Title: Somewhere Between Atlanta and a Heartbeat
Pairing: Matt Czuchry x Zaida OC / Dr. Conrad Hawkins x Zaida OC
Warnings: Emotional distress, crying, fainting, romantic/sexual tension, mild suggestive content, brief hospital setting
Author’s Note: This was requested. I am not back because of my busy schedule between work and my content on TikTok. I hope you like what I created. 💙
Requested by @zaidatorcuatomorgado
Zaida had never done anything like this before.
Traveling alone. Crossing borders without anyone’s hand to hold. Leaving Petrer—its quiet streets, the familiar warmth of Alicante, the comfort of knowing exactly where she belonged—to fly thousands of kilometers away to Atlanta, Georgia.
Her suitcase felt heavier than it should have, not because of clothes, but because of everything she carried inside her chest: fear, excitement, hope, disbelief.
Epic Con wasn’t just a convention—it was the culmination of years of admiration, loyalty, and love for a man whose work had quietly accompanied her life since 2008. Since Gilmore Girls. Since The Good Wife. Through every role, every interview, every new chapter, she had supported Matt Czuchry without hesitation, without condition.
And then The Resident happened.
The very first episode of the very first season—and everything shifted.
Dr. Conrad Hawkins wasn’t just a character on a screen. He was fierce, compassionate, stubborn, brilliant. He cared too much in a world that punished people for that. He healed not just bodies, but broken systems. Watching him felt like watching someone fight for everything Zaida believed in.
From that moment on, Conrad Hawkins became her only favorite character from The Resident. No competition. No debate. Just him.
So now, standing inside the convention center in Atlanta, surrounded by noise, laughter, cameras, and voices speaking a language that still felt foreign on her tongue, Zaida’s body betrayed her.
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Her legs trembled beneath her weight, her knees threatening to give out with every step closer to the autograph table. The line moved forward inch by inch, each second stretching painfully long. Her heart hammered so violently against her ribs that she felt dizzy.
You can do this, she told herself.
You flew across the ocean. You can stand here.
When it was finally her turn, when she finally stood in front of him, the world collapsed.
Tears spilled before she could stop them—hot, uncontrollable, overwhelming. Her chest tightened, breath tearing in and out of her lungs in broken sobs. Words refused to come. Everything she had practiced, everything she wanted to say, vanished.
Mortified, Zaida stumbled away from the line, crying loudly, her sobs echoing embarrassingly through the hall. She pressed herself against a nearby wall, then slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
“Breathe,” she whispered to herself.
But her body didn’t listen.
That’s when everything changed.
The voice was calm. Gentle. Concerned.
Zaida lifted her head—and froze.
Matt Czuchry stood in front of her.
Not on a screen. Not behind a character.
His expression wasn’t annoyed or confused—it was openly worried.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, immediately crouching down to her level. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you okay?”
She shook her head, tears falling faster.
Without hesitation, he sat on the floor beside her, uncaring of the crowd, the staff, the schedule. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder—warm, grounding, real.
That simple human contact broke her.
She leaned into him instinctively, her forehead pressing against his chest as sobs wracked her body. Her fingers curled into his shirt as if he were the only solid thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
“I’m Matt,” he said quietly, his voice steady, anchoring her back to the present. “What’s your name?”
“Z-Zaida,” she managed through tears.
And slowly—between trembling breaths and shaky pauses—she told him everything.
About this being her first time traveling alone.
About how scared she was, how overwhelmed she felt, how much this moment meant to her.
“I’ve admired you since 2008,” she confessed, embarrassed but honest. “I’ve always supported you. Always.”
His eyes softened even more.
“And then The Resident,” she continued, voice cracking. “The first episode… Conrad Hawkins became everything to me. He’s my only favorite character.”
Matt smiled—wide, emotional, genuinely moved.
“That means more to me than you know,” he said, pulling her into a warm, protective hug. “Thank you.”
She felt safe. For the first time that day, her breathing slowed.
“You don’t have to be alone,” he added gently. “Not here. Not tonight. Come with me.”
She didn’t question it. Somehow, she trusted him completely.
His house felt quiet. Peaceful. Like a place where nothing bad could reach her.
“Give me one second,” Matt said, disappearing down the hall.
When he returned, Zaida’s breath caught painfully in her throat.
He was wearing Conrad Hawkins’ scrubs.
The Chastain Park Memorial Hospital ID clipped neatly to the chest pocket.
A stethoscope tucked casually into his back pocket.
“Hey,” he said quickly, noticing her panic. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, strong and reassuring. “You’re okay. You don’t need to be nervous.”
His voice sounded different now.
Her vision blurred. Her legs gave out.
“Zaida… can you hear me?”
Hands touched her gently—professional, careful.
White walls. Soft lighting. The rhythmic beep of monitors.
She lifted her hand—and froze.
A wedding ring glinted on her finger.
Confused, breath hitching, she turned her head.
Dr. Conrad Hawkins stood beside her bed.
He smiled tenderly and sat down on the edge of the mattress, his presence warm and steady. He slipped his stethoscope into place.
“May I?” he asked softly, gesturing toward her chest.
As he listened to her heart, his thumb brushed comforting circles against her hand.
“Zaida, my love,” he said quietly. “Welcome to the hospital.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I love you from the bottom of my heart,” he continued. “And I feel incredibly lucky to have you in my life.”
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips—soft, reverent, full of promise.
And somewhere between fear and faith, between reality and fiction, between Atlanta and a heartbeat—
Zaida knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.
