⸝⸝ warnings : angst . little comfort . breach of trust . unplanned pregnancy . slightly manipulative baran . anger . betrayal . complicated reconciliation .
notes : it’s getting harder to write about baran’s son without giving him a name, so i named him kaveh, like i’ve seen others do. also, idrk where i’m going with this, don’t really have much inspiration. so if anyone wants another part (???) feel free to give me inspiration >_<
part one
wc : 1.9k
you hear a knock on the door many days later and your stomach drops like a stone. you’ve been avoiding her texts the whole time. the first one came the morning after, simple and careful: you okay? then another later that day, and another the next. you left them all on read, staring at your phone until the screen went dark, because what the hell were you supposed to say?
you open the door and baran stands there under the porch light in a dark hoodie and jeans, hair pulled back neat.
“hey,” she says, voice calm but quieter than usual. “you haven’t answered me. figured i’d check in person instead of guessing.”
you don’t invite her in. you just stand there in the doorway, arms crossed tight over your chest like that might hold everything inside. the last few days have been hell with mornings spent dry-heaving over the toilet, breasts sore and heavy, this constant low-level panic sitting in your gut that won’t quit no matter how many times you tell yourself to breathe.
you took the test this morning. two lines. faint but there, staring back at you from the bathroom counter like some kind of accusation. and now she’s here, the reason for all of it, looking at you with those soft eyes like she still has every right to show up unannounced in your life.
“now’s not a good time,” you mutter, but she steps inside anyway, closing the door soft behind her. your son is at a friend’s house for a play date, thank god. you don’t need him walking in on whatever mess this is about to become.
baran doesn’t sit down or make herself comfortable. she just leans against the wall in the entryway, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets, watching you with a patient, focused look that always made you feel seen and cornered at the same time. “you look exhausted,” she says after a minute, “talk to me. what’s going on?”
you laugh, but it comes out sharp and bitter, echoing a little in the quiet house. you turn and walk into the living room because standing in the doorway feels too exposed, and she follows without asking, her steady presence right behind you making your skin prickle.
“talk to you?” you spin on her, the words spilling out hot and fast before you can stop them. your chest feels tight, anger and fear and this stupid ache all tangled up together. “after what you did? i trusted you, baran. you looked me in the eye and promised. you said it would just be one time, that you wouldn’t-“ your voice breaks and you press a hand against your stomach without thinking, the test still sitting upstairs like some kind of bomb waiting to blow up everything again. “i think i’m pregnant. i took a test this morning and it’s positive. the lines are faint, but they’re there.”
the silence stretches for a second, thick and heavy enough that you can hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. her expression doesn’t change much at first but you catch the flicker in her eyes anyway, something satisfied and relieved that she tries to hide behind a slow blink. it makes your stomach twist harder, because of course she’d look like that. like this was part of some quiet plan she’d been turning over in her head for months.
she steps closer, slow and careful, like you’re a patient she doesn’t want to spook. “you’re sure?” she asks, voice low and even, no panic in it at all. just steady focus, like she’s already thinking three steps ahead about doctor appointments and due dates and whatever else she’s decided makes sense.
“yeah, i’m sure!” you snap, backing up until your legs hit the couch and you sit down hard. the anger bubbles up hot and fast now, mixing with the fear that’s been gnawing at you for days, making your voice shake. “you did this on purpose, didn’t you? all that ‘just one time’ bullshit, the promises while you were inside me. you lied straight to my face. you always get what you want, baran. always so fucking precise about everything except when it comes to keeping your word with me. god, i trusted you. after everything we’ve been through, i still let myself trust you.”
baran sits down on the coffee table right in front of you, knees almost touching yours, close enough that you can smell her familiar perfume. her hands rest on her thighs, fingers tapping once before she stills them completely. she meets your eyes without flinching. “i’m not gonna lie and say i regret how i felt that night,” she says quietly, honest. she’s so calm and it somehow cuts deeper than shouting. “i missed you. missed us. feeling you like that again… it felt right. natural. we’ve done it before, back when things were good.”
you scoff, the sound sharp and ugly in your throat. “i’ve already told you. we’re not. married anymore, baran.” you punctuate the words, maybe it’ll get through her head for once. “you don’t get to decide that for me. you don’t get to just… take what you want and expect me to be okay with it. i trusted you.”
she offers this small, almost sad smile that just makes the anger flare hotter. “i know,” she says, leaning forward a little, elbows on her knees. “and i’m sorry it happened that way. i meant it when i said i wouldn’t. but in the moment…” she shakes her head, a dry little huff of breath escaping like she’s half laughing at herself. “you felt too good. it came natural, like muscle memory. call it a relapse, call it me being selfish, call it whatever you want. but i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere.”
the anger mixes with something else, this deep ache that’s been sitting in your chest since the divorce papers were signed. you feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. “what am i supposed to do, baran?” your voice cracks, quieter now, the fight draining into something exhausted and scared. “we’re not together. we have a kid already and it’s complicated enough without adding another one into the mix. i can’t just… pretend everything’s fine. i wake up every morning sick and terrified and all i can think about is how it feels like my choice didn’t matter to you.”
she reaches out slowly, like she’s giving you time to pull away, and rests her hand on your knee, thumb brushing gentle circles. “your choice matters,” she says softly, eyes locked on yours. “it always has. i fucked up, i own that. but this baby… it doesn’t have to be a disaster. we were a good family, even when everything else was shit.”
she leans forward, elbows on her knees, looking at you like she’s weighing every word carefully before she says it. “you don’t have to pretend everything’s okay. i’m not asking you to. but you don’t have to do any of this alone either. if you’re pregnant - and we’ll get you a proper doctor’s appointment to make sure, run the bloodwork, all of that - i’m in this. doctor’s visits, go to the gas station in the middle of the night for you, whatever you need. i can move some things around at work. hell, i can move in if you want. help with kaveh,” she pauses and looks down at your belly with a soft smile. “help with this one. we make good kids together. you know that very well.”
you stare at her, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs. part of you wants to yell, to shove her perfect plans right back in her face and tell her to get the hell out. but another part - the tired, lonely part that’s been missing her steady presence in the house, the way she always knew how to make things feel manageable - actually listens. it scares you how much it listens. “you can’t just say that,” you whisper, voice cracking. “move in? like it’s that simple? we fought for months before the divorce. screaming at each other, nights where neither of us could even look at each other. what makes you think this fixes anything? a baby doesn’t magically fix us.”
“it doesn’t fix everything,” she admits, voice steady but softer now, like she’s talking to you the way she talks to patients when things are delicate. she reaches out slowly and takes your hand, thumb tracing gentle circles over your knuckles the way she used to when things got heavy between you. her touch is warm, familiar, and it makes the ache in your chest worse. “but it’s a start. i never stopped loving you. never stopped wanting our family whole. this baby… it could be that. if you let it be.”
you pull your hand back but not fast, letting your fingers linger against hers for a second longer than you mean to. the contact feels dangerous, like it could pull you right back under. “i need time to think. i’m angry with you. really angry, actually. you don’t get to manipulate your way back into my life like this, no matter how much you miss us.”
she nods, no argument, just her patient look that always makes you feel seen even when you don’t want to be. “i know. and i’m not trying to manipulate you. take the time you need, azizam. i’m not going anywhere.” she pauses, glancing toward the kitchen like she can sense the dinner you abandoned when she knocked. “look, kaveh’s at his play date, right? let me stay and help with dinner. i can make kotlet, i know you both love it.” she pauses,” and probably miss it.” she shrugs. it almost makes you scoff, she just smiles and gives you a sympathetic look. “you look like you haven’t eaten properly in days either. let me do that much at least. no pressure at all, just food. and quiet if that’s what you need.”
you want to tell her no. you want to send her home and lock the door and pretend none of this is happening. but the nausea has left you drained, and the thought of cooking right now feels impossible. plus there’s that stupid, traitorous part of you that doesn’t want her to leave yet. “fine,” you mutter, standing up on shaky legs. “but this doesn’t mean anything. we’re not… we’re not fixing anything tonight.”
baran stands too, slow and careful, giving you space but staying close enough that her presence fills the room. “i know,” she says again, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “just dinner. i promise.”
the words hang between you as you both move toward the kitchen, the tension still thick but softer now, mixed with something complicated and familiar. she rolls up her sleeves without being asked, moving around your space like she never really left it, and for a minute it almost feels normal. almost. but every time her eyes flick to your stomach, the quiet satisfaction flickers again, and you wonder how long you can keep pretending this isn’t exactly what she wanted all along.
taglist : @pinkthrone445
comment/msg/ask to be added to taglist, and to which fandom
i think i was having baran withdrawals. this was originally going to be two parts, but i decided i didn't have any patience and made it all one part, enjoy. 🫶🏼🫶🏼
Pairing: Baran Al-Hashimi x fem!reader
Summary: You’re not ready to say those three words out loud to Baran so you default to three little taps. Baran misunderstands the significance and it leads to you two creating some distance between one another. When you get hurt at work and don't reach out, Baran takes it upon herself to try and understand what happened.
Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, nurse!reader, medical inaccuracies, angst, hurt/comfort, trinity santos, dana evans, non-graphic mentions of violence and injury, you and trinity are cousins, misunderstandings, mentions of princess and perlah
Word Count: 7,101
You fell in love with Baran Al-Hashimi the moment you saw her. Part of you hoped it was something that would pass quickly, but you weren’t that lucky.
When she’d strolled into PTMC on her first day carrying bagels you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her and help with the amount of stuff she was carrying.
She smiled at you as you introduced yourself. A tiny part of Baran was grateful that you were not a resident because she felt it too, the pull.
As the shift went on you’d catch her eye every so often and it made your heart flutter. The unfortunate thing was that you wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit you in the ass.
Dana caught on immediately.
“Utah’s calling.” You shook your head as you looked up from your charts. You’d been staring at the computer for the third time in the first hour of your shift not really doing anything.
“What?” Your brain was not at all processing what was happening or what she was saying.
“Human Utah?” Dana tried again and your eyes widened. She smirked at you knowingly and pushed you in the direction of the new attending.
The shift went to hell shortly after that and over the course of the day you’d lost track of Dr. Al-Hashimi, but she was still in the back of your mind.
When the shift ended you were ready to fall asleep while standing as you left the building. You were so out of it you hadn’t realized you’d ended up walking in the same direction as the woman who’d been on your mind.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi?” The older woman turned at the sound of her name and gave you a weak smile. You returned it as your heart beat out of your chest.
She pulled her wired headphones out of her ears and came to a stop as you reached her car.
You were standing so close to her you could feel the heat radiating off of her body in the cooling night. You didn’t mean to be so close, but when she abruptly stopped you nearly crashed into her.
She easily steadied you with her hands on your waist. Neither of you missed the way she was slow to pull away.
Baran really didn’t want to let go. You’d been kind to her all day, slightly flirty which she found herself responding to, and you were an amazing nurse.
Her head was still foggy from the seizures she’d had earlier in the day and when you so freely leaned into her touch it broke something in her.
Someone wanting to be close to her was exactly what she needed. You smiled up at her before it disappeared from your face completely.
She was crying.
Without much thought you pulled her into your arms and held her close. She was rigid for a moment before letting herself be held. Baran’s arms wrapped around your middle like a lifeline. She was completely unable to hide her pain.
Your heart clenched as a few little sobs escaped her lips. You held her tighter and raked your fingertips on her scalp.
You whispered sweet nothings into her hair and it seemed to help. At that moment Baran believed everything was going to be okay because you were holding her in your strong arms.
When Baran was finally able to catch her breath she pulled away and embarrassment instantly seeped in.
“Oh my god, I am so-” she started, but you cut her off.
“Don’t apologize. Today was a terrible day especially for your first day. When I saw you leaving I just wanted to say you did amazing. The Pitt isn’t exactly known for liking change, but I think you’re just what this department needs Dr. Al-Hashimi.”
Baran sighed as her doe eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous she was with her hair down, perfectly framing her face.
“Baran.” Was all that escaped her lips as she took in every bit of your face. You furrowed your eyebrows in response.
“You just held me while I got your scrubs all snotty. Please, call me Baran.” You bit your lip and nodded at her.
“I’ll hold you any time, Baran.” You couldn’t see her blush, but Baran felt the heat rising on her face.
Just as you were about to walk back to the hospital fireworks began overhead. Your head turned to the sky with a bright smile on your face. You loved seeing all the different colors.
You missed the way Baran flinched at the sudden noise. She wasn’t the biggest fan of fireworks, but as she stood there the sound was drowned out.
She was watching you while you admired the sky. The way your hair was loose after the long shift. How you still had your scrubs on, but they were no longer tucked in. And the way your eyes lit up every time a new color scattered across the sky.
Baran called your name when the show was over and you slowly turned to her. For the second time that night the older woman found herself being vulnerable with a near stranger.
“I shouldn’t be driving tonight.” She stated simply. You could see the quiver in her lip and tilted your head at her for her to continue speaking.
“I have epilepsy.” You nodded and took a step closer to her. Baran reached out to you and you quickly took her hand. Baran’s grip was strong.
“I can give you a ride home.” Baran hesitated, but knew she should take you up on your offer.
…
You stayed with Baran that night, just holding her in your arms and from then on your relationship grew.
You’d been dating for just over three months and everyone at the hospital knew. Some of the nurses and residents liked to tease you, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle.
Throughout the day when Baran would hover you’d smile at her and give her three little taps somewhere on her body, typically her hand. She thought it was a nervous habit at first, but when she learned you were a musician she realized it was more of a comforting stim.
Most times when Baran felt your taps she didn’t mind, but it was slowly driving her crazy. You hadn’t noticed her discomfort because they were much more than musical rhythms to you.
To you, the taps were your silent way of saying the words you’d felt for a long time. You fell easily, but you weren’t sure if Baran was quite ready to catch you. You were scared to say those three words out loud because you didn’t want to scare her off.
You’d done that in the past and you didn’t want to lose Baran in the same way. You knew she was different, but it was hard to not be reminded of your past trauma.
It was something you were working on, but you were only human.
You used the three little taps to say the words for you and that felt like enough for now. Part of you believed Baran felt the same, she showed as much, but you knew this was new for her.
She hadn’t dated since her divorce and she’d only been with one other person. You, however, were no stranger to dating. Granted most of the people you’d dated weren’t serious, but there had been a few who snuck through the cracks, but never stuck.
You felt like Baran would be the one stick, but you didn’t want to jinx it.
Although neither of you said the words there were little things you each did to show you cared. Baran always made you tea in the mornings that you woke up at her house.
She swore it was better than coffee. If you didn’t wake up with her you brought her a cup to work.
She noticed you liked drinking a specific juice after long shifts so she was sure to keep some stocked in her fridge.
She had to double the stash when her son found them because he somehow enjoyed them too. She found them disgusting.
Baran was always cold and wore fluffy clothing around the house. You’d made a habit of “accidentally” leaving your sweaters at her house. It calmed her down on the nights you weren’t there and you found it adorable when you saw her wearing your clothes.
It was little moments that you shared together that meant the world to both of you. You were each other’s calm after the storm.
You’d both been having a particularly difficult day when Baran sought you out. Just being near you made her feel that much better. She hadn’t been having any seizures lately, but the stress of the day had been getting to you.
Before you could see her, you smelled Baran’s perfume and it made you smile. Baran’s hand rested on your shoulder and yours instantly flew to hers and tapped it three times.
You couldn’t see the way Baran rolled her neck trying to relieve some tension, but you heard the groan that escaped her lips.
“I know, I can’t wait to go home either.” Baran looked at you curiously and your eyes widened. You were meant to be going over to her house tonight. It felt like home, but you hadn’t even thought about what you said before it came out of your mouth.
You tried to back pedal, but Baran beat you to it.
“I can’t wait to go home with you either.” Your smile brightened before she was pulled away to another trauma.
…
The next time you tapped Baran she was in the break room grabbing a quick cup of tea. You’d been walking by when you noticed her. You quickly popped into the room and kissed her on the cheek giving her arm three taps.
Seeing her throughout the day made yours that much better.
Baran knew it was you even though you were gone as quick as you’d come and it made her smile, but she couldn’t help the annoyance that lingered.
Baran was torn and she knew her heavy schedule had been adding to her lack of patience.
She was determined to bring it up at some point, just not while you were both at work.
…
The final time you tapped Baran that day was while you were cuddled in bed together. You’d both had a wonderful night together after such a terrible shift. You were laying in her arms, both completely relaxed.
Baran was sleepily playing with your hair. Her brain was finally quiet when she felt three little taps on her hip and suddenly she was completely awake.
You immediately felt her go rigid underneath you. Your mouth went dry and you realized what was causing her discomfort. You tried your hardest not to squirm in her arms. You hoped by not moving she’d drop the entire thing and you’d both be able to sleep.
What you didn’t expect was Baran pulling away from you completely. Suddenly the space of her bed felt like the length of a football field. She was sitting on the edge of her bed wrapped in nothing but her sheet.
You could tell she was tired, but now she was annoyed too and you had a pretty good idea which one was worse.
You waited with baited breath, not sure what to do with yourself. She wasn’t facing you when she finally spoke.
“I need to take a shower.” You moved on the bed to try and talk to her.
“Alone.” Your stomach dropped. You weren't even thinking of joining her in the shower, but the clear boundary made you feel uneasy.
You learned very quickly that Baran loved to shower with you. The intimacy of sharing the small space coupled with the act of things like washing each other's hair was something she enjoyed.
You'd only ever taken one shower without her while she was there and it was the first one you'd ever taken at her house.
It was a conversation she'd broached early on. If you were showering you asked her to join because you knew she liked it, but so did you.
You were so lost in your own mind you hadn't even registered when she'd walked towards the bathroom. You'd barely heard the rest of the words that escaped her mouth.
“And if you could stop the tapping, I'd appreciate it. It's making me uncomfortable.”
Tears silently fell from your face onto the sheets as she closed the bathroom door.
You tried your best to quiet your sobs by muffling them into your pillow.
All that kept replaying in your mind was that you made Baran uncomfortable and that was the last thing you ever wanted to do.
Making her, a woman, uncomfortable felt like the worst thing you could've ever done.
The tears had stopped, but the disappointment settled deeply into your chest.
You knew you were blowing things out of proportion, but it felt like history was repeating itself.
There was something about a three month rule scratching at the back of your mind as you forced yourself to fall asleep before Baran got out of the shower.
Baran had hoped you were awake when she got back so she could talk with you properly. She knew you didn't mean anything by the taps.
She didn't want to take away your comfort and she also knew she hadn’t gone about it the right way either.
She'd been frustrated with the day and let it cloud her judgment. She'd meant to talk to you properly earlier, but one thing led to another and she certainly wasn't complaining about how you two ended the night.
Baran yawned when she got into bed. She tilted her head in your direction when she saw how you'd rolled yourself practically to the edge of the bed.
She pulled you closer, like she always did, and sighed happily. She relished in the warmth you provided. You were a human heater and she was a freezer.
She nestled her nose into the back of your neck and breathed in deeply. In the quiet of the night her heart swelled and she smiled to herself.
“I love you azizam.” Baran whispered before settling into a deep sleep.
…
When Baran woke up that morning you were already gone. She wasn’t sure when you left, but from the coolness of the sheets she could tell it had been a while.
You couldn’t sleep and when you woke up in Baran’s arms you wanted to cry all over again. You carefully peeled away from her and left a note about having to go home and get scrubs.
Baran didn’t work that day, but she wished she did. She wanted to see you and make sure everything was okay.
You were definitely not one to wake up earlier than you needed to.
Baran wanted to text you throughout the day, but she didn’t want to distract you from work either. As the shift went on your heart sank even further into your stomach. You were waiting for Baran’s message, but it never came.
You bit the bullet and reached out, telling her about your day. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the day, but you still wanted to tell her.
Baran got the messages, but she read them without responding immediately. Not because she didn’t want to, but because her son was sick and she had to take care of him.
You, however, didn't know that. When she finally did respond it felt lackluster.
Over the next few days you were on completely opposite schedules until almost two weeks had passed since you’d spent the night at Baran’s house. In that time the knot in your stomach only tightened.
When Baran saw that you were both on the same shift her heartbeat quickened. She’d missed being around you and selfishly she missed working with you. Somehow you were able to anticipate her needs perfectly.
The other nurses were great, but you and her were able to work like a well oiled machine.
You were excited to see her too, but a large part of you was also nervous. The time apart had allowed you to look at yourself in a way you never had before. You were more particular around people.
Never getting too close and making sure you weren’t crossing anyone’s boundaries. You were also a bit quieter around the department, but not enough for anyone to notice.
Well, at least you thought no one had noticed. That could not be said for Trinity Santos.
She was a pro at reading you, mainly because you’d grown up together.
In a family full of boys you and Trinity kept each other sane. You were more than cousins, you were sisters. She was the athlete and you were the musician cheering her on. Along the way you both found yourself in similar professions.
She’d been watching you over the last few days and did not like what she saw. You’d been spending some time at her and Dennis’ apartment, trying not to spiral. She loved having you around, but she was waiting for you to open up.
You were both a bit touchy when it came to relationships, but she knew if she waited it out you’d reach out to her. You both knew you were always there for each other.
That time came when you and Trinity were carpooling to the hospital without Dennis because he didn’t have a shift.
“Baran and I are going to be on the same shift today.” Trinity’s eyebrows furrowed. She couldn’t tell if you were happy about this revelation or not.
“You guys have been on opposite schedules.” She said simply and you nodded in agreement. You were quiet as you clasped your hands in your lap. You’d been trying a lot harder not to fidget as much as you used to.
Trinity noticed. Of course she did. There was always a buzz about you. It had been a family thing. She found calm in exercise and you found calm in making music. It had always been that way.
It was then that she realized you hadn’t been listening to music as often as you used to.
Trinity turned on the radio and was grateful when one of your favorite songs was playing through the speakers. What concerned Trinity more was the way you didn’t tap along to the music.
You wanted to, but you fought the urge.
Trinity was an exit away from the hospital when she decided to pull over on the side of the road. Your head snapped to her and you looked to see if something was wrong with the car.
“Trin, what are you doing? We’re gonna be late!”
“We have time. You always insist on being early and we’re not far.” Trinity turned completely to you and looked at your posture. Rigid.
She raised her eyebrows at you and pursed her lips. You rolled your eyes in response as you looked out the window. Trinity waited. She always did. She knew you’d spill, you couldn’t help it.
You were a talker even if you tried to hide it.
“I’m just nervous. It’s been basically two weeks since I’ve seen her and the last time…” Trinity tensed as your sentence tapered off. If Baran had done something to you she was prepared to kill the attending.
“It’s like we’re just going through the motions. I miss her and I still l- really like her. I’m just not sure she feels the same anymore.” Trinity let out a slow breath.
“What if I’m just delaying the inevitable?” Your voice is barely above a whisper this time. Trinity frowned at you before reaching towards your hands. Your knuckles were practically white from how hard you were trying to keep yourself still.
You both froze when Trinity’s hand reached your own. She carefully pried your hands apart and held them in her own. Soon enough you relaxed and let her hold you.
It was comforting even though you didn’t feel you deserved it. Trinity waited for you to meet her eyes before speaking.
“Baran is not like the people of your past and I know you know that. You have to give her a chance and let her in completely. I don’t know what happened and frankly it’s not my business, but I do know you. And some part of you is purposefully avoiding her so you don’t get hurt. But, newsflash, you’re just the one hurting yourself instead.”
You hated when Trinity gave you advice because she was always right. You huffed in her direction, but nodded along.
“I hate you.” You playfully whispered as Trinity put her seatbelt back on and drove.
“I hate you too.” She responded.
When you walked into the department it was already bustling. Apparently night shift had not been so quiet and it bled into dayshift.
You walked over to the nurse’s station and saw Dana waiting with orders on the tip of her tongue. Before she could get anything out she pointed to the side of the desk. You immediately recognized your favorite drink from the coffee shop down the street.
Baran.
You couldn’t see where she was, but a small smile played on your lips. Maybe everything was going to be okay.
…
Oh how wrong you were. You’d been on your last nerve the entire shift. Normally you loved working with the patients, but not today. Everyone thought they knew better and everyone’s patience was running thin.
One patient refused to eat and for some reason only Perlah could get through to them. Of course this happened only after you had to clean the entire room, especially the bed, from all the food smushed everywhere.
One parent would not shut up. And it wasn’t like they were asking questions, those were warranted. But they would not stop arguing with their kid and it made you want to pull your hair out.
The final patient, an older man, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He came in needing a few stitches on his forearm, but would not let you help. He insisted on needing a doctor because they were more experienced.
You’d been in the middle of trying to talk him down when Baran walked by.
“Hello, is there anything I can do?” He looked at her hospital tag and immediately perked up.
“Finally, a doctor. This kid doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He wailed on for a few seconds before Baran had enough.
“Sir, I can assure you her suturing technique is flawless. Now, I’d be more than happy to help, however, considering she sutures multiple times a day and I can’t remember the last time I’ve done a mattress stitch I’ll let you be the judge on who you’d rather fix your wound.”
The man immediately shut up as a pout spread on his face. Baran nodded with a smile on her own face as she left the room. You were able to stitch him up in a few minutes and he thankfully stopped talking.
When you left the room you wanted to thank Baran and found that she was already waiting for you.
“Thank you for that.” You walked over to Baran and wanted to give her a hug, but opted to stand a professional distance away. Baran looked up from her iPad and smiled.
“You’re welcome. Next time try walking away then returning to the patient with someone else. It could help with your own irritability. Dr. Mohan is great with geriatric patients, try finding her.” You deflated as you watched Baran walk away.
You had no idea what the hell that was. First she was praising you and now she was reprimanding you for your bedside manner? She technically wasn’t even your boss.
You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a minute before opening them to see Dana standing right in front of you. You startled when you saw her, but she just chuckled.
“Everyone’s on edge kid, don’t let it get to you.” You nodded knowingly as you pushed away the negative thoughts and continued the day. You knew Baran didn’t mean anything by the criticism.
The rest of the shift wasn’t too terrible until a dad came in with his two sons. It was clear that none of them wanted to be there, but the oldest of the two had a broken wrist. He was ten years old and very sweet even though he was hurt.
The youngest was crying nonstop, clearly needing a nap and the father was frazzled trying to advocate for his hurt son.
Princess and Perlah were giving the older boy a work up when they called you into the room. You’d been on the way to change your scrubs as a baby had thrown up on you, but stopped when they called.
“Can you check the boy? His name is TJ.” The dad was frantically trying to calm the three year old with no luck.
You knew you weren’t going to get out of helping so you carefully rolled up your scrub top and put it on the floor before carefully taking TJ into your arms. He wasn’t injured, which was good, but he definitely needed a nap and didn’t understand what was going on.
You held the boy comfortably to your chest and he immediately relaxed.
“Thank you so much.” The dad said to you and you nodded. You were rubbing TJ’s back when someone stormed into the room.
As you turned to face the door you heard a woman practically screaming in your ear. Before you knew what was happening you felt TJ being ripped out of your arms as a fist collided with your face.
As your body hit the floor you coughed up a bit of blood. You were trying to get your bearings when you looked up and saw Dana coming in and commanding the scene.
You understood then that TJ’s mother had been the one to punch you not realizing you were a nurse. Clearly there was some family drama with that one.
It was quiet when you felt yourself being helped up by Dana. She cringed when she saw your face and led you to a quiet room.
You didn’t even have it in you to fight. You were exhausted and your head was now pounding.
“Jesus kid, I said don’t let the day get to you.” Dana joked as she cleaned up your face.
“What can I say, I just can’t help myself.” You could feel the bruise forming on your face and it was definitely tender to the touch. It was going to be a terrible bruise and you knew it.
“Gotta get Al-Hashimi in here to do a full work up.” Dana says simply. Your shoulders sagged. Before you could respond to the older woman Trinity flew through the door.
“What the hell happened? Is she okay?” Dana nodded as Trinity caught her breath. She’d clearly run from wherever she was in the department to be by your side.
“As far as I can tell she's going to be okay, but we’re definitely going to get a head CT just to be safe.” Trinity was already moving to sign the order before going to your side and checking you herself.
Your face definitely looked worse than it was but the swelling was not a good sign.
“What’s that face for?” You asked, looking between Trinity and Dana.
“There’s some fluid behind your eye and we’re going to have to drain it.” You cringed at the thought. As much as you dealt with needles during the day you absolutely hated them anywhere near you.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I can go get-” Trinity started, but you cut her off.
“No, I’ll be fine. Just do whatever you have to do.” Dana prepped what Trinity needed before going to your opposite side and holding your hand.
You were grateful to her for being there. You wouldn’t have asked for comfort, but having someone hold your hand did make you feel better.
You closed your eyes as Trinity pulled out the needle from its packaging because you knew you’d freak out if you saw it. Within a few minutes she was done and Dana patted your hand with her other one.
“You did good kid.” You gave her a tight smile as you carefully pulled your hand away and threaded your fingers together in your lap. Dana left the room to get you a wheeled chair so that she could take you up to imaging and Trinity finally sat down.
“You scared the shit out of me you bitch.” Trinity breathed. You just smiled at her.
“I’m glad I could make your day a little interesting.” She rolled her eyes at you, but she was smiling. Dana returned quickly and Trinity helped you into the chair.
You knew you could walk, but you also knew it would make her feel better to help you so you let her.
Imaging went fine and by the time you got back to your room it was empty. The lights were a bit bright so Dana turned them off as she left you alone.
You had all of five minutes of peace and quiet before you heard frantic footsteps walking into the room. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know who it was.
“Why didn’t anyone come get me?” You shifted in the bed as you sat up and the lights were turned back on. You squinted at the brightness, but didn’t ask for her to turn the lights back off.
As Baran got closer you clasped your hands in your lap and looked at her nervously. Her hand stilled on her penlight when she saw the look on your face. You weren’t nervous because of the injury.
You were nervous because of her. Baran took a deep breath to try and center herself.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have freaked out. Dana asked me to check on you as an attending. It would personally make me feel better to know you’re okay, but if you don’t want me to be the one to check that’s okay too. I can get someone else.” You sighed as you looked down at your hands.
“It’s okay.” You whispered and Baran tentatively walked towards you. She could feel how tense you were under her touch and it broke her heart. When she was satisfied that you were okay given the circumstances she pulled away softly and rolled a chair over to sit by your side.
“Azizam, what’s wrong?” The pet name knocked the wind out of you. You swallowed harshly as you willed yourself not to cry. This was not the time to have a breakdown.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you opened your mouth slightly to talk then closed it. You didn’t even know where to begin. Your body was aching but so was your heart.
Baran looked at your hands again before laying her hands palm up on the bed for you to take, an open invitation.
Your heart lurched and your fingers twitched, but you didn’t immediately hold her hand like you would’ve just a few weeks ago.
Baran tried to hide the sadness on her face, but you could see it and it made you sick. You’d disappointed her again. Baran carefully pulled her hands away, but they were still within reach.
“I won't force my touch on you, but I miss you. I miss when you'd reach for me. It feels like you're pulling away and I can't quite figure out what has changed. Please tell me what's going on.” Her pleading felt like another punch to the gut.
There was still that pull, urging you to tell her what happened. More than anything you wanted to tell her how you felt, but you were still scared.
Your hand shakily reached out to her before Dana’s head popping into the room startled your hands back together. Baran huffed as she turned to the door.
“GSW, two minutes out.” Baran nodded as she pursed her lips before turning back to you. You were back in your shell and it made her whole body ache.
She’d been so distracted over the last two weeks with her son and just trying to get through the days that she had let herself lose track of you. She thought it was just being on opposite schedules, but she’d missed something big and she was kicking herself because of it.
She pushed up from the chair and instinctively moved to kiss your forehead before pulling away to find your eyes. You stared up at her with a soft glint in your own eyes.
“Can I?” Her voice was barely above a whisper and it made you shiver.
“Please.” You practically begged. You missed her too. She placed a gentle kiss on your temple before leaving after promising to come back when she got a chance.
You saw Baran and Trinity have a conversation just outside of your room before the younger woman walked in carrying your things. She turned off the lights on her way in.
“Your imaging looks good, but you’re going home for today and tomorrow. Dana’s orders and no driving.” You pouted lightly, but didn’t disagree. You could use the time to rest if nothing else.
“You’re welcome to come back to my apartment with me, but Baran looked pretty shaken up on her way out.” You clenched your jaw which hurt more than you intended. Some part of you forgot you’d actually gotten punched by a patient’s mother.
“No, I still need to talk to her. I’ll wait until the shift is over, but I’ll go to an on-call room because I don’t want to take up a bed.” Trinity nodded as she left you with your things.
It felt good to be back in your own clothes and not half scrubs. You were also grateful to be laying down. You sat down and before you knew it you were out like a light.
You hadn’t slept incredibly well the night before and the stress of the day had really taken its toll.
You were still lightly snoring an hour and a half later when Baran found you in the room with the help of Trinity’s direction.
Her lips twitched at the sight of you. You looked adorably peaceful. She held her breath for a moment when she didn’t see you breathing. She called your name, but when you didn’t respond she ran to your side, but instantly stilled when your chest finally moved.
She swore under her breath in Farsi as she carefully took a deep breath. You stirred in your sleep and opened your eyes sleepily. You moved to rub your eyes, but Baran caught your hand.
You furrowed your eyebrows before remembering your face was bruised.
“Thank you.” You mumbled as you sat up and stretched. Baran stood in front of you, shifting on the balls of her feet.
“Can we talk about whatever’s going on at home?” You nodded as you stood up and grabbed your bag. Baran’s eyes softened at the dazed look on your face. She wanted to reach out and hold your hand, but didn’t want to spook you.
“I miss you too.” You said suddenly. Baran turned back to you with a dopey smile on her face. She tentatively reached her hand out in your direction and you took it gently. Baran brushed her thumbs over your knuckles.
You both sighed at the contact.
The drive back to Baran’s house was comfortably silent and on the way she picked up food for the both of you.
“Isn’t it your day to have Kian?” You questioned as you walked into the living room.
“Yeah, but I asked Mark if he could stay an extra day or two because I wanted to be with you.” Your heart melted at that as Baran served the both of you food. Your stomach grumbled as the delicious smell filled the room.
Baran smiled to herself as the two of you ate. You happily took a second portion before putting your plate on the table in front of you.
Baran had finished her food before you, but she was pleased to see you eating. It seemed like you hadn’t had a good meal in weeks which she was starting to realize was partially her fault.
Food was definitely one of her love languages and seeing you eat relaxed something in her. After a few minutes you moved to wash the dishes.
“You don’t have to do that.” Baran stated simply as she followed you to the kitchen to put away the leftovers.
“I know, but I want to.” Baran watched you for a second before deciding she wasn’t going to let whatever was happening affect how she’d normally act.
She carefully wrapped her arms around your waist and held you while you did the dishes. Your hand stuttered, but your body instantly relaxed in hers. You really did miss having her close to you.
When you finished the dishes you turned around in her arms and laid your head on her shoulder.
Baran held you tighter as she ran her hand up and down your back soothingly. She kissed your temple as you pulled away, but you didn’t go far. You felt the urge to tap her, but bit your lip hard instead.
“Hey, don’t hurt my girl.” She whispered as she brushed her thumb on your lip. You blushed and looked away. Baran kept her arms around you as she led you back to the couch.
She sat down first and you easily went with her, sitting in her lap. You enjoyed being this close to her, but something within you still made you clasp your hands in your own lap.
Baran pouted at the motion, but didn’t question you right away.
“You know when I tap you?” Baran nodded. That was another thing Baran had noticed. You hadn’t tapped her all day. She never thought she’d miss feeling those taps, but she did.
It was then that the memory of that night came flooding back to her. She’d told you to stop and you did, but at what cost?
“I’m not just absentmindedly tapping you. It means something to me.” Baran furrowed her brows, but nodded. Her heart raced. She’d never thought of it that way. She was so overstimulated that day it didn’t even occur to her to think of it from your perspective.
She’d been doing a lot of staying in her own head which clearly wasn’t that much different from you. She hadn’t meant to snap at you, but as she replayed her words in her mind she cringed.
“I said you were making me uncomfortable.” Baran repeated in horror. You squirmed in her lap as tears prickled in your eyes. You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to calm down.
“Azizam, it was late and I meant to talk to you about it at a different time, but I did not act well in that situation. I’m sorry. I wanted to reach out the next day then Kian was sick and along the way I got sidetracked and I shouldn’t have. I think the overstimulation of the day is what made the taps such a big deal for me. What do they mean?”
You bit your lip again, letting her apology sink in. You weren’t sure the taps were the only thing you needed to talk about anymore.
“Baran it’s not just the taps, but also hearing you say I make you uncomfortable, regardless of how you meant it really stung.” You carefully climbed out of her lap and sat criss-crossed facing her.
She instantly missed the contact.
“I’ve been trying so hard not to be fidgety or repeat the same actions, but I feel like I’m driving myself a little crazy. As it turns out I move a lot more than I thought.” You laughed hollowly.
Baran scratched at the inside of her forearm and nodded as you spoke. She didn’t want to interrupt you.
“I’m just worried that maybe I’m not what you’re looking for because I’ve been down this road before and the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable by just being myself.” Baran’s eyes widened as tears fell down her cheeks. She quickly swiped at her face.
“And I’m not saying this to burden you or downplay my actions if you feel they're wrong and they hurt you, but I’m just trying to let you into my head. I know it’s pretty fucked up in there though.” You sighed.
Trinity had been right, it did feel good to let Baran in no matter what was going to happen. Somehow you felt ready to have this conversation. Maybe it was the space or getting punched, but something was shifting.
Baran turned to you as much as she could as she spoke.
“You will never be a burden to me.” The conviction in Baran’s voice made you shiver.
“I, fuck-.” She took a deep breath and took your hands into yours. Somewhere along the way you were no longer clasping them in front of you, but they’d been resting on your knees.
“I messed up and I am so fucking sorry, but you, you are everything to me joonam. And I’ve been yours since the moment you smiled at me and stopped me from dropping the bagels on my first day. I’ve loved you from that first minute and I don’t ever plan to stop.”
Your mouth fell open as fresh tears fell down your cheeks.
“You what?” You breathed. It was the softest Baran had ever heard you. She could tell you needed her to say it plainly and was more than happy to do so for you. It felt amazing to finally get it off her chest.
“I love you.” Baran said it like it was a known fact, which made your heart swell.
Baran felt three little taps on the top of her hand and her eyes widened as everything finally clicked for her.
A watery laugh escaped her lips as she pulled you into a fierce kiss. The kisses didn’t stop as she pushed you back onto the couch, laying down, so she could hold you close to her.
“I love you.” You confidently said in between her kisses.
WARNING: slightly suggestive, age gap, reader is somewhat toxic, cassie is in love
you show up to one of the outings the fellow pittlings invited you to. it wasn’t anything too special: a party hosted by trinity and dennis at their apartment. you wore your best pair of jeans and the tightest top you could find in your closet.
being familiar with her habit of making an appearance regardless of the location, you knew cassie would show.
you claim to have been moved on from the older woman, yet you can’t help but feel a little bitter knowing she seems to be doing fine without you.
at least that’s what you think,
the two of you are constantly playing a game of cat and mouse, cassie tempting you to give into your desires.
her.
you know it’s not the smartest thing to do, but you somehow manage to draw yourself back into cassie’s shenanigans. over and over again.
the older woman eventually shows, wearing her basic red crewneck sweater paired with cuffed jeans and a black belt. she didn’t have to do much to get you going that’s for sure.
you couldn’t help but smile at her appearance, walking up to her with your arms crossed, feigning disinterest.
“look who showed” you blurt,
“cmon baby, you knew i’d be here.” cassie replied with a snarky expression on her face.
you rolled your eyes in annoyance, bothered at her ability to act like nothing has changed between the two of you.
cassie’s smile disappeared and was now replaced with a look of longing and despair.
“i’ve been texting you.” she said.
you shrugged your shoulders, “didn’t think i was obligated to.”
cassie scoffed, turning her head away from you. “when are you gonna stop pretending?”
you knew what she was alluding to. the constant hook ups between you two, you texting her at midnight asking her to come over, then the next day acting like nothing happened.
“honestly, cass, deep in your bones, you know this is strictly platonic. we tried being together, and look where that left us.”
you said softly, scanning the room for any outsiders who might overhear, “so what? we fuck here and there. that’s all it is.”
“well what if i want more? what if i told you im not fully capable of moving on? that i want to try again.” she was becoming desperate, her arms reaching out to wrap around your waist.
“y’know… it’s kind of cute that you think a relationship between the two of us would work. you said it yourself, you’re too old for me.”
deep down, you do truly believe that you and cassie were meant to be in a relationship.
yet, it was just never meant to end.
“in a way, it’s… kismet.” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck, leaning your head to rest against her chest.
“well, baby…” cassie started off with a low hum, “if you’re ever ready to try again, i’ll be here waiting for you.” she kissed the crown of your head, “we don’t always have to hook up, even though i know that’s what you want. we can just… talk about our day.” cassie suggested.
you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, lifting your head up from her shoulders, looking into her eyes.
“sue me, i wanna be wanted.”
i feel like this would make more sense if u guys listen to “sue me” by audrey hobert … nonetheless, i hope u guys enjoy!
Summary: Robby throws a Fourth of July party and invites practically everyone from The Pitt. Victoria introduces you to a new face, and Cassie gets too curious
Word count: 4.6k
Warnings: reader leans towards having female genitalia, kissing, spitting, drinking mentioned, drinking from other people's bottles, not so subtle flirting, power imbalance(s), talk of an ex being an emotional cheater, mention of Barsantos, jealous!Cassie, angst, feelings get hurt/ignored, etc.
🎵- Human Nature
God, she was so jealous.
Cassie McKay was so jealous.
But she also had no right to be.
You weren’t hers, and she wasn’t yours. Not verbally, anyway. You two had hooked up once or twice, and while she wants more, she turned you down anyway, telling you she wasn’t a good person, it didn’t fit into her life right now, etc. All these excuses were to push you away from her.
But it didn’t work out that way. You pulled her towards you like a magnet, conscious of it or not. Which was hell for her, but of course, you never realized you were doing it. So how could she fully blame you?
It was Fourth of July Weekend. Robby had put on a small party. His backyard was filled with all-day shift attendants, mostly, except for Doctor Shen and Doctor Ellis. Of course, Jack is always where Robby is, so you expected to see his face anyway. However, there were a few strangers she didn’t recognize, and neither did you.
They would come up and shake your hand, pat your back or your shoulders, introducing themselves one after the other. Meanwhile, Cassie just watched, looking on with disdain. Because she wanted to touch you, shake your hand, pat your back, etc. But she couldn’t; that was one of the rules of this whole dynamic between you and her.
No public display of affection.
The walk to Robby’s house was torture. Cassie had dragged her feet the whole way, mute alongside Dana, Perlah, and Princess, because she knew you would be there. The three of them filled the silence enough with inane chatter. Something about…who is she kidding, she wasn’t listening.
She followed them to the front door, through the foyer, and out into the back yard. And there you are. You’re leaning heavily against the fence, a drink in one hand. You perk up when Cassie approaches and tip your drink in an easy drinking.
“Hey, Cass! Long time no see.” You joke, having just seen her a few days ago.
She swallowed, playing it off with a confident smile. “Yeah. Long time no see.”
“R3 now, right?” You muse. “Too smart for me. You’re a primary code leader now, big stuff.”
“Hardly.”
“C’mon.” You bump her shoulder. “You’re overseeing the trauma floor now.”
She eyes you. “Are you actually excited for me? Or is it just to make conversation?”
The corner of your lip quirks. “You can decide.”
“It just comes with a lot more responsibility.”
“Mm.” You look amused, that’s for sure. Cassie watches as you take a long sip of your drink, and her eyes are glued to you as you swallow. “Well, I bet you could teach me a thing or two.” You eye her and keep drinking. She shifts a little in the silence, trying not to scratch at her skin, a nervous tell.
Because she knows you’re flirting. She knows you are. But what can she do about it?
“Can I have a sip?”
She pauses with her Shirley Temple halfway to her lips. Her brow lifts. But she hands the glass over, fingers brushing yours when you reach out to grab it.
“Yeah, of course.” She agrees.
You take a sip in response. “You look pretty.” You tell her. “In case I didn’t say. Meant to tell you earlier.”
You think she almost blushes, which Cassie never does. That’s not a Cassie thing to do. You nod, half to yourself.
“So do you.” She watches you closely, eyes twinkling because you place your mouth directly where hers was just moments ago. She’s almost smiling. Key word being ‘almost’. It fades when she steals a glance over your shoulder. “You have company,” she says, snatching the drink back from your hand.
You turn in time to see Dylan Marsh loping towards you. Twenty-eight, next-door neighbor to you and Robby, ex-girlfriend. And, most importantly, perpetually and persistently, in love with you. You have enough time to wink at her before she approaches.
“Hey,” she says. She turns to Cassie. “Mind if I steal her?”
Cassie’s jaw ticks. “No,” she says, after a moment’s hesitation. “Of course not. Don’t have too much fun.” She sucks in a breath and just stares as Dylan pulls you away. She watches you go with a sinking heart. You turn to look at her over your shoulder, and she swears there’s something in your eyes, but then you blink, and turn away, and it’s gone.
Baran and Trinity have now pulled up beside her.
“Dr. McKay.” Baran nods towards the woman. Cassie lifts her drink in response but says very little else. All she can do is keep her eyes on your frame as you talk excitedly with your ex-girlfriend.
Your hands flare up in certain moments, and it makes Cassie wonder what the two of you are talking about.
From across the yard, you catch Cassie’s eye finally. You give her a slight smile, but she doesn’t return it. Instead, she tries to remain stoic, the best she can, but it has her heart deflating a little when your expression falters.
She finally pulls her eyes away, forcing them to look at Baran and Trinity. “Hey.” She responds eventually.
She felt happier when you were around.
However, you two weren’t in a relationship and never would be. She’s made that clear a thousand times before. And it sucks because she knows how lovely you are. How kind. She loves watching you interact with your patients. Cassie can’t confront her feelings for shit, and she knows that, but if you put her in a room with a patient, she’s trying to relate in every way she can. She’s making jokes when needed, being sympathetic when wanted, she’ll smile and play feelings, but when it comes to you, you two don’t discuss emotions or anything like that; you guys don’t sit in your wallows together.
You just call her up, or she calls you up when you both can’t sleep, which results in you going over to her apartment, or she comes over to yours, and you two have sex, and then one of you leaves. It pulls you down sometimes. It makes you mad.
But it shouldn’t, because you two made rules for this whole agreement.
No touching in public No talking of feelings in private You two won’t develop feelings at all; you can’t (which sort of ties in with number 2) And four, if any of you decide to act on those feelings, you two have to call it off. Period. No excuses.
At first, the rules sounded great. She knew you had gotten out of a relationship with Dylan just a few months ago, and you needed someone else to take your mind off things. But then, over the course of months, she knew she liked you a lot more than just using each other for late-night hookups.
Yeah, she understands she has a 12-year-old kid, and she’s older than you by a mile; it makes it harder that you understand she’s still closed off in a lot of places within herself. She’s closed herself off to romantic relationships for a long time now, but she wants to be the one person you open up to, no matter how toxic that sounds.
Cassie McKay is not a therapist; she’s an ER nurse, and it’s probably a good thing she’s not a therapist because who else would keep them in business? They would make great money on this push-pull thing you and she have going on.
Her thoughts are suddenly squandered when she notices you have begun to walk into Robby’s house, leaving Dylan all by herself. You’re probably just going to the bathroom, but she still keeps an eye out for you and makes sure Dylan doesn’t follow.
“So, how is it being an R4 now?” Trinity asks, trying to make conversation, and Cassie appreciates it. Really, she does.
“Feels like every other day, really.” Cassie shrugs, taking a sip of her soda. She’s not allowed alcohol or anything, per the sanctioned court order, if she ever wants to regain custody of Harrison.
Baran smiles. “Before you know it, you’ll become an attending as well.” She nudges Cassie’s shoulder with her own.
“Kill me if I ever get that far.” Cassie shoots back, which makes both Baran and Trinity laugh. But it’s true for Cassie. She doesn’t think she could ever be an attending. It looks like it sucks the life out of anyone who inherits the title. Robby has gone on sabbatical for 3 months, which is fair enough, Baran looks exhausted constantly, and everyone is pretty sure the only thing that holds her up is getting to go home to Trinity every night, but Cassie has no one to go home to and she has never been on vacation since Harrison was born so she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if presented the opportunity.
You still haven’t come out of the house, and now Cassie is fidgeting with her hands. Dylan is still out in the yard, conversing with John Shen and Parker Ellis, so there’s no chance you’re waiting for her up there. Maybe you had too much to drink, and you’re currently keeling over the toilet. Or maybe you just got lost. Robby has a big-ish house; it would be easy.
Either way, Cassie doesn’t like the fact that you’re alone in there, so she’s excusing herself from Baran and Trinity for a moment. “Sorry, ladies, bathroom calls.” Cassie walks into the house, the waning sunlight glittering through the windows.
She can’t hear you, per se, but she can smell you. The fragrance you’re wearing drifts through the house and leads her to a bathroom on the second floor. It’s at the end of a hallway.
She knocks lightly before pressing her ear to the door. She listens to you scramble through the bathroom, reaching for the handle before swinging it open, and Cassie pushes herself back so as not to look too suspicious.
“You okay?” She asks. “I saw you walk off from Dylan down there.” She cocks her head in the direction of the backyard. “You looked anxious.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just hiding in here.” You shrug, and Cassie’s nodding. You have no reason to lie to her; you know she’d understand where you’re coming from.
“Yeah, I get that.” She sighs, smiling at you. She looks around the room before saying, “Can I hide, too?”
“Oh, sure. I mean, it’s not my house, come on in.” You step back and let her push inside. You’re locking the door again and pushing yourself through the window to sit on the roof once more.
Without a second thought, Cassie follows, grumbling as she makes it onto the roof.
“Fuck, I’m too old for this,” she mutters.
You laugh, watching as she stumbles over to join you. It’s darker now, the pink sunset has dissipated, replaced with darker blue hues of the incoming night. She makes it to your side and drops down next to you with a sigh.
“I hate parties,” she blurts, after a moment’s silence.
You hum appreciatively. “Yeah.”
More silence.
“What happened between you and Dylan down there?”
Your head whips to her. “Nothing. I just needed to get away for a moment.”
“You sure?” She’s certainly not going to let this go.
You sigh, staring out at the sky now dotted with tiny, twinkling stars. “I don’t know why Robby invited her. We broke up on okay terms, but… It’s just a lot to look at her sometimes. And she acts as if nothing happened between us. Nothing did, really. I had just found out she was having an emotional affair with someone during medical school.”
“Ah, yeah. That’ll do it.” She sucks in a breath through her teeth as she says the words.
You nod, “yeah.”
“Well, any other woman that give you a hard time, you send them my way.” It’s a little forward to say, but who is Cassie McKay if not forward? She watches you laugh then, shaking your head. “So,” she continues. “Dylan,” she holds a finger out, counting. “Anyone else I have to watch out for?”
“Since when are you interested in my love life?”
“I’m just making conversation with my favorite ped’s nurse,” she argues.
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at the question. “And one you happen to sleep with.” You comment, and she huffs a chuckle. “No one at the ER, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She can read your tone. It’s not exactly subtle. “So there is someone,” she says.
“It’s nothing.” You glance away from her. She glances at your swinging feet and watches the tips of your shoes.
“Have you…told them how you feel?”
“No. God, no.” You shake your head.
“No,” Cassie repeats. She sounds amused. “Why not?”
“It’s complicated,” you say, a little sharper than you intend. “I mean…just…look, it doesn’t matter, okay? Let’s just…”
“Okay. Alright, hun.” She hoists her hands in mock surrender. But there’s something else in her eyes- something darker. It’s gone before she can blink.
“How’s Harrison?” You ask. It’s a terrible attempt at a tone shift, but she lets it go. She shrugs.
“You know, a 13-year-old boy. He’s okay. But I think he misses having you around.”
Your heart tugs a little. “Yeah. I miss him too. I feel kind of bad not being able to see him as frequently.”
Cassie nudges your leg with hers. “Don’t worry about him,” she says. “He does fine enough.”
You nod. It’s suddenly painfully obvious how close she is- how her shoulder brushes yours; how her shoes are pressed inches away from your own.
“We should probably go back down,” she comments. “People will realize we’re missing.”
Her gaze lingers half a second longer. “Yeah, I guess so,” you agree. Cassie stands, brushing off her pants, and offers you her hand. You take it. She helps you up, and your hand stays in hers for a split-second longer than it should. Just long enough for your breath to catch.
“Do we have to?” You ask, your eyes looking down at her lips.
“Yeah, baby.” She whispers, looking down at your lips too. “We have to.”
“I’d really rather stay in this bathroom with you.” You confess to her. “I know you’re jealous. When I talk to Dylan. I can feel it.”
“I’m not jealous.” She shakes her head like it’s a crazy notion. Her hands make the unconscious decision to slip down to your arms. “I’m never jealous.” Cassie tries to argue.
“Yes, you are.”
“You’re drunk. You don’t know-” Now that might be a little toxic to say. She knows you’re not drunk, she knows. But she doesn’t want this to happen again. There have been so many instances where the two of you have become somewhat estranged, just to fall into each other once more, and before the two of you know it, you’re both hurting one another again.
“I’ve had one beer, maybe. Not even. I’m not drunk. I know what I’m saying, Cass.” You cut her off, arguing your point. You’re crossing your arms, making her drop her hands from them.
“No, no, I’m not trying to dismiss you, I’m…okay, maybe that’s what I’m doing, but I’m not trying to, okay? I’m…I’m trying to tell you I really do too, baby, but we can’t right now. Dylan seems…really nice!”
You roll your eyes. “She is. But she’s not who I want.”
Cassie sighs, her lips pulling into a straight line. “I know.” She whispers.
But you understand, too. You can’t adopt this routine again. However, even though you keep repeating in your head that you can’t do it, you can’t have feelings like this for her, you lean in slightly, looking at her with sad eyes as you silently beg for her to kiss you.
You end up dropping your head to her shoulder, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’, over and over and over again. You take a step away from her, going to turn around when she grabs you by the wrist.
“No, no, no, no. Hey, hey, come here.” She coerces you back to her before hesitantly leaning in. And you think maybe this time she will kiss you, but she instead presses her lips to your forehead. “You look really good tonight.” She tells you, as she moves past you, leaving you in the bathroom.
You huff a laugh, once again rolling your eyes, but Cassie is not there to see it. You slowly make your way back down to the now dark house and out into the backyard, surrounded by string lights and candles.
You’re feeling low, now. Like everything has been drained from you. You want to leave, and you might, you might pull an Irish goodbye and text Trinity and Dennis and Vic that you got home okay, but you weren’t feeling it anymore. And you would send a text to Robby, wishing him a Happy 4th.
That sounded like a great idea. Except Victoria had other plans for you.
“Hey!” She runs up to you in heels somehow. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”
“Vic, I don’t-”
“It’ll be fun! She’s interested in meeting you, trust me.” She’s grabbing your hand and pulling you across the yard. You drag your feet the whole way, trying to stall as much as possible. Vic loves to do this, introduce you to people she thinks you’ll like. And most of the time you do, but it never goes any further than a one night stand as your feelings drag themselves back and stick onto one person in particular.
“Victoria, I really can’t-”
“Doctor Lorenz!” she cuts you off immediately, shouting the woman’s name to grab her attention. The supposed Doctor is dressed in a nice striped tank top, some bell-bottom jeans, sandals on her feet, and curls in her hair. “This is our favorite Peds nurse I was telling you about!”
The woman turns around, and you’re almost awe-struck. She’s….really pretty. Like unfairly pretty. Like Baran Al-Hashimi, unfairly pretty. She has big, brown doe eyes, the perfect set of lips that are shining in the overhead lights, and her nose is arched. There’s a small indent on her chin, and a little dimple that shows in time with her smile.
You stand in front of the older woman, putting on your best smile in return. “Hello, Doctor Lorenz.”
“Ah, yes. Victoria here has been non-stop talking about you.” She smiles as well, and it’s a nice, warm, beautiful thing. You feel something warm begin to swirl inside you.
“I hope all good things.” You joke, and she laughs, reaching out to touch your arm. The action makes you feel good.
“Of course! Nothing but good things.” She insists.
The two of you fall into easy conversation. Turns out, Victoria had asked Doctor Lorenz if there were any openings at Boston Children’s Hospital, and if you could tour it one day. It would be your dream to work there, as it’s one of the best Pediatric Hospitals in the US, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of opportunities that type of job would bring you.
From your peripheral vision, however, you can see Cassie standing around, keeping a watchful eye on you. It somewhat infuriates you, because why should she? She has no right. She has no right to you, or to survey you from that far a distance. Actually, she doesn’t have the right to watch you with such a keen eye at all.
An idea starts to form.
It’s not a good one at all. Matter of fact, it’s downright terrible. But you make the excuse that the alcohol is getting to you, and something about the way she looked at you, the way she hesitated before kissing you on the forehead, the way she sat with you on the roof, so close- all of it is telling you to do it.
You need to make Cassie McKay jealous.
So- fuck it. You do.
“What’s that you got?” You ask Doctor Lorenz, and she glances down at her bottle.
“Oh! Smirnoff. Really good. I had originally asked Robby to pick some up for this party tonight, but I decided to just bring some. There are a few left! You want to try some?”
“I’d love to. Can I…try yours?” You question, and Doctor Lorenz holds the bottle out to you. You grab the neck of it. Before you can tip it back, your eyes make contact with Cassie’s across the room. She looks so ticked off, her jaw seems clenched, and she has an iron grip on her soda.
Your eyes rip away from hers to focus on Doctor Lorenz’s, and they’re staring back at you, intently at that. You put the opening of the bottle up to your lips and take a swig, and you swear you watch her pupils dilate, but it could just be the lighting.
You’re giving it back to Doctor Lorenz once you take a few sips. Wiping the back of your mouth, you hum. “Wow. That is really good, you were right.” You chuckle, and so does she.
“Right? I think there are a few more in the cooler over there,” she cocks her head towards a red cooler with a white top, sitting near Cassie, funnily enough. “But you can have some of mine anytime you want.”
You look up at her. Yes. Look up. She has to be at least 5’11, and while you think you have a good length on you, you’re not that tall. And she has to be at least ten years older than you.
And you know she’s making Cassie envious.
Now, is this completely unprofessional? Absolutely. And it’s wrong to use this woman in this way, to make your friend with benefits, Cassie McKay, jealous. But Doctor Lorenz obviously wants this to continue as her hand brushes your arm. And not in an absentminded way that’s for sure. However, you feel Cassie before you see her.
She’s at your side now, slinking there like a shadow. Brooding, quiet, five foot five of her.
“Oh! Doctor Lorenz, this is our R4, Cassie McKay.” You introduce them to one another, and they exchange a cordial enough greeting.
“Hi. Hey, can you help me with something?” Cassie is trying so hard not to seem upset. “Robby needs an extra hand with the margarita mixer machine.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m so sorry, Doctor Lorenz, I have to lend a helping hand in the kitchen for a little bit, but I look forward to talking with you more!” You can feel Cassie’s hands slide underneath your shirt. They’re warm on your back. But then they slip down to one of your pant loops and hook around it.
Cassie is so angry she’s practically fuming. She feels hot all over, watching you with that woman. She drags you past coworkers and friends and strangers alike into Robby’s house. She pushes the two of you past the kitchen, past the margarita mixer, upstairs into the bathroom that the two of you had just practically left.
She shuts the door and locks it.
You swallow.
She’s so close you can taste her: her breath on your lips and her scent in your nose, soda and something so distinctly Cassie. The silence is suffocating. You lean up against the counter and wrap your fingers on the ledge.
She slowly moves to stand in front of you, placing herself up against your body. Her hand slinks behind you, turning the sink’s faucet on. Then she stills, her mouth so incredibly close to your neck that you begin to tip your head back.
She lets the tap run, drowning out the sound from beyond the door. It’s not like anyone else is in the house, but still. You feel her breath heaving against your skin before she finally leans forward and connects her lips to your neck.
Your fingers curl on cool granite. Her hands push you back, into the counter, and the edge of the stone bites into your spine. “Did that get you off?” She asks suddenly. “Flirting with her?”
Her strap crowds your hips, nudging at your core.
“Sorry,” you gasp, but you’re not, really- you did it on purpose, riled her up, and a part of you thinks it’s because you know this would happen. “I’m sorry- fuck.”
“I asked you a question, baby.” She murmurs, rolling her hips into yours, and you gasp. “You need it that bad, you’re that fucking desperate, you go to someone else?” She licks her tongue up your neck, moving to the front of your throat, and stopping at your chin.
Her hand slips under your shirt and splays at your ribcage. Her fingertips move higher, skating up your skin, grazing your nipple. You whine softly, trying to lift your hips off the counter as you chase her cock.
The hand on your waist clamps tighter.
“Open your mouth,” she says.
You stop wriggling. You part your lips for her, and her hand leaves your hip, coming up to wrap around your throat. You watch her thumb settle on the edge of your jaw. It digs into the skin there, kneading gently, forcing your gaze to her. Her index and middle fingers tug at your lip and dip into your mouth.
She raises herself to get a better angle before gathering spit into her mouth and dropping it onto your tongue. You swallow with a whimper before she finally kisses you, tongue and all.
Cassie doesn’t make any noise during the whole thing, but you sound like heaven to her ears. You whine against her lips, moan, whimper, every noise she could come up with, you produce from your throat.
She likes it so much that she wants more. Much more, if you’re willing to give them.
However, you’re pulling away before she can flip the two of you around.
“Stop, stop, stop.” You’re both heaving, chests rising up and down in tandem. Your hand is placed directly in the center of Cassie’s breasts, holding her a few feet away.
“Are you okay?” She hears herself asking.
“I don’t want to do this if it’s going to end up in a one-night stand. I ca-can’t do it, Cassie. I can’t do it anymore.” Your eyes look so sad as they focus on her blue ones.
She knows what you mean. And neither can she. But that would put her in a vulnerable position. A position she hasn’t been in for a long time now. She doesn’t quite know what to do. She’s caught in a crossroads of sorts.
“Then we shouldn’t go any further.” She tells you, and watches as your face falls.
“Fine. Then we’re done? Done, done? Just like that?”
“Yeah. Done, done. Just like that.” The words don’t even sound like something she would actively say out loud. She knows you don’t want to stop this. And she knows herself that she doesn’t want to stop this. But she really can’t. She just can’t.
“Right.” You nod, and she watches as your eyes brim with tears. “Fuck you, Cass,” you mutter before unlocking the bathroom door and pulling it open, stepping through before slamming it closed. She exhales a shaky breath, bending herself over to rest her hands on her knees.
It’s like she’s somehow stabbed herself, right in the heart. She feels like she might throw up, too. Her arms wrap around her middle. She’s acting so stupid, she thinks to herself, because she’s the one who could’ve just said the right words. However, the voice inside her head took over, and soon enough she was agreeing to something she couldn’t let go of just yet.
a/n: Hi guys!! I'm back!! Sorry, I was gone for some time (I'm sure ya'll didn't even notice LMFAO), but I went on a trip with my gorgeous, beautiful mom to London!! And yes, it was to see Harry Styles. And I got barricade (first time I've ever gotten barricade for anyone) and it was hot as well, thought I was gonna pass out, but I didn't! And don't even get me started on Harry, he was hot as ever, literally passed by me three times, and everything. But I'm back to writing now, I promise!!
summary: samira and emery's relationship has been rocky ever since their daughter, raya, was born three weeks ago. can they fix things, or are they doomed?
wc: 3.9k
(shoutout @scout-spaeny for helping outline this forever ago and being the angsty devil on my shoulder, she's half to blame for any sadness this causes)
(title from 'begged' by olivia rodrigo)
The sound of Raya wailing wakes them both at 3 AM, jolting them out of the fitful sleep they’d managed to finally drift into. Samira sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed at the same time Emery does, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
“I got it,” Samira says, tugging her hair back with the clip she keeps on the nightstand. “It’s fine.”
Emery ignores the dismissal and follows Samira to the door anyways, wincing as light floods in. They silently pad down the hall to Raya’s room, pushing the door open and stepping in. Samira beelines straight for the crib in the far corner, picking Raya up and shushing her gently.
“Mama’s here,” she murmurs, bouncing Raya in her arms. “You're okay.”
Emery can only stand next to the door and watch silently, frozen with uncertainty. Something's been wrong ever since Raya was born three weeks ago, but Samira won’t tell her what it is, just refuses to let Emery do anything and rushes to handle things herself. And Emery understands how going from being pregnant to suddenly having a newborn can be a lot, especially without support, but it’s not like she’s some deadbeat parent. She's here, and she wants to help, if only Samira was willing to let her.
“Let me,” she whispers, crossing the room to stand next to Samira. “Seriously."
“It’s fine,” Samira hisses, turning her back to Emery and continuing to bounce Raya. “Go back to bed, Emery.”
Emery stands there a moment longer before blinking away the tears she hadn't realized had formed and slipping out the door, pulling it shut behind her. She can still faintly hear Samira humming a lullaby, and it makes her heart hurt with the pain of being excluded from something she should've been there for. Raya was her child too, but it felt like Samira was actively pushing her away from everything, constantly trying to limit her time with Raya with some excuse or another.
When Samira returns, Emery's sitting up in bed, knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes are glassy and damp, and she doesn't even bother to brush the tears away like she normally would. She's tired, tired of being shunted aside like they didn’t share a child, like they weren’t quite literally married and had promised to trust and respect and choose each other.
Samira crawls back into bed and rolls over onto her side, facing away from Emery. It’s like she’s become invisible in the past weeks, like she doesn’t even matter anymore. Samira hasn’t looked at her properly in ages, has barely said a word outside of anything managerial. It has Emery feeling like their marriage is nonexistent, and it scares her, too. She doesn't want to lose her wife or the love they’ve had for the past seven years.
Maybe people were right when they said babies changed relationships. Maybe she and Samira never should’ve had a baby, if this was going to happen. Maybe then her wife would be able to stand being in the same room as her for more than ten minutes.
“Mira?” Emery tries, voice barely louder than a whisper but still echoing off the walls of the silent room. She can see Samira's form shift under the covers, but she doesn’t roll over.
“Hmm?”
“Is everything okay?” It’s nowhere near subtle and not even the question Emery really wants to ask – a desperate are we okay?, or maybe even do you still love me? – but that's all she can manage right now.
“Yeah,” Samira mumbles. “ Of course it is.”
“You sure?” Emery presses, even though she knows it's a bad idea. It’s 4 am and they're both tired and cranky, and all these questions will lead to nothing but another argument, but she just has to know. She hates this unsettledness between them, like the ground’s suddenly been ripped out from under them with no rhyme or reason to it.
They’ve had their moments before, but they’ve always communicated and talked about it eventually. This is the longest they’ve gone like this – co-existing as near-strangers – and Emery misses her wife. She misses just laying in bed together and talking about everything and anything. She misses the way Samira would smile at her, bright and so full of joy. She misses pressing a kiss to Samira's hair and inhaling the faint vanilla of her conditioner.
Samira groans, sitting up and turning on the lamp so she can see Emery properly. “For fuck’s sake, Emery, yes. What’s wrong with you?”
That stings. Samira would’ve never spoken to her like this before, and Emery has no idea why it’s happening now. She wants to remain patient and be the bigger person, but she’s so tired and frustrated with not knowing that the last thread of control holding her together just snaps.
“Me? What’s wrong with you?” She can’t hide the frustration in her tone, and it makes her hate herself. One of them needed to be level and calm, but this was what happened when two incredibly stubborn and hot-headed people fell in love; every single argument was ten times bigger than it needed to be because both of them took every single sentence as a personal attack.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Samira hisses, running a hand through her hair to push it back. “Just… you don’t need to jump in all the time. I got this.”
Emery groans, even more frustrated now. “Do you hear yourself? I’m your wife, Samira, and that is our child. Half mine, if you recall.”
“What, you think I can't do anything myself?” Samira challenges, crossing her arms and glaring down at Emery. “Just say it.”
“I didn’t - Mira -” Emery’s suddenly at a loss for words. She can feel a fresh round of tears coming on, and she blinks them away, determined to fix this. She leans forwards so they’re closer, practically nose-to-nose. “Hey. Talk to me. Please.”
Samira opens her mouth, tired but still meeting Emery's gaze for the first time in what feels like forever. She looks like she’s about to say something but then she slams her mouth shut, shaking her head stubbornly. “Don't be so dramatic, Emery. Just go to bed.”
With that, she reaches over to turn the lamp off and lies back down, effectively ending their conversation. Emery’s left staring at the empty space where Samira had sat just seconds ago, tears now rolling down her cheeks embarrassingly fast. Maybe there was a reason she’d never found anything lasting until Samira. Maybe she was the problem, always too much and too needy, even though she’d thought Samira was the exception, the only one to see all that and still choose her.
…
The spot next to her is empty when Emery wakes the next morning, sunshine streaming in through the half open curtains and spilling onto her face. It’s no surprise to wake up alone; Samira hasn’t stayed in bed one minute longer than she has to since Raya was born. She used to stay and read or do a crossword while she waited for Emery to wake up, but that’s a thing of the past. They haven’t waited for each other in a while.
Emery slides out of bed and pads across the room, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. Samira’s voice drifts from the living room, softly murmuring and laughing. It makes Emery’s heart hurt in the way it does every time, sharp with loneliness and wanting to be a part of every single moment. But she’s standing on the edge and looking in instead, like an outsider.
She lingers in the doorway, leaning against the wall and watching Samira's curls fall over her face as she giggles at Raya. It’s painful and sweet at the same time, and Emery desperately wants to be a part of it. But she knows she isn’t welcome, because god knows Samira’s made that clear enough, so she turns around silently and heads to the bathroom.
The second the door shuts behind her and the lock clicks in place, she's collapsing onto the floor, hot tears sliding down her cheeks silently. Every single emotion she's been feeling for the past few weeks comes crashing in like a bulldozer, an overwhelming wave of anger and hurt and frustration and uncertainty.
She misses her wife and their relationship. She wants to hold her daughter without Samira hovering anxiously over her shoulder. She wants to know what she did wrong, to fix the problem and have everything be okay again. But she doesn’t know, and that's the worst part, the not knowing where to even begin to put things back together.
She’s a surgeon, for fuck’s sake; she’s good at this, the whole problem solving thing. What kind of failure would she be if she couldn’t even keep her marriage together after this long?
So she straightens from where she’s curled into a ball on the floor, leaning over and tearing off a piece of toilet paper to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. She was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a quitter. She was just as stubborn and headstrong as Samira was, and so she’d figure this out. She had to — Samira and Raya were her entire life, and she’d sooner let hell freeze over than let them get away.
She stares at herself in the mirror, red-eyed and shrunken in, and splashes cold water onto her face in an attempt to reduce the puffiness.
When she re-emerges from the bathroom and finds herself in the kitchen, Samira's in the middle of breakfast, a piece of toast with peanut butter spread on it in front of her. She hardly glances up at Emery’s footsteps, keeping her gaze firmly locked on her phone.
“Hey,” Emery says quietly, moving to lean a hip against the table and bending over to brush her lips over Samira's temple. The entire action lasts less than a couple seconds, but she can instantly feel the way Samira goes entirely frozen and stills underneath her, as if she’s holding her breath in Emery's presence.
It hurts to think that whatever she's done has managed to lose her wife’s trust. But she shoves it down, because it’s fine, she can fix this.
“Does Raya need to be changed?”
“No.” The word comes out sharp, and Samira's face twists into a slight wince, like she's only just realized the edge in her tone. “No,” she repeats, slightly less hard now. “It’s fine, I got it.”
“I can do it,” Emery presses, even though Samira's already standing up and moving toward the living room. “Mira. Eat, I got it.”
“I’m not incapable just because I gave birth.”
Emery freezes next to the couch, right next to where Samira’s leaning over the bassinet and checking Raya's diaper. “You know damn well I never said that.”
Samira straightens and turns to glare at her, holding Raya against her shoulder. “No, but you may as well have.”
“How? By offering to help my wife with our child? By trying to be a present mother?”
“I don’t need you hovering!” Samira snaps, looking and sounding the most furious Emery's ever known her to be. “Just… just stop it.”
“Stop what, Samira?” Emery asks, fighting to keep her tone calm even as she can feel a wave of fury and hurt wash over her. Samira had always been indépendant, yes, but she’d never pushed Emery away like this before, had always let her in eventually.
She didn’t know how long she could go on like this, how long they could go on like this before one of them inevitably snapped into pieces from the strain on their relationship.
Before Samira can respond, a high-pitched wail shatters the silence between them and grabs their attention.
“God, Emery, what’s wrong with you?” Samira sighs, bouncing and humming under her breath in an attempt to soothe Raya. “Look what you’ve done.”
Emery can only gape at her, knocked off balance by the accusation. “Me?”
“You’re just being difficult. It’s not a big deal, like, I know you need to be useful all the time or you have an identity crisis, but that’s not my problem.”
Emery takes a step backwards, feeling like she’s just been punched in the gut and stabbed in the heart at the same fucking time. This wasn’t Samira. Her wife would never speak to her this way, would never hurl things at her like this when she knew how much it would hurt.
So she does the only thing she can think of and smooths her face over into an unaffected mask, crosses her arms and looks at Samira. “I’m sorry you hate me,” she says, using all her strength to make sure the words don’t come out shaky. “I don’t know what I did to make you feel this way, and I don’t know why you’re shutting me out. I just…” her voice finally wobbles, and Samira's eyes widen. No matter how much she felt, Emery never shook, always remained firm and steady. “I just miss you.”
She takes a step forward even as tears are now running down her cheeks, presses a kiss to the top of Raya’s head where it’s tucked into Samira's neck. She holds Samira's gaze for a long moment, looking hesitant and at war with herself, then leans up and brushes her lips against Samira's cheek, salty and wet from both their tears.
Taking a huge step backwards, she leans down to grab something from the corner next to the couch and hoists a duffel bag onto her shoulder. She spins around and heads for the door, grabbing her keys and slipping into worn-out sneakers on the way.
“Emery.”
Samira had been frozen in anger and shock while Emery had been speaking, but she finally snaps out of it and follows Emery to the door, still holding Raya as fear rushes through her.
“No, no, Emery, I’m sorry,” Samira pleads, unable to do anything but watch as Emery unlocks the door and tugs it open, her hands still full with Raya in her panic at realizing what the bag means, at Emery walking out. “I didn’t mean it, baby, I don’t hate you. Don’t go, please, I love you, I -”
Her pleas fall on deaf ears; Emery just steps out onto the porch and keeps going, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk in front of their house. Samira hadn’t meant for it to go this far; she had been tired and scared and now she’d pushed her wife past the point of return.
samira (10:03 AM)
I’m sorry
Come home
I was stupid to say all those things
samira (11:31 AM)
Please
I just need to know you’re safe
Just text me back, Em
I’m so fucking sorry
samira (12:47 PM)
I know I fucked up, Em, I know I did
I’m sorry
But come home, Raya needs you
I need you
emery (5:55 PM)
At Jack’s
samira (5:56 PM)
When are you coming home?
I need you, Emery
You can hate me all you want, just come home
emery (9:20 PM)
Don’t know
samira (9:21 PM)
I love you. Be safe
A week later and Emery's still shown no indication of coming home. A week of being miserable, of sleepless nights without Emery snoring next to her, of being home all day with just a newborn for company.
And even though she'd largely been ignoring Emery since Raya was born, she feels empty without her wife around, feels nothing but guilt at how cold she’d been and the things she’d said. She doesn't even know where all her anger came from, and that was the worst part; that she’d turned into someone she didn't recognize without even knowing it.
Some evil part of her brain had taken over after Emery had panicked when her water had broken, and another part of her had run with it, had been fuelled by fear and distrust even though this was Emery, her wife and the person she loved more than anything else.
So she’d pulled back and refused to let Emery back in, had let herself slip back into her old me against the world mindset that she’d worked so hard to get rid of. She'd let herself be convinced that Emery was a liability to both her and Raya, and in doing so she’d hurt Emery, had probably managed to ruin their marriage for good.
So it was no surprise that Emery couldn’t stand to look at her anymore after everything she’d done, was no surprise that Emery had been ready to leave like that and probably would come back.
It’s day 9 when a key turns in the door. Samira’s in the kitchen making herself dinner when she hears it, freezes as she strains her ear for any other sounds. The door opens and shuts a second later, and she holds her breath as she turns around and walks through the living room and into the entryway.
Emery stands there, duffel slung over her shoulder and looking like she’s been through hell, dark circles under her red and puffy eyes. And she has – they both have in the past week. They stand there and stare at each other, a silent standoff to see who breaks first.
“Hey.” Samira’s voice sounds unnaturally loud in the pin-drop quiet, nothing else but the faint crackling of the baby monitor in the living room.
Emery just nods, setting her bag down and toeing off her shoes. “We need to talk.” Her voice comes out rough and scratchy, like she’s barely spoken while she’s been away. She steps around Samira and into the living room, sitting down on one end of the couch and looking at Samira expectantly when she follows and just hovers, as if uncertain about what Emery wants from her.
“Sit. You owe me a fucking explanation.”
Samira bristles immediately at the commanding note behind Emery's words, but she still sits. “I don’t owe you shit.”
Emery stands from the couch and begins to pace back and forth. “Yeah, you do. For three weeks you ignored me and made me feel invisible, wouldn't let me near our child for whatever reason, barely looked at me unless you had to, and made me feel like you didn’t love me anymore. So start talking, because I’m not fucking around, Samira.”
The thinly veiled anger and overflowing frustration in her voice silences any jabs Samira had had loaded and ready on the tip of her tongue. Emery was right; Samira had been the one to crush their love and trust under her foot like it was no more than a bug, and she owed it to their relationship to at least try to fix things.
“I don't -” Samira starts, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Emery snaps, stopping her furious pacing to stand right in front of Samira, looming over her. “But I want to know why, Samira."
“I don’t know,” Samira says helplessly, tipping her head back to meet Emery's dark and piercing gaze. “I - you panicked and my brain saw that as being unable to trust you and I should’ve tried harder but I didn’t and it’s fine if you want to leave for good, it really is, but I’m so fucking sorry, Em, I was an idiot to say and do what I did -”
“Wait,” Emery says, face scrunched in confusion. “Hold on. What do you mean I panicked?”
Samira just stares up at her. “What - when my water broke. You were practically losing it.”
Understanding slowly dawns over Emery's face before twisting with anger. “So what you’re saying is, you made me feel like absolute shit for damn near a month because I panicked when my wife was giving birth?"
She scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s fucked up, Samira.”
“I know,” Samira pleads. “I know, Emery, but I was scared, you have to understand -”
“I was terrified.” The words come out barely above a whisper as Emery's face softens into something more vulnerable and open. “I’m a fucking doctor, I know how giving birth works, but I - I was terrified something would go wrong. I jumped to worst-case scenarios, and then you wouldn’t let me help while you were in labour, and I - I thought it was over. I was convinced you didn't love me anymore.”
Emery sniffles, and Samira's suddenly filled with a truckload of guilt at the sight of her usually strong and stoic wife looking so hurt and scared. She hadn't, not for a second, stopped to think about how Emery might have been feeling as Raya was born and then in the weeks after. She'd been so concerned about herself and their newborn baby that she’d forgotten about her wife, the very person she’d promised to love and cherish all those years ago.
Samira reaches out and takes Emery's hands into hers, squeezing tight. It’s the first time they’ve touched outside of a brief brush of fingers, and it’s intentional and tender in a way that hurts Samira's heart.
“I know. I know, Em.” The nickname is so instinctual and subconscious that she doesn’t even notice it, even when they've been using full first names for the entire conversation so far. “It was human to freeze, and I’ve been a dick for holding it against you.”
She doesn’t even notice she’s crying until Emery frees a hand and lifts it to brush at Samira's cheek, sniffling through her own tears. “I shouldn’t have left, Mira. I shouldn't have abandoned you guys like that.”
“No,” Samira says fiercely. “No, you should've. You were hurting and god knows how long we would’ve continued on like that otherwise.”
“Still,” Emery argues. “I should've -”
“No,” Samira repeats, using their joined hands to tug Emery back down next to her. She tugs her hand free so she can cup Emery’s face, making sure their eyes meet. “Hey. Listen to me. You did what you had to do. I'm not mad about it, or mad at you at all, really. Okay?”
She waits for Emery’s nod to lean forward and press her lips to Emery’s temple, keeping them there as she breathes in and out shakily.
“I was scared you weren’t coming back,” she finally murmurs. “Thought I'd pushed you away for good.”
“Never,” Emery whispers, pulling back to look at Samira. “I was hurt and upset, but I was always going to come back, sweetheart. It was a matter of when, not if.”
Samira doesn't respond, just stands and heads down the hallway.
“Mira?”
Emery hears faint rustling come through the baby monitor, then the sound of Samira humming and shushing gently. Footsteps pad down the hall a moment later, and Samira appears with Raya in her arms, smiling softly.
Emery holds her breath even as Samira stops right in front of her, unwilling to get her hopes up. She's held her daughter all of thrice since the day she'd been born, and it almost seems too good to be true now even as Samira's holding Raya out to her.
“What -”
“I can’t change the past,” Samira says quietly, nodding at Emery to hold her arms out, “but I promise I’ll do better. I swear.”
“Yeah,” Emery chokes out, looking down at Raya nestled into her arms. “Oh. I love you both, so much.”
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.
Trope: Enemies to Lovers (Mostly enemies on Trinity’s side)
Warnings: workplace romance, enemies to lovers, trinity not knowing how to handle feelings, bisexual reader, denial is a river in egypt, sunshine!readerxblackcloud!Trinity, mentions of self harm, slow burn
Trinity Santos has a problem
Actually, she has several problems. Chronic sleep deprivation. A caffeine addiction. An unhealthy tendency to push people away before they can leave first.
And then there’s Y/N.
The emergency physician assistant who somehow gets along with everyone, mostly works nights, and has become the one person Trinity can’t stop noticing.
Unfortunately, Trinity’s solution to having a crush is acting like she can’t stand her. Y/N, meanwhile, is convinced Trinity genuinely hates her.
Nina’s Pitt Masterlist
💋ྀིྀི Chief Complaint
💋ྀིྀི Differential Diagnosis
💋ྀིྀི Under Observation
💋ྀིྀི Known Side Effects
💋ྀིྀི Abnormal Findings
💋ྀིྀི Complications Arise
💋ྀིྀི Critical Condition
💋ྀིྀི Treatment Plan
💋ྀིྀི Discharge Instructions
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.
you hear the screams before you enter the house. before you even make it through the door, zahra is already there in front of you, hair wild from playing outside and chocolate all over her face. “mommy!” she squeals excitedly. you smile and squat down in front of her, opening your arms for a hug which she gladly accepts.
“how was your day with mama jan?” you ask her, you’re little confused about the chocolate that’s all over her face but you don’t question. maybe baran’s mom gave her some chocolate for being good? but she also knows zahra is not allowed to have sweets.
“so good! she made yummy soup and we played outside. also maman’s here!” she tells you excitedly. your smile is wiped off of your face. what? “maman?” you question. she nods with a smile. the chocolate on her face had made sense.
you sigh as you stand back up. baran’s mom walked up, “ah! you’re home.” she smiles, “baran’s here.” she wiggles her eyebrows as she smirks. of course she would let baran in, she’s her mother. “i hear.” you tell her as you walk up to the kitchen counter. you drop your birken bag that baran bought you as an apology for being late to your anniversary dinner on the counter and make your way towards the window that overlooked the backyard.
there you see baran kneeling on the grass with arman, looking confused with a screwdriver in hand and a paper in the other. you couldn’t see what they were building so you decided to step out of the house and move closer to them. “hell no.” you say as you get a closer look at the box.
baran and arman are both startled, baran looks up and smiles when she sees that you’re standing in front of her looking beautiful as always. “c’mon azizam…” she gets up from the grass and walks closer to you. “baran, i barely have space back here.” you tell her, voice annoyed already. she moves in closer towards you, her doe eyes never breaking eye contact with yours.
“azizam. the divorce on them is hard already, please my love.” she whispers sweetly, her breath on your skin, feeling too good to think. “fine.” is all you can say, too lost into her doe eyes. she smiles like if she won a bet. she moves away and walks closer toward arman, “c’mon buddy, we gotta figure out what part this goes to.” she tell your son.
you walk back inside, hot and frustrated. you bump into baran’s mom, she gives you a knowing look with a small little smirk, almost like she knows what you’re thinking. “i’m going to make baran some lemonade, care to help?” she asks. you nod and walk closer to the counter. you start cutting the lemons, silence overtaking the kitchen until baran’s mom cuts it. “you know…” here she goes, you think.
“baran is very sorry how she treated you.” she tells you. “she misses you.” all you do is nod. your attention only on the lemons that are in front of you. “i think you should give her another chance.” she says, carefully. almost like she doesn’t want to tick you off. you give her a look, not today.
she sighs as she pours the sugar in the jug. “think about it, asal.” then she leaves the kitchen to grab ice from the garage, leaving you with your thoughts but unfortunately when you’re a mother of a clingy 4 your old that’s when your quiet is thrown out the window. “mommy!”
couple hours later the trampoline was up, the kids had been too excited to wait until tomorrow to try it out so now they were jumping around as the sun set behind them. since baran’s mom doesn’t like being out late she left a while ago. now it was just you and baran inside the house, “they’re gonna be pretty tired by bedtime.” she points out. you nod, you look outside the window to see them having the time of their lives. “yeah. they are.” you tell her.
she rinses her hands with water before moving closer to you. “azizam..” she starts off. you gulp and walk backwards until you feel your back hit the counter. “thank you for today. for letting me do this for the kids.” she says. she looked so beautiful, so domestic. she was in her black scrubs, the ones that drove you crazy.
her body close to yours, her face a few inches from you. “baran..” you whisper. her eyes trailing down to your lips, “azizam.” she lets out. she leans in, your guys nose touching. “mommy! arman doesn’t let me play with the ball!” you hear from outside. it startles you both, pulling away from each other.
“fucking hell.” baran curses.
a/n: hello! so sorry for the long wait lol :) i wanna write a samira mohan oneshot but i have no ideas bro
sick samira… and walsh takes care of her ….. please….
sniffle sniffle anon let’s do this. mowalsh fam sick fic god help me.
c/w: vomiting, ill health etc etc etc
it had started with a pause.
found in the middle of the night between emery sitting up, rubbing her eyes and trying to figure out where she was.
then the distinct sound of samira in the other room, heaving into the toilet.
she winced. here we go.
she tried to enter the bathroom quietly but samira glared up at her the moment she peered around the corner.
“this…” she scowled. “…is your fault.”
emery tried to hold back a smile. “okay, sure. my fault.”
samira was huddled by the toilet, shivering slightly, still wearing her shorts and light-blue sleep shirt, her skin pale and sickly. her glare, though full of contempt, was weak and pout-like.
“your fault.” she repeated miserably.
“mhm.” emery padded in and crouched beside her wife. she pushed a strand of hair off of samira’s clammy forehead. “it’s all my fault, isn’t it?”
“yes.”
“how long have you been in here, baby?”
samira sniffled, eyes heavy with sleep. “a while. what time is it?”
“just gone half four. why don’t we get you cleaned up and back to bed?”
samira grumbled as emery tentatively made a fuss of her, taking a wipe to her mouth and a clean cloth to her sweat-soaked skin. she pushed her away gently. “think I’m gonna be sick again.”
“yeah?”
“mhm. I can…i can feel it.”
as if on cue, samira’s body suddenly pushed her back to the toilet bowl, emptying her guts into it, leaving her shuddering and whimpering. emery kept her hands in samira’s hair, pulling it away from her face, holding it back in a loose ponytail for her.
“okay, okay, I’m sorry, baby. get it out, there you go.”
they stayed like that for some time, samira hunched over the toilet, emery hovering behind her, trying to be soothing.
“i’ve got you, baby. i’m here.”
it was nearly fifteen minutes before samira sat back and sighed, looking down at herself pitifully.
“i…f-fucking hate being sick.”
“hm, i know.” emery said, taking another wipe to samira’s skin, trying to clean her up properly. “but at least it’s a good kind of sick?”
samira smiled faintly, rolling her eyes. “i suppose. guess i should’ve known though, huh?”
“should’ve known what?”
she interlaced their hands together. “norah never gave me this much fuss when we were having her. should’ve known a walsh baby would’ve been a pain in my ass.”
emery couldn’t wipe the smug little smile off her face. she ran her thumb over samira’s knuckles. “yeah?”
samira shrugged, smiling back. “I suppose.”
“still my fault?”
she laughed and let emery plant a kiss to her cheek. “uh-huh. still your fault.”
Baran snaps at reader after getting assaulted by a patient on her dayshift.
—
tw: kind of mean baran, baran uses looks to get her way 😭, yelling (kind of), i dont know how to tw this, angsty, hurt and comfort, good ending :)
—
meow, this was so rushed and not proofread i just got off of my nine hour shift. can u tell? im also not the best at angst… thinking of just sticking with smut and very short blurbs of angst :( sorry for the long note chicas. hope u enjoy!!! <3
Soft music plays in the dim of your apartment, your pasta sits beautifully in the pot and you’re stirring at the orangey-tinted sauce that you spent hours perfecting. Humming along to the song playing. One that you and Baranam sway to in the morning while you make breakfast for her and your son.
The door clicks open, and then clicks shut. You look over your shoulder and look at the entry way mirror to see Baran toeing off her shoes. She’s awfully quiet. You set the stove heat to a warm simmer and leave your station.
Making your way over, your mouth opens to spew sweetness and instead you croak—left in shock at her bruised nose and cheek.
“Baran, what the fuck?” You curse, hands trembling as they hover over her face—not wanting to touch her. “What happened, baby?”
You watch her face tighten, watch her flinch back in pain—she was assaulted at work, doing a diagnosis on a particularly aggravated patient. The purple bruise coating the caramel skin of her cheek.
Your chest tightens in worry. “Baran, what hap—“ Apparently the worrying was enough for her to snap.
“Azizam, enough! Just stop for a second.” She’s staring at you, breathing deeply—her sharp jaw is clenched. “Just… I need a second without feeling like I’m being bombarded by you.” The way she says it sounds like she’s been thinking about it for a while, and god if it doesn’t hurt.
You stare back, eyes glossier than before—your chest tightening with something other than worry. Hurt, confusion even because where did this all come from?
Sure, you’ve been a teensy bit more protective of her since her first day as an attending at the PTMC. You didn’t think you’d been bombarding her though. Not really.
You take a deep, shaky breath in—nodding. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.” And you back away from her slowly, swallowing.
Baran looks at you with the smallest hint of regret. She doesn’t snap at anybody, not usually—and especially not you. Her sweet girl, her sweet perfect wife who does nothing but the most for her.
She also didn’t mean to imply you were burdening and bombarding her. Baran knows you just trying to look out for her, see what you could do like you always do, her perfect baby.
For the rest of the night, you’re quiet. Working on dinner, holding back tears of quiet frustration (at Baran, and yourself) while staring down at over-cooked pasta. Straining it and mixing in Baran’s family sauce—one that you’d made for her prior because you know how hard she’s been working these past couple of weeks.
You eat quietly at the table, you clean up quietly, you don’t speak one word to Baran and her heart shatters. She tries to talk to you, tries to coax your sweet laughter out of your throat—but you’re stiff, and you’re silent. Not once does she apologize though.
You wrap an icepack in a rag, and drop it in her lap. That’s when she realizes your sadness has shifted into anger, not that you’d blow up in her face and throw things at her. Baran notices your anger in the quiet, little things… like dropping something so roughly in her lap rather than handing it to her gently.
“Thank you, darling.” And she watches your eyes roll. Her heart clenches, painfully.
—
You’re both getting ready for bed, Baran getting into her lilac silk night dress—something sexy, like she’s attempting to appease you. Win you over again. Everything she does gets ignored.
“I could be masturbating and you wouldn’t even care, hm?” Her lips pressing to your bare shoulder, sucking a soft mark—her version of an apology. A really shitty apology and usually Baran is incredibly good at them. “Aziz…” She sighs into your skin.
“Don’t.” Baran freezes, it’s the first word you’ve spoken to her since the argument. “Stop acting like everything is okay, Baran. Enough acting like you did nothing wrong.” You choke out, eyes watering—and you hate yourself for crying over something so silly.
“Sweet girl…” She spins you around, her hands sliding from your waist to frame your face. “I’m sorry.”
You groan, loudly—wiping your tears with balled up fists. “No, you aren’t.” Your sniffle is wet, loud. “You’re not fucking sorry, Baran. If you were sorry we wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.”
“I am sorry,” She grabs your wrists, pulling them down. “I’ve had a rough day, baby. Am I not allowed to be upset?”
Another groan, another eye roll, another huff at how cruel she’s being. “Of course you’re allowed to be upset. You got assaulted, dude!” You see her jaw clench at the ‘dude’, you know she hates when you call her that. “It doesn’t mean you have the right to treat me like I’m less than, when all I’m trying to do is make everything a little bit easier for you. Okay?”
Baran sighs, “okay.” it’s all she says. You see the regret in her eyes, the genuine apology—but she doesn’t outright say it to you, doesn’t coddle you or beg for forgiveness.
“I’m tired.” You see her eyes widen at that, and you are quick to calm her nerves. “I’m not divorcing you, Baranam. But I am telling you that if you want to continue loving me and receiving the same affection—you have to fix your bullshit. I’m done being the silly doormat, because I’m everything but that. I am your wife.” Voice still shaky, unsteady. Your fists still balled up, not to punch or attack, but to ground.
“You’re right,” She’s sitting upright now, standing in front of you—bruised face to one sad, tired face. “You’re right. My darling,” her lips pressing to yours, not to appease but apologize. “I’m sorry. Truly, aziz. I’ve… taken advantage of you. You’re not a doormat, you are my wife and I’m sorry I haven’t been treating you as such, my darling girl.”
“It’s not an excuse, but the pressure of the Pitt… it’s weighing on my shoulders and I’m struggling to keep my head above the thick water, hm?” She pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, wiping away a sliding tear. “I never meant to make you feel like a burden, like you bombarded me. You didn’t, darling. I know your intentions.”
“I’ll back off next time—“ She immediately cuts you off.
“I’m not asking for that. Look, my darling, I’ve worked in the medical field for… quite some time, I’ve been through shit your precious eyes should never see.” She brushes her nose against yours. “I’m asking you to… understand where I’m coming from. That I’m a big girl, and I can handle myself. Punched or not.” Another sweet kiss to your lips.
“Okay, big girl.” You kiss back, and she has to forcefully pull her lips off of yours. You just stare at each other for a while, breathing each other in because you haven’t all day. Lingering guilt remains in Baran’s eyes and yours too.
“You’re my princess. I will take care of you, not the other way around.”
“But sometimes even the frog needs help.” And Baran barks out a loud and especially hearty laugh—eyebrows shot up in a ‘oh yeah?’ gesture. Tugging you onto the bed with her till you’re on her lap.
She mumbles a soft insult in her Persian-tongue that makes you laugh in confusion. “So… we… are okay? We are better, I mean.”
“As long as you don’t snap at me like that again, we are.”
summary: you stop by the hospital to return baran’s jacket but also to pick up emery for breakfast, leaving baran with a mess of conflicting feelings.
word count: 1.5k
tags: mcsteamy reader; jealousy; mutual pining; more slow burn; swearing (emery makes an appearance lol)
a/n: not sure if the title makes the most sense but i can see the connection in my head and that’s all that matters ig lol. next part will have more direct interactions!
<PREVIOUS PART>
“Hey, D.” You approached the central nurses’ station from the ambulance bay, a tray of coffees in one hand and a light-blue athletic jacket in the other. “You know where Baran is?”
“Why are you here?” The charge nurse asked in lieu of an answer, appraising your jeans and sweater over the bridge of her glasses.
“Baran lent me her jacket after the whole cric fiasco, so I thought I’d return it to her.” You held up the article of clothing like it was evidence and set the drink tray on the counter.
“Al-Hashimi,” Dana pointedly corrected, a lilt of teasing in her voice, “is in south 15 treating a patient, doing her job. You ever heard of that, Barbie?”
“Ouch.” You clutched your chest with mock offense before holding out a cup for her to take. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
Dana’s stare sobered and softened slightly as she accepted the drink and took a sip, letting out a hum of approval when she tasted her usual order.
“So you came all the way down here on your day off just to return a jacket?” Dana raised a brow, not bothering to hid her disbelief, and you couldn’t blame her.
If it were anybody else’s jacket, you would’ve just held onto it until your next emergency consult, and who knew when that would be. No, actually, you wouldn’t have even done that. If it had been anybody else, you would have just given the jacket to Walsh or Garcia, or even Shamsi, and had them to return it for you.
Yet, here you were, on your rare day off, bringing coffee for people, all to return Baran’s jacket.
Baran.
You had only interacted with the woman twice but there was something about her that piqued your interest. Obviously she was attractive, there was no questioning that, and she was clearly more than competent to run the ED, seeing as the department was no longer one breakdown away from complete collapse. But there was something else, something more, that caught your attention.
Whether it was the way she carried herself with a composed air of compassion, or the fact that she didn’t back down from your flirtatious quips, or how her big brown eyes practically bore into your soul every time she looked your way, you weren’t sure. But whatever it was, it had you down in the emergency department at 7 am with the hopes of speaking with her again.
You couldn’t exactly tell Dana all of that, though based on the look she was wearing, you had a feeling she already knew.
Before you could explain why you were really here, the woman in question approached you, her soothing voice cutting through all the chaos.
“Doctor—” the syllables of your last name rolled off Baran’s tongue with ease, causing your insides to coil— “to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I wanted to give this back to you.” You held up her jacket before pushing the tray now holding only two cups in her direction. “I also come bearing caffeine.”
“Oh, thank you.” Baran smiled, pleasantly surprised, as she took the jacket from you. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here just to return this.”
She noticed you weren’t in your scrubs, your autumn outfit making you look softer than usual.
“I wanted to see you.” Your lips curled up into a grin, and Baran clung to the trace of earnestness in your voice.
Then, as if to play it off, you shrugged and added, “I had to pick something else up anyways.”
Baran’s eyes narrowed barely, but before she could ask further, Emery Walsh ambled up to the station. “So I’m a thing now?”
“Finally,” you groaned, rolling your eyes as you plucked the cup of coffee labeled “DC” out of the tray and handed it to the other surgeon. “You usually take this long to do a routine cholecystectomy?”
“Just trying to match your speed, Spook,” Emery retorted, taking a sip of the drink before scowling. “What the fuck is this decaf shit?”
“You have a problem.” You shot her a glare, one that told her you knew about her personal consultation with cardio a couple weeks ago. “You can order whatever you want at breakfast. My treat.”
“You spoil me,” Emery snarked as she downed the rest of the coffee.
Baran watched the interaction with an itchy feeling creeping up her spine. She couldn’t tell whether this was just another instance of you being naturally flirtatious or if you and Emery were going on a breakfast date. After all, you had come all this way on your day off just to pick up the surgeon. Either way, Baran felt a pool of envy twist in her gut.
“I should get back to my patients,” she excused herself with a tight smile. “Thank you for returning my jacket.”
Sensing the shift in the other woman, her expression more tense and posture more rigid, you softened. “Wait.”
Baran paused, turning slightly on her heels as you grabbed the last paper cup from the tray and held it out for her.
“This is for you.”
As Baran reached out to accept the drink, her fingers brushed against yours, the slight contact sending a jolt straight to her chest.
“Your usual.”
When she raised a questioning brow, you chuckled awkwardly. “I asked around.”
Baran couldn’t help the amused glint in her eye at the sight of the faint blush dusting your cheeks. There wasn’t enough time to figure out the whiplash of emotions she had just experienced in the last five minutes, so Baran simply raised her cup.
“Thank you,” she said your name fondly. “I hope to see you around.”
“Likewise,” you replied, a satisfied smirk creeping back onto your lips.
Nodding, Baran turned on her heels and disappeared into the chaos of the emergency department. Your eyes followed her retreating figure, admiring the curves and angles of her movements, committing them to memory.
“You’re drooling.” Emery’s deadpan voice interrupted your trance.
You slapped her hand away from your face, earning a laugh from her. “Shut up,” you grumbled.
“I see Yoyo wasn’t lying.”
“About what?” You frowned at the idea of your two friends talking about you. The three of you had a friendship where if two of you were talking about the third behind their back, it was usually out of concern. While that concern did manifest itself in the form of snippy, sarcastic comments, it was still concern nonetheless.
“You have a crush,” Emery sang with a teasing grin.
“What? No, I don’t,” you refused quickly, too quickly, which Emery noticed, her grin widening even more.
“You returned her jacket,” Emery noted.
“After she lent it to me,” you countered, but the other surgeon ignored you.
“On your day off,” she finished with a pointed look.
“And—” she held up her hand to silence whatever argument you had ready— “you brought her coffee, her usual at that.”
Emery wiggled her brows suggestively.
“I brought you coffee,” you argued teasingly.
“Yeah, but decaf,” she said it like a curse word.
“Because you’re a bitch,” you quipped, and Emery let out a hearty chuckle.
“What are you two still doing here?” Dana’s Yinzer accent interrupted your bantering as she reentered the nurses’ station. “Go talk about Barbie’s crush somewhere else,” she said, having clearly heard enough of the conversation.
“Not a crush,” you corrected, grabbing the empty drink tray from the counter with one hand and pulling Emery’s elbow with the other.
“Okay, lover girl,” Dana muttered under her breath, shaking her head at you and Emery, as the two of you continued to bicker on your way out.
From across the department, standing at a computer, Baran watched the entire exchange with narrow eyes. While she couldn’t hear the words you and the other surgeon were exchanging, to anyone with eyes it looked like flirting, and based on the little she knew about you, she’d take one guess to say that’s what was happening. You and Emery seemed to interact with an ease and familiarity, and Baran couldn’t help but wonder what kind of history was there.
As her eyes followed you out the door, she took a sip of the drink you had given her. The familiar flavors of Assam tea with a splash of milk and just a dash of sugar hit her tongue, and yet it tasted warmer, sweeter, as if somehow the fact that you went out of your way to find out her order changed the taste.
“Hey, doc,” Dana’s voice snapped her back to the moment. “Labs are back on South 15, and we got an ambulance ten minutes out. Girl with a failed epi-pen”
Baran inhaled sharply and straightened her posture. “Thanks, Dana,” she said, taking the tablet from the nurse to scan the lab results.
As she moved to go check on her patient, her half-full paper cup still sitting on the desk, Dana interjected with a knowing smirk, “Don’t throw that away. Looks like it’s got some important information on it.”
Baran frowned, but before she could ask, the other woman was already walking away. Turning around, Baran picked up the cup and rotated it. As the sleeve slid down an inch, she finally noticed a line of digits scribbled on the cup and she knew it could only be one thing.
pitching an idea next season where it’s victoria’s turn to get liquids on her and when she has to strip her zip-up off, cassie, who’s watching this unfold, walks into the wall because she’s so hungry i mean horny i mean concerned about her darling student
