” Trinity nods. She watches you for a moment, then adds, “Need anything?” Her tone is nonchalant but you know it’s a big deal for her to ask. 

“I’m fine,” you smile, and gesture at the food. “This is great. Thanks again.” 

Trinity heads out of the room, checking on you one last time before leaving. You stare at the food on the tray warily. You haven’t had anything to eat for what must be almost a day now. Everything hurts too much to swallow, even broth, so you just gave up on trying. 

You tentatively pick up a container of red jello and a spoon. It tastes good in your mouth, but the second you swallow, you immediately regret it. It feels like you’re swallowing knives, not soft goo. You cough afterwards and massage your throat, pushing the tray away. Yeah, food is definitely still a no. 

You end up dozing off. Your headache is improving, but you’re still exhausted, so it’s not hard to fall asleep. 

When you wake, Baran is at your side again. She’s holding your hand, looking down at you with a mixture of love and concern. 

“Hi, sleepyhead,” she smiles when you blink your eyes open. She cups your cheek fondly. “You got a good nap in.” 

You rub your eyes and sit up a little, glancing at the wall clock. “How long was I out?” 

“About an hour,” Baran says, tucking hair behind your ear. “That’s good, you need the rest, azizam.” 

You nod, then cough and take a sip of water. Baran looks at the tray of food pointedly. “Sweetheart. You haven’t eaten anything,” she says carefully, raising her eyebrows.

You make a face, touching your throat. “It hurts to eat.” 

She frowns, concern flashing in her dark eyes. “Even the jello?” 

You nod unhappily. 

Baran sighs, but she sounds more worried than exasperated. She smooths your hair again. “Eshgham, if you have a sore throat so bad that you can’t eat, that is a big deal. That means you tell me or you go to the doctor right away, not in a day or two. Yes?” 

“Got it,” you croak, wincing slightly. 

“Alright.” Baran kisses the top of your head and stands. “I’m going to do your strep test and I’ll prescribe you something for your throat. Be right back, sweetheart.” 

The strep test is deeply unpleasant but Baran is quick about it, thankfully. After she swabs your throat, she hands you a cup filled with clear syrup and a small pink basin. 

“Swish this around in your mouth and gargle,” she instructs, taking off her gloves. “It’ll numb your throat to help with the pain. Hopefully we’ll be able to get some food in you afterward.” 

You look at the cup warily. “Or I could just…not eat?” 

Baran gives you a firm look. “Azizam.” 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the medicine and the basin. The syrup tastes awful and has a strange numbing effect, but you have to admit that your throat immediately feels better as soon as you spit it out. 

“Better?” Baran asks, taking the cup and basin from you and setting them aside. 

“Much,” you admit. 

“Good,” Baran says, then peers at the rapid test on the counter. “Well, you definitely have strep, sweetheart,” she sighs. “It’s already positive. No wonder you’ve been in so much pain, poor thing.” 

It’s just then that Dr. Mohan enters the room again. “Strep was positive?” she asks, coming over to Baran’s side. 

Baran nods, showing her the test. 

“Well you also tested positive for influenza A,” Dr. Mohan says, turning and giving you a sympathetic look. “I was just coming in to tell you the results. That’s a miserable combination.” 

Baran looks up sharply at the news. “She’ll need to start oseltamivir phosphate,” she tells Dr. Mohan, who nods in agreement. 

“Already put in the order. The pharmacy should have it ready soon.” 

“Thank you, Samira,” Baran says, her shoulders dropping an inch with relief. 

Samira puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Of course, Dr. Al. I told you I’d take good care of her. Let me go put in an order for amoxicillin as well.” She ducks out of the room.  

Baran gives her a grateful smile and returns to your bedside. “Azizam, we’re going to start you on Tamiflu and an antibiotic,” she explains, holding your hand. “Hopefully both will have you feeling better in a few days.” 

“A few days?” you groan, slumping a little. “I was hoping this would be a quick fix.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” Baran hums. She gives you a small, sad smile. “If I could fix it right away, I would, I promise.” 

“I know you would,” you say with a sigh and a cough, squeezing her hand. “Sorry I got so sick.” 

“Shh, no.” Baran shakes her head. “You don’t apologize for being unwell, not with me. The only thing you need to do is let me take care of you.” 

Your chest fills with warmth. You look up at her, your eyes going a little watery. “You really are the best, you know that?” 

Baran grins and kisses your cheek. “Glad you think so, eshgham.” 

You know you’re in for a few more days of misery. But as long as you have Baran taking care of you, you’ll definitely be just fine. 

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[rielyconfused]

LADY JEYNE ARRYN IS SOOOOOOOOOOO like she’s sooo oh my god like LADY JEYNE ARRYN?? lady arryn? maid of the vale?? oh my god?? lady jeyne arryn.

LADY JEYNE ARRYN FICS WHEN???

[sapphicswph]

SPILLED COFFEE ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤷ fem!reader x wife!gigi ⋮ requested

⸝⸝ warnings : hurt/comfort . miscommunication . emotional insecurity . anxiety spiral . self-doubt . small arguments . crying . stress-induced conflict . reassurance . they communicate in the end . established relationship .

wc : 4.7k

you wake up to the sound of gigi moving around the bedroom like a storm. the clock on your nightstand says it’s later than it should be, and your stomach drops a little because you remember that you were supposed to set the alarms but the kids had a meltdown right before bed and it completely slipped your mind.

gigi is already half-dressed, yanking open drawers with more force than necessary, her dark hair still messy from sleep but somehow looking perfect anyway.

“you forgot the alarms again,” she mutters, voice low but sharp enough to cut. she’s trying to keep it quiet for the kids still asleep down the hall, but you can hear the edge in it. gigi never snaps at you like this. she’s the one who’s usually pulling you close in the mornings, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, whispering something in farsi that makes your cheeks warm. today though, her back is turned to you while she buttons her pants, shoulders tense.

you sit up, rubbing your eyes. “i’m sorry, babe. it was crazy last night with eli not wanting to brush his teeth and olive-“

“yeah, well, i have a showing in forty minutes and now i’m screwed.” her voice raises just a fraction and you reach out instinctively, touching her arm.

“shh, the kids-“

she glances back over her shoulder with this look that stops you cold. not full anger, just pure annoyance, like you telling her to quiet down was the last straw. your hand drops fast. gigi doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to the closet and starts digging through hangers for her blouse. you slip out of bed and start straightening the sheets, trying to stay useful without getting in her space, but your chest already feels tight. this isn’t her. not with you.

“where the hell is the blue one? the silk one i like?” she asks, more to the closet than to you, but you know she’s expecting an answer.

“i think it’s in the laundry basket? i washed it yesterday but didn’t get a chance to fold everything yet.”

she lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh but not the good kind. “of course. great timing.” she grabs something else instead, a white button-up, and yanks it on. you’re standing there in your sleep shirt feeling small, like everything you touch today is going to turn into another problem for her.

the kids start stirring then. you hear olive’s little feet padding down the hall first, followed by eli’s louder ones. gigi brushes past you toward the kitchen without another word, no good morning kiss, no hand squeeze. you follow, heart thumping too hard.

in the kitchen eli is already climbing into his chair at the table, still in his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up everywhere. olive is rubbing her eyes, asking for cereal in a sleepy voice that always melts you. you start pouring bowls while gigi makes coffee, moving fast.

“mommy, can i have the blue cup?” olive asks you, and you nod, reaching for it.

gigi is right behind you grabbing her mug from the counter. your elbow bumps her arm as you turn and hot coffee sloshes over the rim and down the front of her fresh blouse.

“fuck,” she hisses, switching to farsi under her breath, something sharp and quick that you only catch parts of. she sounds pissed and you want to cry. she sets the mug down hard. “you stood too close. seriously?”

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-“ you start, grabbing a towel fast and trying to dab at the stain. your hands are shaking a little. eli giggles from his seat, pointing with his spoon. “maman spill!” he says happily, like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week. olive looks between you two with big eyes, quiet because she senses tension.

gigi takes the towel from you, wiping at it herself. “it’s fine. whatever. i’ll just change. again.” but her tone says it’s not fine. she glances at the clock and curses again, softer this time. you stand there useless, the towel dangling from your fingers now, feeling the heat in your face and the sting behind your eyes.

she doesn’t stop there. she complains about the traffic she’s gonna hit now that she’s late while you help olive with her milk. you try to joke about how eli always spills his own stuff but it lands flat. gigi barely looks at you when she talks, just quick clipped sentences about the kids’ lunches and what time she might be back. you pack the bags anyway, trying to be helpful, but every move feels like it’s in her way.

by the time she’s ready to leave, blouse changed again but still looking harried, you hover near the door with the kids. olive is holding your hand tight. eli is chattering about his toy truck. gigi grabs her keys, gives each kid a quick kiss on the head and a “be good for mommy,” but nothing for you. no hug, no “i love you,” not even a glance. she just walks out, door clicking shut behind her.

you stand there for a second, the unshed tears making everything blurry. the house feels too quiet except for the kids. your mind is already spinning, she’s never like this. what if this is it? what if she’s finally tired of your mess-ups, all the little ways you don’t get it right? gigi is passionate and strong and she built this life with you, but maybe you’re the one weighing her down now.

“mommy? you okay?” olive asks, tugging your hand. her voice is small, careful.

you blink fast and force a smile, squeezing her fingers. “yeah, sweetie. let’s get you guys to school.”

the drive is filled with kid noise that helps a little. eli sings some made-up song in the back seat, olive corrects him on the words and they both laugh. you grip the wheel tighter than usual, replaying the morning in your head. the way gigi looked at you when you shushed her. the coffee stain spreading dark across white fabric. how she left without touching you.

by the time you drop them off - olive with her backpack bouncing, eli leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek - the insecurities are sitting heavy in your stomach. you text gigi a quick “sorry about this morning. love you” on the way home but the screen stays dark. no reply.

the house is empty when you get back. you pick up the discarded towel from the kitchen counter, fold it slowly. gigi’s favorite mug is still there, half-empty and cold now. you wash it by hand instead of putting it in the dishwasher, thumb tracing the rim where her lips were.

part of you wants to call her, to explain or apologize more, but the other part is scared it’ll make things worse. she always communicates, talks things out even when it’s hard. but today she didn’t. she just left.

you sit at the kitchen table for a while, staring at nothing. the morning light is coming in sideways through the window, catching on the faint coffee spot on the floor that you missed. your phone buzzes once. not gigi, just a reminder about some parent thing at school next week.

the day drags after that. you clean up the rest of the breakfast mess, fold the laundry that started the whole thing, and try to keep busy so your brain doesn’t spiral too hard.

every little thing reminds you of her sharp tone, that look she gave you. by the time afternoon rolls around your phone lights up again, this time with a text from gigi saying she’ll grab the kids from school since her last appointment canceled. no emoji, not even a “love you.”

you type back “okay” and leave it at that, even though your thumb hovers over the keyboard wanting to say more. or sorry again. or ask if she’s still mad. instead you set the phone down and go fold more towels.

when the front door finally opens hours later you’re in the living room, reading something on your laptop. eli bursts in first, backpack half off one shoulder, yelling about the cool bug he found on the playground. olive trails behind him, more quiet, clutching a paper with crayon drawings. gigi comes in last, keys jingling, looking worn out but softening a little when eli tugs at her leg to show off his find.

“look maman, it’s a beetle! can we keep it?” eli asks, holding up a plastic cup with holes poked in the lid.

gigi crouches down to his level, peering inside. “that’s a good one buddy, but i think he wants to go back outside with his friends. we can look him up in a book later though.” her voice is gentler now, the morning sharpness gone, but she hasn’t said anything to you yet.

you close the laptop and stand up, forcing a small smile when olive comes over to show you her drawing. “that’s really pretty, baby. is that our house?”

“yeah with the flowers,” olive says, pointing. “maman said we could plant some this weekend if it’s not too hot.”

you nod, smiling for him. “that’s a good idea.” but your throat feels tight. gigi glances your way as she hangs up her bag, eyes searching your face for a second like she’s trying to read you. you look away first, heading toward the kitchen. “i’ll start dinner soon.”

“i picked up some tacos on the way,” gigi says, following you in while the kids dump their backpacks. “figured it’d save time.”

“thanks.” you pull plates out of the cabinet, movements a little stiff. part of you wants to lean into her, ask how her day went, but the fear is sitting heavy in your gut. what if she’s just going through the motions? what if this morning was the start of her pulling away, realizing she could do better than someone who forgets alarms and bumps into her and spills coffee all over her.

gigi’s always been steady, fighting for what she wants. maybe she’s tired of fighting for you.

she sets the takeout bag on the counter near you, close enough that her arm brushes yours. “you okay?” she asks quietly, voice low so the kids don’t hear.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you try to play it off, unpacking the tacos like it’s the most important task in the world. “kids eat first?”

gigi pauses, watching you. “sure.” she doesn’t push, but you feel her eyes on your back as you call the kids over. eli chatters the whole time about his bug and how olive almost stepped on a worm at recess. olive giggles at him but keeps glancing between you and gigi like she senses the weird vibe. you laugh at the right moments, but it sounds flat even to you.

dinner is mostly kid noise filling the silence. gigi asks you about your day once, something simple like if you got any work done, and you just shrug. “it was okay.” you don’t mention how you spent half of it replaying her leaving without kissing you, or how the house felt too big and empty. she tries again later, offering you the last taco, but you shake your head. “i’m good.”

after the kids are done gigi helps wipe eli’s face while you clear plates. your hands move on autopilot. she says something about one of her clients being a nightmare today, trying to pull you into conversation, but you just hum in response, loading the dishwasher.

the space between you feels bigger than it should in your own kitchen. gigi’s good at talking things out usually, but right now she seems to be waiting for you to give her an opening and you’re too scared to make one. what if she confirms it? what if she says she needs time or space or something worse.

olive tugs on your shirt after a while. “can we watch a show before bed?”

“yes, baby, pick something short,” you tell her, ruffling her hair. gigi catches your eye again, brow furrowed just a little, but you turn to the sink instead, rinsing a cup that doesn’t need rinsing.

later when the kids are settled in front of the tv with their show, gigi comes up behind you in the kitchen where you’re wiping the same counter for the third time. her hand rests light on your lower back, warm through your shirt. “hey. talk to me. you’ve been quiet since i got home.”

you shrug again, keeping your eyes on the counter. “just tired i guess.” the words feel small. inside your head it’s louder - the worry that she’s seconds from saying this isn’t working, that the morning proved you’re more hassle than you’re worth. gigi’s usually so soft with you, always has been. until today. and now everything feels off balance.

she sighs softly but doesn’t pull her hand away. “about this morning… i was stressed. the showing went fine but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.” her thumb moves in a slow circle on your back, casual but careful. still, you don’t lean into it. the insecurity has you locked up, giving her short answers like armor.

“it’s whatever,” you mumble. “kids need to get ready for bed soon.”

gigi’s hand lingers another second before she steps back. “yeah. it’s getting late.” she sounds tired now too, but she heads to the living room to wrangle eli anyway, leaving you alone with the clean counter and the knot in your chest that won’t loosen.

the rest of the evening feels like walking through thick fog. you keep it together for the kids, forcing smiles when olive asks for her favorite pajamas and eli wants the dinosaur ones even though they’re in the wash.

gigi’s already in their rooms starting the bedtime routine, voice soft as she tells eli to pick up his trucks. you hang back in the hallway for a minute, listening, before forcing yourself to join in. you don’t want them catching the weird vibe but it’s hard when every time gigi moves near you your body tenses up.

“i’ll do olive’s hair if you handle eli’s teeth,” you say, keeping your tone even as you grab the detangling spray. you avoid her eyes, focusing on olive’s hair instead. gigi nods from the other side of the bathroom, calm like she’s choosing her words extra careful.

“sounds good.” she’s got eli on the step stool, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. he’s giggling about foam beards and gigi plays along a little, making a silly face that usually makes you laugh too. tonight you just watch quietly, brushing olive’s hair slower than needed.

olive shifts under you. “mommy your hand is cold.”

“sorry baby.” you warm them up by rubbing them together quick. gigi glances over at you again, something soft in her expression, but you turn back to olive’s hair like it’s super important.

you end up in eli’s room for stories. gigi is reading from the book, doing the voices like always, but you cut in when she skips a page on accident.

“you missed the part where the truck finds the treasure,” you say, sharper than you mean. your arms are crossed over your chest as you lean against the wall, eyes on the book instead of her.

gigi pauses, finger marking the spot. she looks up at you but her voice stays steady, patient because she’s trying not to escalate. “right, sorry. here.” she goes back and reads it again without arguing back. eli doesn’t seem to notice, just snuggles closer to her side.

you feel bad right after but the insecurity keeps pushing words out anyway. “he likes that part the most. it’s his favorite.”

“i know,” gigi says gently, turning the page. no bite in her tone, just calm. she reaches over and adjusts eli’s blanket, her hand steady. you shift on your feet, feeling stupid for snapping but unable to stop the spiral in your head. she’s being too nice now. like she’s already checked out and just going through the motions until she decides what to do about you. you think.

in olive’s room it gets worse. you’re tucking her in while gigi plugs in the nightlight. when gigi leans down to kiss olive’s forehead you move to the other side of the bed quick, fussing with the stuffed animals like they need rearranging right this second.

“did you remember her water cup?” you ask, even though you know gigi did. it comes out clipped.

gigi straightens up, nodding. “yeah, it’s on her table.” she doesn’t snap back or roll her eyes. she just stands there a second, watching you with this quiet look that makes your stomach twist more. “you want me to read her the extra chapter tonight?”

“no it’s fine. i got it.” you sit on the edge of olive’s bed, back turned a little toward gigi. olive hugs her bear tighter, sensing something’s up. gigi lingers by the door like she wants to say more but doesn’t. she just says a soft “goodnight, i love you azizam” to olive and slips out, leaving the room feeling smaller.

you read her the chapter, voice mostly steady for olive’s sake, but your mind’s racing. gigi’s staying so calm, not rising to any of it, which somehow makes it worse. usually she’d push back a little, talk it through, but tonight she’s letting you have the jabs like she knows you’re hurting and doesn’t want to make it a bigger thing. or maybe she’s just done. the thought sticks hard while olive drifts off, her breathing evening out. you stay there longer than necessary, staring at the wall, before finally kissing olive’s forehead and whisper an i love you before walking out.

out in the hall gigi’s waiting by the laundry basket, folding one of eli’s shirts slow. she doesn’t say anything when you walk past, just gives you space, but her eyes follow you toward the bedroom.

the tension hangs thick between you, all the unsaid stuff and your short answers and her careful calm making the house feel like it’s holding its breath. you want to turn around and let it spill out but the fear of what she might say back keeps your mouth shut and your steps heading away instead.

gigi finds you in the bedroom a little while later, pushing the door half closed behind her. the lamp on your side casts a warm low glow, throwing long shadows across the rumpled covers where you’re already sitting up.

she peels off her day clothes slow in the corner of the room, slipping into her sleep shirt. the mattress dips when she finally sits on the edge near you, close enough that you feel the warmth from her but far enough to leave space if you need it. her hand settles on the blanket between you two, palm up like a quiet offering.

“can we talk for a minute?” she asks, voice low and steady, the kind she uses when she’s trying to untangle something without making it worse. “please. i can’t go to bed like this.”

you swallow hard, the knot in your chest pulling tighter instead of loosening. the whole day crashes back - her sharp mutter about the alarms, the looks she gave you, the coffee spilling down her blouse which somehow was your fault, how she walked out the door without even a brush of her hand against yours. the short texts. the careful distance when she got home with the kids.

tears burn at the corners of your eyes before you can shove them down and you blink fast, staring at your hands twisted in the sheets.

“do you still love me?” the words slip out smaller than you want, all shaky and raw around the edges. you hate how needy they sound but they just keep coming. “or are you… are you thinking about leaving? because if this morning was too much, if i keep messing everything up and just being in the way all the time, you can tell me. i’d rather know than keep guessing.”

gigi’s face changes right away, something pained flickering across it quick before she shifts closer on the bed. “hey, no. don’t talk like that. of course i still love you. that’s not even a question for me.” she reaches out slow, giving you every chance to pull back, and settles her hand warm on your knee over the blanket. her thumb starts rubbing gentle little circles, the kind that always ground you. “i’m not leaving. not ever. you and the kids are my everything.”

you shake your head, the sadness from all day tangling up with the leftover frustration until it spills out sharper than you mean. “then why didn’t you say anything when you got home with them? you just walked in with tacos like it was any other day after snapping at me all morning. i’ve been losing my mind all day thinking you were done with us, that maybe you realized you’re better off without my screw-ups, and you barely even looked at me.”

gigi stays quiet while you talk, listening close without jumping in, her hand steady and warm on your knee the whole time. she gives you all the space to get it out, thumb still moving in slow circles like she’s afraid you’ll pull away if she stops.

when you finally run out of breath and the words die off she lets out a soft sigh, eyes searching your face like she’s trying to see every piece of hurt. she glances down at her hand on your knee for a second, swallowing before she speaks again.

“i wanted to talk,” she starts, voice low. “i tried a couple times in the kitchen and after dinner but…” she trails off, shifting a little closer on the bed, her free hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you didn’t give me much to work with. you were giving me these short answers and turning away every time i got near you. i don’t blame you, but it felt like you needed space so i was trying to respect that instead of forcing it and making it worse.”

she pauses again, thumb pressing a little firmer into your knee as she meets your eyes. “but i hate that i made you feel like this all day. this morning i was so stressed about the showing running late and i took every bit of it out on you in the worst way possible. the alarms, the blouse, the coffee spilling… none of it was actually about you.” her voice cracks just a fraction on the last part and she looks away for a second, jaw tight, before coming back to you. “i was running behind and pissed at myself and i handled it like complete shit. i’m sorry, baby. i’m really, really sorry. please… forgive me, azizam.” she’s looking at you with such soft eyes, it’s hard to not forgive her.

you feel the tears spill over, hot and messy on your cheeks, and gigi shifts closer right away without hesitation, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her side. you let her, the fight draining out as you bury your face against her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her lotion. her other hand comes up to rub your back slow and steady, up and down in a soothing rhythm she always falls into when one of the kids is upset or when you need it most.

“i’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs against your hair, lips brushing there before she presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. she holds you tighter for a second, arms wrapping a little more securely like she’s trying to squeeze the doubt right out of you.

“you’re not messing anything up. i got too stuck in my own head and i shut down instead of coming to you right when i got home. that wasn’t fair at all.” she exhales slow, chin resting against you. “i saw you pulling away and i didn’t know how to fix it without pushing and making everything worse.”

you sniffle hard, one hand fisting lightly in the front of her sleep shirt as the relief starts to creep in slow, tangled up with all the leftover hurt from the day. your voice comes out muffled against her shoulder, thick and shaky. “it just scared me so bad. you’re never like that with me.”

you pause to catch your breath, fingers tightening in the fabric. “usually you’re soft, kissing me goodbye even when we’re rushing out the door, pulling me close in the kitchen… and today you didn’t. you just left. and i thought… i don’t know. that maybe you were finally realizing you could do better than someone who forgets and makes everything harder.”

gigi doesn’t pull back. she just keeps rubbing your back, her chin resting gentle on top of your head while she lets you finish. “no one’s better for me,” she says quietly, her voice warm and sure. “you make everything better, even when it’s messy. i love coming home to you. i love how you are with olive and eli, how patient you get when they’re bouncing off the walls. today was on me, not you.”

she presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there. “i’m sorry i made you doubt that even for a second. let me make it up to you tomorrow, yeah? i’ll set the alarms tonight, stay in bed a little longer with you in the morning. we can take our time before the kids wake up.”

she smiles against you. “then, i’ll make breakfast, your favorite. i’ll do anything.

a small laugh slips out of you despite everything, and she smiles soft at the sound, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “you’re forgiven.” you say and she kisses your forehead again, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each one slow and deliberate like she’s trying to kiss away the whole shitty day. her lips linger a little longer on that last one, warm and reassuring, before she pulls back just enough to look at you.

you lean into her more, the tension finally cracking as she tugs you down to lie together, pulling the covers up around you both. her arm slides around your waist, holding you close under the blankets, bodies fitting together. her fingers trace lazy, soothing patterns on your hip, slipping just under the hem of your shirt to brush bare skin, sending warmth through you.

she keeps pressing little kisses wherever she can reach - your hairline, the tip of your nose, the sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you shift impossibly closer. her mouth stays there a second longer, breath warm against your skin, before she whispers, “i love you,” lips brushing your temple again. “so much. we’re okay. more than okay.”

you settle against her chest and nod, the knot in your stomach loosening for the first time all day as her heartbeat thumps steady and strong under your ear. “i love you too.”

the fight drains out slow, replaced by her warmth and the familiar way she holds you. gigi doesn’t stop the gentle touches, her hand sliding up to card through your hair, nails scratching lightly at your scalp in a way that always melts you.

she murmurs more soft promises against your skin - about slow mornings tangled up in bed, family weekends and how she’ll make sure you feel loved and wanted every single day, that she never wants to make you feel the way you did today ever again. her voice stays low and intimate, lips grazing your jaw every now and then, until your eyes get heavy and the last of the insecurity fades into the quiet comfort of her arms, her body pressed warm and close against yours.

[sapphicswph]

SPILLED COFFEE ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤷ fem!reader x wife!gigi ⋮ requested

⸝⸝ warnings : hurt/comfort . miscommunication . emotional insecurity . anxiety spiral . self-doubt . small arguments . crying . stress-induced conflict . reassurance . they communicate in the end . established relationship .

wc : 4.7k

you wake up to the sound of gigi moving around the bedroom like a storm. the clock on your nightstand says it’s later than it should be, and your stomach drops a little because you remember that you were supposed to set the alarms but the kids had a meltdown right before bed and it completely slipped your mind.

gigi is already half-dressed, yanking open drawers with more force than necessary, her dark hair still messy from sleep but somehow looking perfect anyway.

“you forgot the alarms again,” she mutters, voice low but sharp enough to cut. she’s trying to keep it quiet for the kids still asleep down the hall, but you can hear the edge in it. gigi never snaps at you like this. she’s the one who’s usually pulling you close in the mornings, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, whispering something in farsi that makes your cheeks warm. today though, her back is turned to you while she buttons her pants, shoulders tense.

you sit up, rubbing your eyes. “i’m sorry, babe. it was crazy last night with eli not wanting to brush his teeth and olive-“

“yeah, well, i have a showing in forty minutes and now i’m screwed.” her voice raises just a fraction and you reach out instinctively, touching her arm.

“shh, the kids-“

she glances back over her shoulder with this look that stops you cold. not full anger, just pure annoyance, like you telling her to quiet down was the last straw. your hand drops fast. gigi doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to the closet and starts digging through hangers for her blouse. you slip out of bed and start straightening the sheets, trying to stay useful without getting in her space, but your chest already feels tight. this isn’t her. not with you.

“where the hell is the blue one? the silk one i like?” she asks, more to the closet than to you, but you know she’s expecting an answer.

“i think it’s in the laundry basket? i washed it yesterday but didn’t get a chance to fold everything yet.”

she lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh but not the good kind. “of course. great timing.” she grabs something else instead, a white button-up, and yanks it on. you’re standing there in your sleep shirt feeling small, like everything you touch today is going to turn into another problem for her.

the kids start stirring then. you hear olive’s little feet padding down the hall first, followed by eli’s louder ones. gigi brushes past you toward the kitchen without another word, no good morning kiss, no hand squeeze. you follow, heart thumping too hard.

in the kitchen eli is already climbing into his chair at the table, still in his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up everywhere. olive is rubbing her eyes, asking for cereal in a sleepy voice that always melts you. you start pouring bowls while gigi makes coffee, moving fast.

“mommy, can i have the blue cup?” olive asks you, and you nod, reaching for it.

gigi is right behind you grabbing her mug from the counter. your elbow bumps her arm as you turn and hot coffee sloshes over the rim and down the front of her fresh blouse.

“fuck,” she hisses, switching to farsi under her breath, something sharp and quick that you only catch parts of. she sounds pissed and you want to cry. she sets the mug down hard. “you stood too close. seriously?”

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-“ you start, grabbing a towel fast and trying to dab at the stain. your hands are shaking a little. eli giggles from his seat, pointing with his spoon. “maman spill!” he says happily, like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week. olive looks between you two with big eyes, quiet because she senses tension.

gigi takes the towel from you, wiping at it herself. “it’s fine. whatever. i’ll just change. again.” but her tone says it’s not fine. she glances at the clock and curses again, softer this time. you stand there useless, the towel dangling from your fingers now, feeling the heat in your face and the sting behind your eyes.

she doesn’t stop there. she complains about the traffic she’s gonna hit now that she’s late while you help olive with her milk. you try to joke about how eli always spills his own stuff but it lands flat. gigi barely looks at you when she talks, just quick clipped sentences about the kids’ lunches and what time she might be back. you pack the bags anyway, trying to be helpful, but every move feels like it’s in her way.

by the time she’s ready to leave, blouse changed again but still looking harried, you hover near the door with the kids. olive is holding your hand tight. eli is chattering about his toy truck. gigi grabs her keys, gives each kid a quick kiss on the head and a “be good for mommy,” but nothing for you. no hug, no “i love you,” not even a glance. she just walks out, door clicking shut behind her.

you stand there for a second, the unshed tears making everything blurry. the house feels too quiet except for the kids. your mind is already spinning, she’s never like this. what if this is it? what if she’s finally tired of your mess-ups, all the little ways you don’t get it right? gigi is passionate and strong and she built this life with you, but maybe you’re the one weighing her down now.

“mommy? you okay?” olive asks, tugging your hand. her voice is small, careful.

you blink fast and force a smile, squeezing her fingers. “yeah, sweetie. let’s get you guys to school.”

the drive is filled with kid noise that helps a little. eli sings some made-up song in the back seat, olive corrects him on the words and they both laugh. you grip the wheel tighter than usual, replaying the morning in your head. the way gigi looked at you when you shushed her. the coffee stain spreading dark across white fabric. how she left without touching you.

by the time you drop them off - olive with her backpack bouncing, eli leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek - the insecurities are sitting heavy in your stomach. you text gigi a quick “sorry about this morning. love you” on the way home but the screen stays dark. no reply.

the house is empty when you get back. you pick up the discarded towel from the kitchen counter, fold it slowly. gigi’s favorite mug is still there, half-empty and cold now. you wash it by hand instead of putting it in the dishwasher, thumb tracing the rim where her lips were.

part of you wants to call her, to explain or apologize more, but the other part is scared it’ll make things worse. she always communicates, talks things out even when it’s hard. but today she didn’t. she just left.

you sit at the kitchen table for a while, staring at nothing. the morning light is coming in sideways through the window, catching on the faint coffee spot on the floor that you missed. your phone buzzes once. not gigi, just a reminder about some parent thing at school next week.

the day drags after that. you clean up the rest of the breakfast mess, fold the laundry that started the whole thing, and try to keep busy so your brain doesn’t spiral too hard.

every little thing reminds you of her sharp tone, that look she gave you. by the time afternoon rolls around your phone lights up again, this time with a text from gigi saying she’ll grab the kids from school since her last appointment canceled. no emoji, not even a “love you.”

you type back “okay” and leave it at that, even though your thumb hovers over the keyboard wanting to say more. or sorry again. or ask if she’s still mad. instead you set the phone down and go fold more towels.

when the front door finally opens hours later you’re in the living room, reading something on your laptop. eli bursts in first, backpack half off one shoulder, yelling about the cool bug he found on the playground. olive trails behind him, more quiet, clutching a paper with crayon drawings. gigi comes in last, keys jingling, looking worn out but softening a little when eli tugs at her leg to show off his find.

“look maman, it’s a beetle! can we keep it?” eli asks, holding up a plastic cup with holes poked in the lid.

gigi crouches down to his level, peering inside. “that’s a good one buddy, but i think he wants to go back outside with his friends. we can look him up in a book later though.” her voice is gentler now, the morning sharpness gone, but she hasn’t said anything to you yet.

you close the laptop and stand up, forcing a small smile when olive comes over to show you her drawing. “that’s really pretty, baby. is that our house?”

“yeah with the flowers,” olive says, pointing. “maman said we could plant some this weekend if it’s not too hot.”

you nod, smiling for him. “that’s a good idea.” but your throat feels tight. gigi glances your way as she hangs up her bag, eyes searching your face for a second like she’s trying to read you. you look away first, heading toward the kitchen. “i’ll start dinner soon.”

“i picked up some tacos on the way,” gigi says, following you in while the kids dump their backpacks. “figured it’d save time.”

“thanks.” you pull plates out of the cabinet, movements a little stiff. part of you wants to lean into her, ask how her day went, but the fear is sitting heavy in your gut. what if she’s just going through the motions? what if this morning was the start of her pulling away, realizing she could do better than someone who forgets alarms and bumps into her and spills coffee all over her.

gigi’s always been steady, fighting for what she wants. maybe she’s tired of fighting for you.

she sets the takeout bag on the counter near you, close enough that her arm brushes yours. “you okay?” she asks quietly, voice low so the kids don’t hear.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you try to play it off, unpacking the tacos like it’s the most important task in the world. “kids eat first?”

gigi pauses, watching you. “sure.” she doesn’t push, but you feel her eyes on your back as you call the kids over. eli chatters the whole time about his bug and how olive almost stepped on a worm at recess. olive giggles at him but keeps glancing between you and gigi like she senses the weird vibe. you laugh at the right moments, but it sounds flat even to you.

dinner is mostly kid noise filling the silence. gigi asks you about your day once, something simple like if you got any work done, and you just shrug. “it was okay.” you don’t mention how you spent half of it replaying her leaving without kissing you, or how the house felt too big and empty. she tries again later, offering you the last taco, but you shake your head. “i’m good.”

after the kids are done gigi helps wipe eli’s face while you clear plates. your hands move on autopilot. she says something about one of her clients being a nightmare today, trying to pull you into conversation, but you just hum in response, loading the dishwasher.

the space between you feels bigger than it should in your own kitchen. gigi’s good at talking things out usually, but right now she seems to be waiting for you to give her an opening and you’re too scared to make one. what if she confirms it? what if she says she needs time or space or something worse.

olive tugs on your shirt after a while. “can we watch a show before bed?”

“yes, baby, pick something short,” you tell her, ruffling her hair. gigi catches your eye again, brow furrowed just a little, but you turn to the sink instead, rinsing a cup that doesn’t need rinsing.

later when the kids are settled in front of the tv with their show, gigi comes up behind you in the kitchen where you’re wiping the same counter for the third time. her hand rests light on your lower back, warm through your shirt. “hey. talk to me. you’ve been quiet since i got home.”

you shrug again, keeping your eyes on the counter. “just tired i guess.” the words feel small. inside your head it’s louder - the worry that she’s seconds from saying this isn’t working, that the morning proved you’re more hassle than you’re worth. gigi’s usually so soft with you, always has been. until today. and now everything feels off balance.

she sighs softly but doesn’t pull her hand away. “about this morning… i was stressed. the showing went fine but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.” her thumb moves in a slow circle on your back, casual but careful. still, you don’t lean into it. the insecurity has you locked up, giving her short answers like armor.

“it’s whatever,” you mumble. “kids need to get ready for bed soon.”

gigi’s hand lingers another second before she steps back. “yeah. it’s getting late.” she sounds tired now too, but she heads to the living room to wrangle eli anyway, leaving you alone with the clean counter and the knot in your chest that won’t loosen.

the rest of the evening feels like walking through thick fog. you keep it together for the kids, forcing smiles when olive asks for her favorite pajamas and eli wants the dinosaur ones even though they’re in the wash.

gigi’s already in their rooms starting the bedtime routine, voice soft as she tells eli to pick up his trucks. you hang back in the hallway for a minute, listening, before forcing yourself to join in. you don’t want them catching the weird vibe but it’s hard when every time gigi moves near you your body tenses up.

“i’ll do olive’s hair if you handle eli’s teeth,” you say, keeping your tone even as you grab the detangling spray. you avoid her eyes, focusing on olive’s hair instead. gigi nods from the other side of the bathroom, calm like she’s choosing her words extra careful.

“sounds good.” she’s got eli on the step stool, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. he’s giggling about foam beards and gigi plays along a little, making a silly face that usually makes you laugh too. tonight you just watch quietly, brushing olive’s hair slower than needed.

olive shifts under you. “mommy your hand is cold.”

“sorry baby.” you warm them up by rubbing them together quick. gigi glances over at you again, something soft in her expression, but you turn back to olive’s hair like it’s super important.

you end up in eli’s room for stories. gigi is reading from the book, doing the voices like always, but you cut in when she skips a page on accident.

“you missed the part where the truck finds the treasure,” you say, sharper than you mean. your arms are crossed over your chest as you lean against the wall, eyes on the book instead of her.

gigi pauses, finger marking the spot. she looks up at you but her voice stays steady, patient because she’s trying not to escalate. “right, sorry. here.” she goes back and reads it again without arguing back. eli doesn’t seem to notice, just snuggles closer to her side.

you feel bad right after but the insecurity keeps pushing words out anyway. “he likes that part the most. it’s his favorite.”

“i know,” gigi says gently, turning the page. no bite in her tone, just calm. she reaches over and adjusts eli’s blanket, her hand steady. you shift on your feet, feeling stupid for snapping but unable to stop the spiral in your head. she’s being too nice now. like she’s already checked out and just going through the motions until she decides what to do about you. you think.

in olive’s room it gets worse. you’re tucking her in while gigi plugs in the nightlight. when gigi leans down to kiss olive’s forehead you move to the other side of the bed quick, fussing with the stuffed animals like they need rearranging right this second.

“did you remember her water cup?” you ask, even though you know gigi did. it comes out clipped.

gigi straightens up, nodding. “yeah, it’s on her table.” she doesn’t snap back or roll her eyes. she just stands there a second, watching you with this quiet look that makes your stomach twist more. “you want me to read her the extra chapter tonight?”

“no it’s fine. i got it.” you sit on the edge of olive’s bed, back turned a little toward gigi. olive hugs her bear tighter, sensing something’s up. gigi lingers by the door like she wants to say more but doesn’t. she just says a soft “goodnight, i love you azizam” to olive and slips out, leaving the room feeling smaller.

you read her the chapter, voice mostly steady for olive’s sake, but your mind’s racing. gigi’s staying so calm, not rising to any of it, which somehow makes it worse. usually she’d push back a little, talk it through, but tonight she’s letting you have the jabs like she knows you’re hurting and doesn’t want to make it a bigger thing. or maybe she’s just done. the thought sticks hard while olive drifts off, her breathing evening out. you stay there longer than necessary, staring at the wall, before finally kissing olive’s forehead and whisper an i love you before walking out.

out in the hall gigi’s waiting by the laundry basket, folding one of eli’s shirts slow. she doesn’t say anything when you walk past, just gives you space, but her eyes follow you toward the bedroom.

the tension hangs thick between you, all the unsaid stuff and your short answers and her careful calm making the house feel like it’s holding its breath. you want to turn around and let it spill out but the fear of what she might say back keeps your mouth shut and your steps heading away instead.

gigi finds you in the bedroom a little while later, pushing the door half closed behind her. the lamp on your side casts a warm low glow, throwing long shadows across the rumpled covers where you’re already sitting up.

she peels off her day clothes slow in the corner of the room, slipping into her sleep shirt. the mattress dips when she finally sits on the edge near you, close enough that you feel the warmth from her but far enough to leave space if you need it. her hand settles on the blanket between you two, palm up like a quiet offering.

“can we talk for a minute?” she asks, voice low and steady, the kind she uses when she’s trying to untangle something without making it worse. “please. i can’t go to bed like this.”

you swallow hard, the knot in your chest pulling tighter instead of loosening. the whole day crashes back - her sharp mutter about the alarms, the looks she gave you, the coffee spilling down her blouse which somehow was your fault, how she walked out the door without even a brush of her hand against yours. the short texts. the careful distance when she got home with the kids.

tears burn at the corners of your eyes before you can shove them down and you blink fast, staring at your hands twisted in the sheets.

“do you still love me?” the words slip out smaller than you want, all shaky and raw around the edges. you hate how needy they sound but they just keep coming. “or are you… are you thinking about leaving? because if this morning was too much, if i keep messing everything up and just being in the way all the time, you can tell me. i’d rather know than keep guessing.”

gigi’s face changes right away, something pained flickering across it quick before she shifts closer on the bed. “hey, no. don’t talk like that. of course i still love you. that’s not even a question for me.” she reaches out slow, giving you every chance to pull back, and settles her hand warm on your knee over the blanket. her thumb starts rubbing gentle little circles, the kind that always ground you. “i’m not leaving. not ever. you and the kids are my everything.”

you shake your head, the sadness from all day tangling up with the leftover frustration until it spills out sharper than you mean. “then why didn’t you say anything when you got home with them? you just walked in with tacos like it was any other day after snapping at me all morning. i’ve been losing my mind all day thinking you were done with us, that maybe you realized you’re better off without my screw-ups, and you barely even looked at me.”

gigi stays quiet while you talk, listening close without jumping in, her hand steady and warm on your knee the whole time. she gives you all the space to get it out, thumb still moving in slow circles like she’s afraid you’ll pull away if she stops.

when you finally run out of breath and the words die off she lets out a soft sigh, eyes searching your face like she’s trying to see every piece of hurt. she glances down at her hand on your knee for a second, swallowing before she speaks again.

“i wanted to talk,” she starts, voice low. “i tried a couple times in the kitchen and after dinner but…” she trails off, shifting a little closer on the bed, her free hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you didn’t give me much to work with. you were giving me these short answers and turning away every time i got near you. i don’t blame you, but it felt like you needed space so i was trying to respect that instead of forcing it and making it worse.”

she pauses again, thumb pressing a little firmer into your knee as she meets your eyes. “but i hate that i made you feel like this all day. this morning i was so stressed about the showing running late and i took every bit of it out on you in the worst way possible. the alarms, the blouse, the coffee spilling… none of it was actually about you.” her voice cracks just a fraction on the last part and she looks away for a second, jaw tight, before coming back to you. “i was running behind and pissed at myself and i handled it like complete shit. i’m sorry, baby. i’m really, really sorry. please… forgive me, azizam.” she’s looking at you with such soft eyes, it’s hard to not forgive her.

you feel the tears spill over, hot and messy on your cheeks, and gigi shifts closer right away without hesitation, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her side. you let her, the fight draining out as you bury your face against her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her lotion. her other hand comes up to rub your back slow and steady, up and down in a soothing rhythm she always falls into when one of the kids is upset or when you need it most.

“i’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs against your hair, lips brushing there before she presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. she holds you tighter for a second, arms wrapping a little more securely like she’s trying to squeeze the doubt right out of you.

“you’re not messing anything up. i got too stuck in my own head and i shut down instead of coming to you right when i got home. that wasn’t fair at all.” she exhales slow, chin resting against you. “i saw you pulling away and i didn’t know how to fix it without pushing and making everything worse.”

you sniffle hard, one hand fisting lightly in the front of her sleep shirt as the relief starts to creep in slow, tangled up with all the leftover hurt from the day. your voice comes out muffled against her shoulder, thick and shaky. “it just scared me so bad. you’re never like that with me.”

you pause to catch your breath, fingers tightening in the fabric. “usually you’re soft, kissing me goodbye even when we’re rushing out the door, pulling me close in the kitchen… and today you didn’t. you just left. and i thought… i don’t know. that maybe you were finally realizing you could do better than someone who forgets and makes everything harder.”

gigi doesn’t pull back. she just keeps rubbing your back, her chin resting gentle on top of your head while she lets you finish. “no one’s better for me,” she says quietly, her voice warm and sure. “you make everything better, even when it’s messy. i love coming home to you. i love how you are with olive and eli, how patient you get when they’re bouncing off the walls. today was on me, not you.”

she presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there. “i’m sorry i made you doubt that even for a second. let me make it up to you tomorrow, yeah? i’ll set the alarms tonight, stay in bed a little longer with you in the morning. we can take our time before the kids wake up.”

she smiles against you. “then, i’ll make breakfast, your favorite. i’ll do anything.

a small laugh slips out of you despite everything, and she smiles soft at the sound, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “you’re forgiven.” you say and she kisses your forehead again, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each one slow and deliberate like she’s trying to kiss away the whole shitty day. her lips linger a little longer on that last one, warm and reassuring, before she pulls back just enough to look at you.

you lean into her more, the tension finally cracking as she tugs you down to lie together, pulling the covers up around you both. her arm slides around your waist, holding you close under the blankets, bodies fitting together. her fingers trace lazy, soothing patterns on your hip, slipping just under the hem of your shirt to brush bare skin, sending warmth through you.

she keeps pressing little kisses wherever she can reach - your hairline, the tip of your nose, the sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you shift impossibly closer. her mouth stays there a second longer, breath warm against your skin, before she whispers, “i love you,” lips brushing your temple again. “so much. we’re okay. more than okay.”

you settle against her chest and nod, the knot in your stomach loosening for the first time all day as her heartbeat thumps steady and strong under your ear. “i love you too.”

the fight drains out slow, replaced by her warmth and the familiar way she holds you. gigi doesn’t stop the gentle touches, her hand sliding up to card through your hair, nails scratching lightly at your scalp in a way that always melts you.

she murmurs more soft promises against your skin - about slow mornings tangled up in bed, family weekends and how she’ll make sure you feel loved and wanted every single day, that she never wants to make you feel the way you did today ever again. her voice stays low and intimate, lips grazing your jaw every now and then, until your eyes get heavy and the last of the insecurity fades into the quiet comfort of her arms, her body pressed warm and close against yours.

[sapphicswph]

SPILLED COFFEE ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤷ fem!reader x wife!gigi ⋮ requested

⸝⸝ warnings : hurt/comfort . miscommunication . emotional insecurity . anxiety spiral . self-doubt . small arguments . crying . stress-induced conflict . reassurance . they communicate in the end . established relationship .

wc : 4.7k

you wake up to the sound of gigi moving around the bedroom like a storm. the clock on your nightstand says it’s later than it should be, and your stomach drops a little because you remember that you were supposed to set the alarms but the kids had a meltdown right before bed and it completely slipped your mind.

gigi is already half-dressed, yanking open drawers with more force than necessary, her dark hair still messy from sleep but somehow looking perfect anyway.

“you forgot the alarms again,” she mutters, voice low but sharp enough to cut. she’s trying to keep it quiet for the kids still asleep down the hall, but you can hear the edge in it. gigi never snaps at you like this. she’s the one who’s usually pulling you close in the mornings, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, whispering something in farsi that makes your cheeks warm. today though, her back is turned to you while she buttons her pants, shoulders tense.

you sit up, rubbing your eyes. “i’m sorry, babe. it was crazy last night with eli not wanting to brush his teeth and olive-“

“yeah, well, i have a showing in forty minutes and now i’m screwed.” her voice raises just a fraction and you reach out instinctively, touching her arm.

“shh, the kids-“

she glances back over her shoulder with this look that stops you cold. not full anger, just pure annoyance, like you telling her to quiet down was the last straw. your hand drops fast. gigi doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to the closet and starts digging through hangers for her blouse. you slip out of bed and start straightening the sheets, trying to stay useful without getting in her space, but your chest already feels tight. this isn’t her. not with you.

“where the hell is the blue one? the silk one i like?” she asks, more to the closet than to you, but you know she’s expecting an answer.

“i think it’s in the laundry basket? i washed it yesterday but didn’t get a chance to fold everything yet.”

she lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh but not the good kind. “of course. great timing.” she grabs something else instead, a white button-up, and yanks it on. you’re standing there in your sleep shirt feeling small, like everything you touch today is going to turn into another problem for her.

the kids start stirring then. you hear olive’s little feet padding down the hall first, followed by eli’s louder ones. gigi brushes past you toward the kitchen without another word, no good morning kiss, no hand squeeze. you follow, heart thumping too hard.

in the kitchen eli is already climbing into his chair at the table, still in his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up everywhere. olive is rubbing her eyes, asking for cereal in a sleepy voice that always melts you. you start pouring bowls while gigi makes coffee, moving fast.

“mommy, can i have the blue cup?” olive asks you, and you nod, reaching for it.

gigi is right behind you grabbing her mug from the counter. your elbow bumps her arm as you turn and hot coffee sloshes over the rim and down the front of her fresh blouse.

“fuck,” she hisses, switching to farsi under her breath, something sharp and quick that you only catch parts of. she sounds pissed and you want to cry. she sets the mug down hard. “you stood too close. seriously?”

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-“ you start, grabbing a towel fast and trying to dab at the stain. your hands are shaking a little. eli giggles from his seat, pointing with his spoon. “maman spill!” he says happily, like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week. olive looks between you two with big eyes, quiet because she senses tension.

gigi takes the towel from you, wiping at it herself. “it’s fine. whatever. i’ll just change. again.” but her tone says it’s not fine. she glances at the clock and curses again, softer this time. you stand there useless, the towel dangling from your fingers now, feeling the heat in your face and the sting behind your eyes.

she doesn’t stop there. she complains about the traffic she’s gonna hit now that she’s late while you help olive with her milk. you try to joke about how eli always spills his own stuff but it lands flat. gigi barely looks at you when she talks, just quick clipped sentences about the kids’ lunches and what time she might be back. you pack the bags anyway, trying to be helpful, but every move feels like it’s in her way.

by the time she’s ready to leave, blouse changed again but still looking harried, you hover near the door with the kids. olive is holding your hand tight. eli is chattering about his toy truck. gigi grabs her keys, gives each kid a quick kiss on the head and a “be good for mommy,” but nothing for you. no hug, no “i love you,” not even a glance. she just walks out, door clicking shut behind her.

you stand there for a second, the unshed tears making everything blurry. the house feels too quiet except for the kids. your mind is already spinning, she’s never like this. what if this is it? what if she’s finally tired of your mess-ups, all the little ways you don’t get it right? gigi is passionate and strong and she built this life with you, but maybe you’re the one weighing her down now.

“mommy? you okay?” olive asks, tugging your hand. her voice is small, careful.

you blink fast and force a smile, squeezing her fingers. “yeah, sweetie. let’s get you guys to school.”

the drive is filled with kid noise that helps a little. eli sings some made-up song in the back seat, olive corrects him on the words and they both laugh. you grip the wheel tighter than usual, replaying the morning in your head. the way gigi looked at you when you shushed her. the coffee stain spreading dark across white fabric. how she left without touching you.

by the time you drop them off - olive with her backpack bouncing, eli leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek - the insecurities are sitting heavy in your stomach. you text gigi a quick “sorry about this morning. love you” on the way home but the screen stays dark. no reply.

the house is empty when you get back. you pick up the discarded towel from the kitchen counter, fold it slowly. gigi’s favorite mug is still there, half-empty and cold now. you wash it by hand instead of putting it in the dishwasher, thumb tracing the rim where her lips were.

part of you wants to call her, to explain or apologize more, but the other part is scared it’ll make things worse. she always communicates, talks things out even when it’s hard. but today she didn’t. she just left.

you sit at the kitchen table for a while, staring at nothing. the morning light is coming in sideways through the window, catching on the faint coffee spot on the floor that you missed. your phone buzzes once. not gigi, just a reminder about some parent thing at school next week.

the day drags after that. you clean up the rest of the breakfast mess, fold the laundry that started the whole thing, and try to keep busy so your brain doesn’t spiral too hard.

every little thing reminds you of her sharp tone, that look she gave you. by the time afternoon rolls around your phone lights up again, this time with a text from gigi saying she’ll grab the kids from school since her last appointment canceled. no emoji, not even a “love you.”

you type back “okay” and leave it at that, even though your thumb hovers over the keyboard wanting to say more. or sorry again. or ask if she’s still mad. instead you set the phone down and go fold more towels.

when the front door finally opens hours later you’re in the living room, reading something on your laptop. eli bursts in first, backpack half off one shoulder, yelling about the cool bug he found on the playground. olive trails behind him, more quiet, clutching a paper with crayon drawings. gigi comes in last, keys jingling, looking worn out but softening a little when eli tugs at her leg to show off his find.

“look maman, it’s a beetle! can we keep it?” eli asks, holding up a plastic cup with holes poked in the lid.

gigi crouches down to his level, peering inside. “that’s a good one buddy, but i think he wants to go back outside with his friends. we can look him up in a book later though.” her voice is gentler now, the morning sharpness gone, but she hasn’t said anything to you yet.

you close the laptop and stand up, forcing a small smile when olive comes over to show you her drawing. “that’s really pretty, baby. is that our house?”

“yeah with the flowers,” olive says, pointing. “maman said we could plant some this weekend if it’s not too hot.”

you nod, smiling for him. “that’s a good idea.” but your throat feels tight. gigi glances your way as she hangs up her bag, eyes searching your face for a second like she’s trying to read you. you look away first, heading toward the kitchen. “i’ll start dinner soon.”

“i picked up some tacos on the way,” gigi says, following you in while the kids dump their backpacks. “figured it’d save time.”

“thanks.” you pull plates out of the cabinet, movements a little stiff. part of you wants to lean into her, ask how her day went, but the fear is sitting heavy in your gut. what if she’s just going through the motions? what if this morning was the start of her pulling away, realizing she could do better than someone who forgets alarms and bumps into her and spills coffee all over her.

gigi’s always been steady, fighting for what she wants. maybe she’s tired of fighting for you.

she sets the takeout bag on the counter near you, close enough that her arm brushes yours. “you okay?” she asks quietly, voice low so the kids don’t hear.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you try to play it off, unpacking the tacos like it’s the most important task in the world. “kids eat first?”

gigi pauses, watching you. “sure.” she doesn’t push, but you feel her eyes on your back as you call the kids over. eli chatters the whole time about his bug and how olive almost stepped on a worm at recess. olive giggles at him but keeps glancing between you and gigi like she senses the weird vibe. you laugh at the right moments, but it sounds flat even to you.

dinner is mostly kid noise filling the silence. gigi asks you about your day once, something simple like if you got any work done, and you just shrug. “it was okay.” you don’t mention how you spent half of it replaying her leaving without kissing you, or how the house felt too big and empty. she tries again later, offering you the last taco, but you shake your head. “i’m good.”

after the kids are done gigi helps wipe eli’s face while you clear plates. your hands move on autopilot. she says something about one of her clients being a nightmare today, trying to pull you into conversation, but you just hum in response, loading the dishwasher.

the space between you feels bigger than it should in your own kitchen. gigi’s good at talking things out usually, but right now she seems to be waiting for you to give her an opening and you’re too scared to make one. what if she confirms it? what if she says she needs time or space or something worse.

olive tugs on your shirt after a while. “can we watch a show before bed?”

“yes, baby, pick something short,” you tell her, ruffling her hair. gigi catches your eye again, brow furrowed just a little, but you turn to the sink instead, rinsing a cup that doesn’t need rinsing.

later when the kids are settled in front of the tv with their show, gigi comes up behind you in the kitchen where you’re wiping the same counter for the third time. her hand rests light on your lower back, warm through your shirt. “hey. talk to me. you’ve been quiet since i got home.”

you shrug again, keeping your eyes on the counter. “just tired i guess.” the words feel small. inside your head it’s louder - the worry that she’s seconds from saying this isn’t working, that the morning proved you’re more hassle than you’re worth. gigi’s usually so soft with you, always has been. until today. and now everything feels off balance.

she sighs softly but doesn’t pull her hand away. “about this morning… i was stressed. the showing went fine but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.” her thumb moves in a slow circle on your back, casual but careful. still, you don’t lean into it. the insecurity has you locked up, giving her short answers like armor.

“it’s whatever,” you mumble. “kids need to get ready for bed soon.”

gigi’s hand lingers another second before she steps back. “yeah. it’s getting late.” she sounds tired now too, but she heads to the living room to wrangle eli anyway, leaving you alone with the clean counter and the knot in your chest that won’t loosen.

the rest of the evening feels like walking through thick fog. you keep it together for the kids, forcing smiles when olive asks for her favorite pajamas and eli wants the dinosaur ones even though they’re in the wash.

gigi’s already in their rooms starting the bedtime routine, voice soft as she tells eli to pick up his trucks. you hang back in the hallway for a minute, listening, before forcing yourself to join in. you don’t want them catching the weird vibe but it’s hard when every time gigi moves near you your body tenses up.

“i’ll do olive’s hair if you handle eli’s teeth,” you say, keeping your tone even as you grab the detangling spray. you avoid her eyes, focusing on olive’s hair instead. gigi nods from the other side of the bathroom, calm like she’s choosing her words extra careful.

“sounds good.” she’s got eli on the step stool, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. he’s giggling about foam beards and gigi plays along a little, making a silly face that usually makes you laugh too. tonight you just watch quietly, brushing olive’s hair slower than needed.

olive shifts under you. “mommy your hand is cold.”

“sorry baby.” you warm them up by rubbing them together quick. gigi glances over at you again, something soft in her expression, but you turn back to olive’s hair like it’s super important.

you end up in eli’s room for stories. gigi is reading from the book, doing the voices like always, but you cut in when she skips a page on accident.

“you missed the part where the truck finds the treasure,” you say, sharper than you mean. your arms are crossed over your chest as you lean against the wall, eyes on the book instead of her.

gigi pauses, finger marking the spot. she looks up at you but her voice stays steady, patient because she’s trying not to escalate. “right, sorry. here.” she goes back and reads it again without arguing back. eli doesn’t seem to notice, just snuggles closer to her side.

you feel bad right after but the insecurity keeps pushing words out anyway. “he likes that part the most. it’s his favorite.”

“i know,” gigi says gently, turning the page. no bite in her tone, just calm. she reaches over and adjusts eli’s blanket, her hand steady. you shift on your feet, feeling stupid for snapping but unable to stop the spiral in your head. she’s being too nice now. like she’s already checked out and just going through the motions until she decides what to do about you. you think.

in olive’s room it gets worse. you’re tucking her in while gigi plugs in the nightlight. when gigi leans down to kiss olive’s forehead you move to the other side of the bed quick, fussing with the stuffed animals like they need rearranging right this second.

“did you remember her water cup?” you ask, even though you know gigi did. it comes out clipped.

gigi straightens up, nodding. “yeah, it’s on her table.” she doesn’t snap back or roll her eyes. she just stands there a second, watching you with this quiet look that makes your stomach twist more. “you want me to read her the extra chapter tonight?”

“no it’s fine. i got it.” you sit on the edge of olive’s bed, back turned a little toward gigi. olive hugs her bear tighter, sensing something’s up. gigi lingers by the door like she wants to say more but doesn’t. she just says a soft “goodnight, i love you azizam” to olive and slips out, leaving the room feeling smaller.

you read her the chapter, voice mostly steady for olive’s sake, but your mind’s racing. gigi’s staying so calm, not rising to any of it, which somehow makes it worse. usually she’d push back a little, talk it through, but tonight she’s letting you have the jabs like she knows you’re hurting and doesn’t want to make it a bigger thing. or maybe she’s just done. the thought sticks hard while olive drifts off, her breathing evening out. you stay there longer than necessary, staring at the wall, before finally kissing olive’s forehead and whisper an i love you before walking out.

out in the hall gigi’s waiting by the laundry basket, folding one of eli’s shirts slow. she doesn’t say anything when you walk past, just gives you space, but her eyes follow you toward the bedroom.

the tension hangs thick between you, all the unsaid stuff and your short answers and her careful calm making the house feel like it’s holding its breath. you want to turn around and let it spill out but the fear of what she might say back keeps your mouth shut and your steps heading away instead.

gigi finds you in the bedroom a little while later, pushing the door half closed behind her. the lamp on your side casts a warm low glow, throwing long shadows across the rumpled covers where you’re already sitting up.

she peels off her day clothes slow in the corner of the room, slipping into her sleep shirt. the mattress dips when she finally sits on the edge near you, close enough that you feel the warmth from her but far enough to leave space if you need it. her hand settles on the blanket between you two, palm up like a quiet offering.

“can we talk for a minute?” she asks, voice low and steady, the kind she uses when she’s trying to untangle something without making it worse. “please. i can’t go to bed like this.”

you swallow hard, the knot in your chest pulling tighter instead of loosening. the whole day crashes back - her sharp mutter about the alarms, the looks she gave you, the coffee spilling down her blouse which somehow was your fault, how she walked out the door without even a brush of her hand against yours. the short texts. the careful distance when she got home with the kids.

tears burn at the corners of your eyes before you can shove them down and you blink fast, staring at your hands twisted in the sheets.

“do you still love me?” the words slip out smaller than you want, all shaky and raw around the edges. you hate how needy they sound but they just keep coming. “or are you… are you thinking about leaving? because if this morning was too much, if i keep messing everything up and just being in the way all the time, you can tell me. i’d rather know than keep guessing.”

gigi’s face changes right away, something pained flickering across it quick before she shifts closer on the bed. “hey, no. don’t talk like that. of course i still love you. that’s not even a question for me.” she reaches out slow, giving you every chance to pull back, and settles her hand warm on your knee over the blanket. her thumb starts rubbing gentle little circles, the kind that always ground you. “i’m not leaving. not ever. you and the kids are my everything.”

you shake your head, the sadness from all day tangling up with the leftover frustration until it spills out sharper than you mean. “then why didn’t you say anything when you got home with them? you just walked in with tacos like it was any other day after snapping at me all morning. i’ve been losing my mind all day thinking you were done with us, that maybe you realized you’re better off without my screw-ups, and you barely even looked at me.”

gigi stays quiet while you talk, listening close without jumping in, her hand steady and warm on your knee the whole time. she gives you all the space to get it out, thumb still moving in slow circles like she’s afraid you’ll pull away if she stops.

when you finally run out of breath and the words die off she lets out a soft sigh, eyes searching your face like she’s trying to see every piece of hurt. she glances down at her hand on your knee for a second, swallowing before she speaks again.

“i wanted to talk,” she starts, voice low. “i tried a couple times in the kitchen and after dinner but…” she trails off, shifting a little closer on the bed, her free hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you didn’t give me much to work with. you were giving me these short answers and turning away every time i got near you. i don’t blame you, but it felt like you needed space so i was trying to respect that instead of forcing it and making it worse.”

she pauses again, thumb pressing a little firmer into your knee as she meets your eyes. “but i hate that i made you feel like this all day. this morning i was so stressed about the showing running late and i took every bit of it out on you in the worst way possible. the alarms, the blouse, the coffee spilling… none of it was actually about you.” her voice cracks just a fraction on the last part and she looks away for a second, jaw tight, before coming back to you. “i was running behind and pissed at myself and i handled it like complete shit. i’m sorry, baby. i’m really, really sorry. please… forgive me, azizam.” she’s looking at you with such soft eyes, it’s hard to not forgive her.

you feel the tears spill over, hot and messy on your cheeks, and gigi shifts closer right away without hesitation, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her side. you let her, the fight draining out as you bury your face against her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her lotion. her other hand comes up to rub your back slow and steady, up and down in a soothing rhythm she always falls into when one of the kids is upset or when you need it most.

“i’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs against your hair, lips brushing there before she presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. she holds you tighter for a second, arms wrapping a little more securely like she’s trying to squeeze the doubt right out of you.

“you’re not messing anything up. i got too stuck in my own head and i shut down instead of coming to you right when i got home. that wasn’t fair at all.” she exhales slow, chin resting against you. “i saw you pulling away and i didn’t know how to fix it without pushing and making everything worse.”

you sniffle hard, one hand fisting lightly in the front of her sleep shirt as the relief starts to creep in slow, tangled up with all the leftover hurt from the day. your voice comes out muffled against her shoulder, thick and shaky. “it just scared me so bad. you’re never like that with me.”

you pause to catch your breath, fingers tightening in the fabric. “usually you’re soft, kissing me goodbye even when we’re rushing out the door, pulling me close in the kitchen… and today you didn’t. you just left. and i thought… i don’t know. that maybe you were finally realizing you could do better than someone who forgets and makes everything harder.”

gigi doesn’t pull back. she just keeps rubbing your back, her chin resting gentle on top of your head while she lets you finish. “no one’s better for me,” she says quietly, her voice warm and sure. “you make everything better, even when it’s messy. i love coming home to you. i love how you are with olive and eli, how patient you get when they’re bouncing off the walls. today was on me, not you.”

she presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there. “i’m sorry i made you doubt that even for a second. let me make it up to you tomorrow, yeah? i’ll set the alarms tonight, stay in bed a little longer with you in the morning. we can take our time before the kids wake up.”

she smiles against you. “then, i’ll make breakfast, your favorite. i’ll do anything.

a small laugh slips out of you despite everything, and she smiles soft at the sound, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “you’re forgiven.” you say and she kisses your forehead again, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each one slow and deliberate like she’s trying to kiss away the whole shitty day. her lips linger a little longer on that last one, warm and reassuring, before she pulls back just enough to look at you.

you lean into her more, the tension finally cracking as she tugs you down to lie together, pulling the covers up around you both. her arm slides around your waist, holding you close under the blankets, bodies fitting together. her fingers trace lazy, soothing patterns on your hip, slipping just under the hem of your shirt to brush bare skin, sending warmth through you.

she keeps pressing little kisses wherever she can reach - your hairline, the tip of your nose, the sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you shift impossibly closer. her mouth stays there a second longer, breath warm against your skin, before she whispers, “i love you,” lips brushing your temple again. “so much. we’re okay. more than okay.”

you settle against her chest and nod, the knot in your stomach loosening for the first time all day as her heartbeat thumps steady and strong under your ear. “i love you too.”

the fight drains out slow, replaced by her warmth and the familiar way she holds you. gigi doesn’t stop the gentle touches, her hand sliding up to card through your hair, nails scratching lightly at your scalp in a way that always melts you.

she murmurs more soft promises against your skin - about slow mornings tangled up in bed, family weekends and how she’ll make sure you feel loved and wanted every single day, that she never wants to make you feel the way you did today ever again. her voice stays low and intimate, lips grazing your jaw every now and then, until your eyes get heavy and the last of the insecurity fades into the quiet comfort of her arms, her body pressed warm and close against yours.

[emilys-bangs]

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

And there was something 'bout you that now I can′t remember It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

Contents: amnesia, car accident, established relationship (technically), flangst, hurt/comfort, injuries, falling back in love, forced proximity, mutual pining, sad wife emily prentiss who's doing everything she can to hold it together Summary: You lose your memories in an accident. Emily tries to help you find your way back—to yourself, to her.

Status: incomplete

chapter one: something about you

chapter two: try to recall

chapter three: wait and pretend

chapter four: hold on and hope

chapter five: don't let go

chapter six: we'll find our way back

chapter seven: honey, you're familiar

chapter eight: waiting for you (to look up)

chapter nine: coming soon

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Moodboard

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten about you?

[loves-alibi]

Baran has a shadow. (f!reader)

Robby's sure of it, and he's sure that Baran is sure of it as well.

He's had his suspicions for a long time, from practically the day before his sabbatical. Like Baran, it was your first shift, yet the two of you found a way to work on nearly every case together. He shook it off then, telling himself that you two simply worked well together, and Robby was even somewhat relieved to know that Baran was at least getting along with the new batch of med students.

No, you and Baran left no reason for him to worry, so it was baffling when Robby returned to work all these months later to see just how close you two have gotten.

Wherever Baran goes, you follow. You’re jumping to answer any question she poses to you and the other med students, giving her heart-eyes the entire time. Most recently, Baran has begun offering you rides home. Robby’s been around the block enough times to know what’s unfolding before his very eyes.

But it’s when Baran calls you a good girl during the middle of a trauma that Robby decides the time is now to put a stop to it all. He corners Baran that afternoon in the staff lounge, wearing his best impression of a smile.

“We should talk,” Robby says, trying not to get too mad at the way she is already trying to walk past him. He plants his hand on the door before Baran can reach the handle. He says your name, and Baran freezes. After a breath, she tilts her chin upward.

"She's a very good doctor," Baran says, voice even, but clipped. "Certainly proved herself in your absence."

Robby hums halfheartedly. "I'm sure she has– under your guidance, I assume?"

Baran laughs, but her glare is lethal as it cuts into Robby. "Wasn't everyone under my guidance?" Baran asks. Her tone sinks into Robby's veins. "All the students, residents, even the attendings– Dr. Abbot, Shen, Collins... She spoke a lot about you during your sabbatical, you know.”

Robby flinches. Though subtle, it’s not enough to evade Baran’s focus. The corner of her lips quirk, and Baran continues, “You know, Dr. Robinavitch, I would love to hear how you met her. Heather and I spoke, and— well —it just seems to me that you have been together for a long, long time.”

The ring on his finger very suddenly feels like a death sentence. Underneath the cold panic that strikes him, Robby allows a situationally-inappropriate passing thought of— I can’t wait to tell Heather about this over dinner.

And so, perhaps when he sees how close Baran’s hand is to your ass as she ushers you into her truck that evening, Robby keeps his goddamn mouth shut.

[scarlet-widow3000]

Old Friends

Pairing: Baran Al-Hashimi x fem!reader

Summary: You and Baran met overseas, but lost touch over time. You'd gotten married, had kids, and lost your wife when the universe decided to bring Baran back into your orbit. [based on this ask]

Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, biomedical.engineer!reader, medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, dana evans, princess de la cruz, non-graphic mentions of violence, non descript mentions of war zone, reader is a veteran, mom reader, mentions of perlah

Word Count: 3,000

Working in an active war zone was anything but easy. Baran spent most of her time trying to just focus on the medicine and epically failing.

These people were hurting and it clawed at her insides.

She was hurting.

These were her people.

She witnessed so much and somehow felt like she wasn't doing enough. It was torture most of the time, but there were quite moments too.

They were rare, but somehow you always managed to find her in those quiet moments and make her smile.

You were a biomedical engineer and fixing things came just as naturally to you as it did to Baran.

Something always needed fixing and you weren't sure if it was you or equipment.

You found each other in those moments and talked about nothing and everything.

Her favorite thing to talk about was her son. He was such a cute baby and you showed her pictures of your nieces and nephews in return.

You didn't have any kids of your own, but it didn't matter. You were young and had no idea what the future held for you.

Your talks always got cut short, but you didn't mind because you knew you'd be back and she'd be there.

What you didn't expect was coming back one day and finding that she in fact was not there.

Your heart clenched as you ran around the camp, searching for answers.

When one of the doctors saw you looking lost she took pity on you and told you she'd been taken to another place to help.

It was then that you realized you'd been in love with her and it tore you to pieces.

You knew it shouldn't have been a big thing, she was married, but your whole world changed in an instant.

From then on you focused on the work and went about your business. With time Baran became a distant, but pleasant memory. You were grateful for her friendship and kindness.

You hoped she was doing well.

You only had another year left on your contract before you could go home. You thought about enlisting again until you met your wife just six months after Baran had left.

Coincidentally your wife was a military medic, a twist of fate really.

She was your rock for the rest of your time overseas and when you returned home in late 2019, life couldn't have been better for the two of you.

You settled down in Pittsburgh, where she'd gotten an amazing job, and your life flourished.

You got married, had three kids, and two dogs. It was perfect until it wasn't. 2020 rolled around and with it came sickness unlike anything you'd ever seen before.

Your wife lost both of her parents and she struggled to keep her head held high when she gave birth to your first daughter, Maia.

By 2022 things were looking better and the two of you decided to try for another child.

You'd offered to carry the next child, but she insisted. You wished you tried harder.

She died while giving birth to your twins; Toa and Hana at the end of 2023.

In the blink of an eye you went from married with one daughter to a widow with two daughters and a son.

It was devastating, but you had to keep moving. Your family needed you. And truth be told you needed them too.

Now things felt more settled. You missed your wife terribly, but she was never forgotten.

You raised your kids, making sure they got as much exposure to both of their cultures as possible and you knew everyday was a blessing.

Your wife may have been taken way too soon, but you'd never let her disappear.

You no longer wore your wedding ring on your finger, but kept it on a chain around your neck with her dog tags to have her close to you.

Your mom moved in with you just over a year ago and it was a nice change for all of you.

The kids adored her and you were grateful for her help. Especially on days like these, when you wanted to be alone.

You loved your family, but it was on this day that your wife sat heavy on your heart. It was your anniversary.

Your kids were still too young to understand what you were dealing with and you didn't want to upset them. So you had a tradition of going to a bar and having a drink for her.

It was only ever one drink, you hated alcohol, but somehow you felt close to her when you ordered her favorite; an old fashioned.

Why that was her favorite you'd never know but it didn't matter.

You sat in the corner of the bar nursing your drink, minding your business when everything went to shit.

“You shouldn't be wearing that.” Some guy barked at you over your shoulder. You furrowed your brows and decided to ignore him.

You were wearing one of your wife's old veterans hats. It was something she was incredibly proud of, but you rarely ever wore.

The guy was clearly drunk and being an ass. You weren't going to let him ruin your day so you ignored him.

You were watching whatever was on one of the TVs when her hat was snatched off your head.

“This isn't for women to be wearing.” You'd barely heard his rambling before your body reacted and you tackled the guy to the ground.

All you saw was red and before you knew it you were being knocked to the floor and everything went dark.

It didn't matter though, you got a few good punches in and broke a bottle on the guy's head. Having her hat back in your possession was all that mattered.

When you woke up you were being rolled into a different room in a hospital you had vowed not to enter just three years ago.

The lights were blinding as your eyes focused and a familiar face popped into your view.

“Dana.” You croaked out. She smiled at you as doctors and nurses moved around you.

They were all moving at the speed of light trying to tend to your injuries, but when your voice was called from the doorway your heart stopped.

You recognized that voice.

Your eyes searched the room before finding big brown ones you hadn't seen in over eight years.

“Baran.” The Persian quickly crossed the room and commanded it like it was second nature.

You couldn't take your eyes off of her. She carefully took your face into her hands to assess the bruises forming on your face.

“You got into a bar fight?” She questioned, quiet enough not to startle you. You bit your lip and nodded.

“You should see the other guy.” Princess teased as she hung a liquid that you couldn't identify.

The nurse could see the question in your face and assured you he was okay. As much of an asshole as he was, you didn't want to kill him.

“Your face is going to be swollen, you'll definitely have two black eyes by tomorrow, and you dislocated your wrist.” Baran said matter-of-factly.

You nodded and looked down at your wrist that was already in a cast. That's when you fully realized you were in a hospital gown and started freaking out.

“Hey, I have all of your belongings here. They're safe.” You sighed as Dana passed you the bag.

“You're married?” Baran asked, more so commented, as she saw the ring hanging on her dog tags. The room full of people quieted immediately.

“I was, she used to work at this hospital. Her name was Dr. Awhina Te Kanawa. She died three years ago.”

Baran paused as she looked at you. She could see the emotion swirling behind your eyes. It was something about you that she always adored.

You always did wear your heart on your sleeve.

“I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure she was an amazing woman and a great doctor.” You teared up as a smile pulled at your lips.

“She was.” It was then that your mother came rushing.

“Mom, where are the kids?” Your heart was racing again.

“Oh don't worry. I called Sheila, she's at the house now. They're still napping.” You breathed a sigh of relief as Dana made room for your mom to stand beside you.

Her and Dana immediately started talking and going through all your medical issues as though you weren't there.

You turned your head back to Baran who was pretending to look at your stats. You could tell she was nervous by the way she scratched at her forearm anxiously.

“How have you been? How's Kian?” Baran's eyes immediately snapped to yours and softened.

“You remembered after all this time?” You nodded as best you could.

“I remembered.” Before she could answer, Perlah popped her head in and informed them of an incoming trauma.

She gave you a wide smile and saluted you before going back to her post.

You were stable and doing better as you readjusted to the hospital. As everyone filed out, they patted your leg encouragingly and told you it was good to see you again.

Baran was the last to leave the room before giving you a small smile and walking away.

“She was checking you out.” You rolled your eyes as best you could and sucked your teeth.

“Mom.” You warned.

“What, I have eyes. She seems nice and clearly your type.” You laughed at her.

“I marry one doctor and suddenly I have a type.” You say incredulously.

“You dated a nurse when you were in college.”

“She was a nursing student mom.”

“Same thing.” She batted her hand at your shoulder and took a good look at you.

“You scared me.” You gave her a sad smile and apologized.

“I scared myself. A guy tried to take Whi's hat from me.” Your mother cringed as she ran her fingers through your hair.

“Sheesh, I hate to see what he looks like.” You shrugged, but laughed along with her.

“They need to keep me for observation because I blacked out, but I want you to go home and be there for the kids.”

“Yeah, Dana told me. I'm glad you're okay baby.”

“Me too mom, me too.”

Once your mom left you dozed off. You were incredibly tired as the pain meds kicked in.

Dana came in a few hours later with your discharge papers and you smiled at her.

“This isn't how I'd hoped to see you again.” You pursed your lips at her and nodded.

“I know it was hard after losing her, but if you're ever up to it I'd love to see the kids again. I miss them and you.” You sighed in response but nodded.

“We miss you too," D. Maia still asks about you every once in a while. I'm sorry I've been so distant. I know I pushed you all away. I tried to tell myself you were her friends, but really you were our family.”

A tear fell down Dana's cheek as she wiped one of yours away.

“Sunday dinner, my place, no exceptions. You know the time.” You smiled at her and took her hand.

The two of you were startled by a knock on the doorframe.

Your heart rate spiked when you saw the Persian woman standing there. She looked worn out from the day, but still beautiful.

Fear coiled in your stomach as she walked closer to the two of you.

Dana could see the tension between you two clear as day.

“Don't be afraid to live, kid. She'd want you to be happy.” You blew out a puff of air through your mouth and smiled tightly at Dana.

You knew she was right, but part of you wasn't sure if you were ready. But part of you couldn't deny that there was still a spark with Baran.

Then it hit you that she was married the last time you'd seen her.

She was dressed in her civilian clothes now and you didn't see a ring on her finger. Hope and anxiety simultaneously washed over you.

You instinctively reached for your necklace and held it for support.

Dana kissed you on the forehead and whispered something to Baran before leaving the two of you alone. You decided not to comment on their private moment.

“Tell me about her?” Baran asked as her eyes washed over the ring and dog tags between your fingers.

“She was amazing. She was smart and funny and had so much sass in her. Our oldest, Maia, is just like her. Today is— well would've been our seventh year wedding anniversary. I think you two would've gotten along.” You joked sadly as you sat yourself up in the bed, feet dangling off the edge.

“From what I've heard over the last few months here, I think you're right. Granted I didn't know who she was, not really. But I've heard a few stories from Princess, Perlah, and Dana.” Baran took a seat at the edge of the bed and just stared at you for a moment.

It was something she'd always done, just look at you. It was a simple task, but she liked being able to read the things you didn't say out loud.

“Can I drive you home?” Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at your paperwork and clothes in your hand.

“Baran.” You weren't sure what to say.

“Things are more complicated than I know, but what I do know is I don't want to lose you again.” Her confession knocked the wind out of you.

“I tried to leave you my number all those years ago, but I barely got the chance to breathe before I was on another plane and in a different time zone. And I didn't know your last name so I couldn't look you up on facebook.”

You smiled, but furrowed your brows. Baran could somehow still read you like a book.

“I liked you, even back then. You made everything a little calmer and it felt like I could breathe better when you were around.” Baran always had been the one to get right to the point.

“I got divorced when I came back stateside in 2018. Kian was so little and I realized I didn't want to live my life in anyone else's image, certainly not my parent's. When he was three I went to Kabul and it was the last mission that I ever did. I've struggled with PTSD since then, but therapy sometimes helps. Kian’s nine now and the best kid I could ask for. He truly saved my life when I got back because I wanted to be present for him.”

You smirked and nodded, you knew how that felt.

“I felt the same way while Awhina died. She um, it was in this hospital that I lost her. I haven't been back here since.” Baran's eyebrows shot up to her hair.

“Childbirth, with our twins. She didn't make it off the table, but my three babies became my world. I'm raising them the best I can. My mom lives with us now and it's a good situation for all of us.”

You pulled your phone out of the bag and cued up a picture of your three kids to show Baran. She completely melted at the photo.

“Oh, they're precious. The dimples are everything.” You smiled at the photo and nodded.

“They share them with their mom. Maia's six and Toa and Hana are almost three.” You beamed proudly as you showed Baran a photo of you and Awhina. Baran's smile deepened at the photo of the two of you together before her eyebrows furrowed.

“Holy shit.” Baran gasped.

“I met her before I left. She saw us together and asked about you. I told her you were single and she'd be lucky to have you.”

You busted out laughing at that, completely unable to breathe. Of course they'd met, they were both doctors and somehow kept ending up on the same parts of the Earth.

It was absolutely ridiculous and tragically beautiful.

“Thank you for sending her my way.” You smiled in between tears of laughter.

“I think I should be thanking her for sending you back to me.” Your mouth shut abruptly as your hand instinctively went up to your neck.

You really didn't know what to say to Baran now. This gorgeous woman sitting at the foot of your bed. You didn't know if you wanted to run out of the room or collapse into her arms.

“I'm willing to take things slow, completely at your pace. If all we become is friends then I will be grateful, but if there's something more I wouldn't be opposed to exploring that option too. I could never replace her for you or your kids. But I would love to get to know them and you, and by extension Ahwina, if that's something you'd be okay with doing.”

You carefully looked at Baran and knew she was sincere. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her body.

You gently placed your necklace down against your chest and reached your hand out to Baran. She took it softly and carefully brushed your knuckles with her thumb.

You shuddered at the touch, but felt yourself relaxing immediately.

“If I've learned anything it's to trust the universe's timing. I may not always know what the plan is, but it exists. I'd like to see where this goes. And I'll take your offer to drive me home as long as we go to dinner first.”

Baran's eyes lit up as she nodded.

For the first time in years she felt alive and unbeknownst to either of you, your hearts beat to the same rhythm.

The future was unknown, but Baran was glad to know you were in hers in some capacity and that was enough.

***

Masterlist - Archive of Our Own

Taglist: @sepisbabe

[hashimizam]

solace within you

baran X reader-whos-a-bit-emotionally-costipated(?)

Tags: established marriage, angst, fluff question mark? Not proofread

synopsis: you expected your wife to come back tired but content, however it doesn't seem that way when you see the weight in her eyes when she comes home.

WC: ~1k

Note: This was originally supposed to be a oneshot for my Pittsona and her, but I decided to tweak a few things and post this as some sort of filler while polling about Baran and readers wedding! And this is more of a drabble than anything just to get my hands moving.

Baran had gotten up early this morning- a valid statement if you counted her waking up every hour in the night. Being anxious about your first day in a new medical center does that to you. She has told you, her wife, about the promotion she had been given. A huge opportunity, but one that weighted responsibility on her shoulders.

So at crack 4 in the morning when Baran finally kicked off the sheets after multiple failures of trying to actually fall asleep and a muttered apology for keeping you awake, you got up with her no matter how much your body protested.

Even if Baran did insist that you should stay in bed, you wanted to support your wife every step of the way, knowing how big of a step this is for her. After politely forcing Baran to atleast eat a banana, you packed her lunch- nothing extravagant, just enough to fill, handed it to Baran and sent her off with a good luck kiss.

Everything was going swell for you during the day- dealing with your job, coming home to organise your shared place, then making dinner. That was until Baran came home later than expected- something you've grown accustomed to.

"Kitchen!" Your voice traveled across the place, your ears strained as you listened to your wife's footsteps approach the area. "How was your first- day.." Your usually welcoming gaze (If you count your eyes doing the smiling when your lips remained flat) immediately wavered at the sight of your wife.

It was worse than any chronic joint pain you had to go through every winter.

Hair untied and wild in its own beautiful form, yet her eyes were the heaviest they've been. It was an easy tell that she'd been crying on her way home. Black tank top- presumably she threw her scrubs in her bag.

".. Cariño.." You called quietly called, immediately lowering youe voice as she sets the plates down on the table, your footsteps silent as she padded slowly towards Baran with a tilted head and a precarious expression, as if approaching a wounded puppy.

Baran didn't move from her spot- a few feet away from the island counter, arms limp on her sides and eyes glassy with lack of focus. Her chest rose too fast- short, shallow breaths that betrayed how hard she's was trying to not cry again. But slowly started to fail doing so.

At the sound of her wife- you, emotionally constipated but doing your best, in all your glory, called to her, Baran sucked a large breath in, bottom lip trembling before she bit down on it hard.

She didn't speak. Couldn't. A single tear escaped before Baran could stop it, slipping down her cheek.

"Díos.. Baran..." You cooed, straightening herself up not to appear larger, but to offer herself as a safety net with open arms (albeit hesitantly, unsure whether or not if your actions rendered rude or warm. You're trying.)

Baran didn't hesitate. The moment your arms opened for her- however hesitant, she folded, collapsing into the your arms. She buried her face in the curve of your shoulder, one hand clutching shakily at the back of your thin button down, the other pressed flat against your spine- as if attempting to fuse you two together.

"Ah." You huffed in quiet surprise as Baran enveloped your smaller frame, arms hovering hesitantly before eventually finding purchase on Baran's lower back, rubbing slow circles with your fingers.

Carefully, with one hand, you raised it to gently slide off the strap of Baran's bag off her shoulder, the attending making no resistance as she lets her arm limp uselessly as the it fell and the weight lifted off her shoulder, before immediately latching back onto you.

The weight of Baran's bag sliding off her shoulder felt like a monumetal release- like boulders finally rolling off her shoulders. From carrying everything, it felt like she wasn't carrying anything for a fraction. You kept the steady rhythm of rubbing Baran's back as the attending's breath began to slow but remained uneven.

"Ouf.. easy, love." You whispered as you rubbed your other hand higher, between Baran's shoulder blades, feeling the dampness accumulate on the crook of your neck. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, yet you decided to let the matter be- your wife's current state was much more important than how the your skin screamed at the tears staining your shirt.

A quiet hum went through the your lips, briefly pressing your slightly chapped lips against the top of the attending's head.

You didn’t speak, allowing Baran the moment of silence she knew (more-so assumed, but knew enough) she needed. Every nerve in your body was focused on offering security and reassure, the careful circles being traced between Baran's shoulder blades carefully measured.

The touch was gentle. Methodical in its care, and it undid something in Baran. It felt like coming home after being lost for hours without realizing she was wandering.

"Come on." You pulled back a fraction, only to grasp Baran's hand while allowing the older woman to lean her weight onto you, taking both of you into the kitchen where plated pasta laid, lightly steaming as the smoke curled against the overhead light.

"Here." You pulled a chair from beneath the island counter, allowing Baran to slowly slide herself on top of the wooden seat, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

You padded towards the fridge, taking out a cool pitcher of water, closing the frame with a quiet thump before moving towards the cabinet of utensils and other dinnerware. You opened one, the soft creak echoing in the small kitchen as you pulled out two glass cups and forks for the meal.

Baran stared blankly at the pristine surface that she assumed in the back of her mind that you cleaned earlier, barely registering how you poured both glasses with water before setting both glasswares on either side of the plates.

The steam from the pasta curled upward like ghosts rising. The scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the small kitchen; comforting, familiar, home.

Baran stared at her plate as if seeing food for the first time today. She hadn’t eaten since lunch- the packed food you had given to her the only thing that pushed her through the rest of the day. Baran wanted to somehow give a quiet thanks, some sort of response to your care.

But no words came out yet. Her throat felt thick as her mind brought her back: Robby’s cruel comments about “medical risks,” how he’d used her seizures against her, and how she’d almost walked out three times before the end of her shift..

Instead, Baran reached slowly for one glass and took a sip, not thirsty so much as needing something to do while watching her wife, her steady beloved who setted aside her discomfort for such closeness to help Baran through her struggle.

I'll fix my layout when I get on my laptop ☝️

[belleeebelleee]

Baran Al-Hashimi x fem!reader

Baran is 40, reader mid 20s.

Habibti means my love, my dear or my darling

You're a nurse at the VA Hospital and friends with Baran Al-Hashimi and she becomes another mother figure to your daughter.

The first time Baran Al-Hashimi picks your daughter up from daycare, you apologize three times.

“I can leave early,” you insist over the phone, already shrugging your bag back onto your shoulder. “I’ll figure something out—”

“You are not leaving your shift,” Baran cuts in, calm and immovable in that way she has. “I’m already in the car.”

“She’s a lot,” you warn, because you always do. “She’s picky with food, and she gets shy when she’s tired, and—”

“I’ve raised people tougher than a toddler,” Baran says dryly. Then, softer, “Send me her teacher’s name.”

You do.

And that’s that.

It becomes… normal after that.

Not all at once. Not in a way you notice immediately.

Just—little things.

Baran texting you a photo of your daughter in the backseat, cheeks puffed out with crackers, captioned: she has opinions about apple slices.

Baran learning which snacks get eaten and which get dramatically rejected.

Baran showing up at your apartment with takeout and quietly taking over when you’re too exhausted to think straight, pressing a plate into your hands and saying, “Eat. I’ve got her.”

At first, you thank her constantly.

Too much.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you tell her one night, watching as she braids your daughter’s hair with careful, practiced fingers.

Baran doesn’t look up. “I know.”

“But—”

“I want to.”

Simple.

Final.

You don’t argue after that.

Your daughter takes to her faster than you expected.

Faster than you’re ready for.

At first, it’s small.

Gravitating toward her. Reaching for her hand. Asking if “Baran can come too.”

Then it becomes routine.

Baran picking her up when your shifts run late.

Baran dropping her off in the mornings when you’ve worked nights and can barely keep your eyes open.

Baran sitting on the couch with her tucked against her side, reading the same book three times in a row because “again” apparently means again forever.

It should feel strange.

Instead, it feels like relief.

Like breathing.

The first time your daughter gets sick, it’s 3am.

She’s crying. Miserable. Feverish.

You’re already half out of bed when you hear Baran’s voice from the doorway.

“Hey,” she murmurs, stepping in like she belongs there. “I’ve got her.”

You hesitate. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

There it is again.

You watch as she scoops your daughter up, settling her against her chest with quiet confidence.

“It’s okay, habibti,” she soothes. “We’ll take care of it.”

Your daughter clings to her.

“Want Mama,” she whimpers.

Your chest tightens—but before you can move, your daughter adds, small and broken,

“…want Baran too.”

Something shifts in the room.

You meet Baran’s eyes over your daughter’s head.

There’s something there.

Something neither of you name.

It builds from there.

Quietly. Steadily.

Your daughter starts calling for both of you.

Not choosing.

Not replacing.

Just… expecting.

“Mama!” “Baran!”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like there was always meant to be two of you.

It's warm at the park.

Your daughter is running ahead, chasing after another kid with the kind of fearless joy only toddlers have. You and Baran trail behind, coffee in hand, the conversation drifting between work, sleep schedules, and whatever random story Baran is telling that has you laughing.

It feels… good.

Soft.

Domestic in a way you haven’t let yourself think too hard about.

You’re halfway through saying something when you hear it.

Your daughter’s voice, bright and clear.

“Wait! I have to ask my mums!”

You freeze.

Baran stills beside you.

The world doesn’t stop—but it feels like it does.

Your daughter runs back toward you both, tugging on your sleeve.

“Mama, Baran,” she says, completely unbothered. “Can I go play over there?”

You blink down at her.

“Your… mums?” you repeat, a little dazed.

She nods like it’s obvious. “Yeah.”

Baran is very quiet next to you.

You glance at her, but she’s already looking at your daughter.

“Stay where we can see you,” Baran says gently. “And be nice.”

“Okay!” your daughter chirps, already running off again.

And just like that, she’s gone.

Leaving the word hanging in the air.

Mums.

You don’t speak right away.

Neither of you do.

You sit down on the bench, the weight of it settling slowly.

Finally, you let out a small, nervous laugh.

“Well,” you say. “That’s… new.”

Baran exhales quietly.

“Yes,” she agrees.

You risk a look at her.

She’s not uncomfortable.

Not upset.

Just… thoughtful.

Careful.

“I didn’t tell her to say that,” you add quickly. “I mean—I’ve never—”

“I know,” Baran says.

Her voice is steady.

Too steady.

“She just… picked it,” you finish, softer now.

Baran nods once, eyes still on your daughter across the park.

Another silence stretches between you.

This one heavier.

“I don’t want to overstep,” she says finally.

The words land harder than you expect.

You turn toward her fully. “You’re not.”

“I might be,” she replies, calm but firm. “She’s your child.”

“She is,” you agree. Then, quieter, “But you’re… important to her.”

Baran’s jaw tightens slightly. “That doesn’t give me the right to take a place that isn’t mine.”

Your chest aches.

“Is it not yours?” you ask.

That makes her look at you.

Really look at you.

The question hangs there.

Raw.

Honest.

Baran studies your face like she’s searching for something—permission, maybe. Or the truth.

“I care about her,” she says slowly. “More than I planned to. More than I expected.”

“I know.”

“I care about you,” she adds.

Your breath catches.

“That’s not—” she stops, recalibrates. “This isn’t casual for me. Being here. With you. With her.”

“It’s not for me either,” you admit.

The air shifts again.

Something closer. Softer.

Baran exhales, looking away briefly like she’s choosing her words carefully.

“If she calls me that,” she says, “it’s because she feels safe. Because she trusts me.”

“She does.”

“But you have to decide if that’s something you want,” Baran continues. “For her. For you.”

Your heart is pounding now.

Because this isn’t just about your daughter.

You both know that.

You swallow hard. “And what do you want?”

Baran goes very still.

For a moment, you think she might deflect. Avoid it.

She doesn’t.

“I want to be here,” she says. “With both of you. Not as a guest. Not as someone temporary.”

Your chest tightens.

“I want to take care of her,” she continues. “To show up. To be someone she can rely on.”

Your eyes sting.

Baran’s gaze softens in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I want you,” she says.

There’s no hesitation.

No ambiguity.

Just truth.

“I have for a while,” she admits. “I just didn’t think it was something you would want. Or something that would be fair to you.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“Baran…”

“I’m not trying to replace anything,” she says quickly. “Not her father, not you—”

“You’re not,” you interrupt.

She stops.

You step closer.

“You’re not replacing anything,” you repeat. “You’re… adding to it.”

Her expression shifts—something hopeful breaking through.

“And I want you here,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “I want you with us. With me.”

That does it.

The careful control she holds onto slips, just a little.

“Are you sure?” she asks quietly.

You nod.

“I’ve been doing this alone for so long,” you admit. “And then you showed up and it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.”

Baran’s hand finds yours.

Warm. Steady.

“I don’t want to do it without you now.”

Her thumb brushes against your knuckles.

“And her calling you that…” you glance toward your daughter, still playing happily, “it didn’t scare me. It just… made sense.”

Baran exhales, something deep and emotional.

“Say it again,” she murmurs.

You smile softly.

“Mums.”

Her grip on your hand tightens.

“Okay,” she says.

It’s quiet.

But it’s everything.

Later, when you’re walking home, your daughter skips between you, holding both your hands.

“Mama,” she says, looking up at you.

“Yes, baby?”

She turns to Baran.

“Also Mama?”

Baran pauses.

Looks at you.

You nod.

Just once.

Baran looks back down at her, something soft and full in her expression.

“Yes,” she says gently. “Maman.”

Your daughter beams.

And just like that—

It’s decided.