Description: ER Resident Dr. Parker Ellis and Surgery Attending Dr. Emery Walsh get into it after the MCI.
WC: 2.2k
Tags/warnings: hurt/comfort. slow burn. misunderstandings. blood. light medical descriptions. power imbalance (Parker is a senior resident and Emery is an attending... they aren't in the same department, but worth noting). cursing (do y'all care?) age gap (presumed? between 5 and 10 years)
if y'all see something I don't please just let me know I will add it. thanks <3
Excerpt: "You're off your game, Ellis," she elaborated with what sounded like exasperation.
"You may be an attending, but not in the ER. You're out of line, Walsh."
The two stood there, killing the convivial quality of the room: shoulders raised, eyes coldly trained on each other. The lights flickered, the coffee machine whirred to a stop. After a two-minute stalemate, Emery grimaced before breaking their silence.
A/N: I set out to write something smutty, but it ended up being really tender. I'm already working on a part two and hoping to make three chapters total... I haven't seen much about this pairing, so I've tried to contribute with my first fic. I hope y'all like it! Also, I know that Abbot leaves much earlier in the night and that Emery was probably not in surgery until morning, but I had already written the fic when I remembered!!!
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Parker had fucked up, big time. She had over-transfused that patient, popped his clots, and now, he was in there exsanguinating. She couldn't blame the exhaustion; she couldn't blame the mass casualty incident. She had fucked up plain and simple. She treated a case rather than the person right in front of her. She wouldn’t even be part of the solution because no one wanted her in trauma 1 after such an obvious mistake. Jack Abbot didn't say a word to her. Michael Robinavitch passively urged her out of the glass paneled room. John Shen stayed focused on the patient. And then there was Emery Walsh.
"Treat the patient, not the protocol."
All the people she admired got to work fixing her nonsensical error.
She was a 4th year resident. She absolutely should have known better. She reduced that patient to a page in a textbook while he sat there, in front of her, already full of enough fresh blood to keep them stable. But now, there was nothing more to do than move on with her shift. This is what the ER was. The blood kept pumping, the machines kept beeping, and they, the illustrious medical staff of PTMC, kept on moving. Parker kept moving with those final words from Dr. Walsh on her mind. They were etching their way into her skin and into her blood stream; they would make her a better doctor, but right now, they just fucking stung.
Parker usually managed her hard shifts through pattern recognition and subsequent precise treatment. It was a plug and chug kind of approach to emergency response that usually yielded good results. She had experience, the sort you could rely on. And yet, this time it had failed. She had shut down a little too much of her brain, in the rush of MCI, and she hadn't turned it back on as the ER shifted back to what they considered normal. She couldn't afford to do that for the next 10 hours. She would comb over every detail, even if it fried the fuck out of her.
After helping Dr. King out with a spinal tap, she spent entirely too much time with her next few patients. It was the stuff of oral histories and archives, not of medical charts for quick diagnosis. This is how she first started out in the Pitt, much like Samira. She was just grateful Robby hadn't stuck around to see her slow all the way down and punish her for it. This was the only way to make sure people didn't slip through the cracks. This was the only way she saw to continue.
~
Around 4 AM, an unusual lull settled on the over the ER. It was the perfect time for the coffee that would carry Parker to the end of her shift. She'd quickly snag it and take it over to a computer to chart. She sauntered over to the break room, with an anticipatory pep in her step, threw in a pod, and assumed her regular coffee waiting position: head low, hands on her hips, foot tapping like an addict. Abbot stepped in silently, slipped a firm hand over her shoulder and started before Parker knew he was in the room, "Ellis that wasn't like you, and this pace you've taken up on the rest of this shift isn't like you either. I know you're capable of balancing speed and attention to detail. Find it again." She turned to find his brow focused on her, furrowed in concern and in disappointment. Parker managed a nod as she handed him the coffee he undoubtedly came for and silently tossed in another pod.
The break room had this odd, magical quality to it. Everyone who entered let their shoulders drop for a minute and spoke freely. It was as if there was a collective agreement for some sort of release once they crossed the threshold of the door. Maybe it was the coffee and tea, or the low table, or the overhead lights that were slightly warmer than the rest of the ER. That's why Parker wasn't surprised when Abbot issued his stern but warm reprimand over a cup of coffee. And that's why she shouldn't have been surprised when Dr. Walsh made her way over and gave her a cold piece of her mind.
"You should get out of here."
"Excuse me?"
"You're off your game, Ellis," she elaborated with what sounded like exasperation.
"You may be an attending, but not in the ER. You're out of line, Walsh."
The two stood there, killing the convivial quality of the room: shoulders raised, eyes coldly trained on each other. The lights flickered, the coffee machine whirred to a stop. After a two-minute stalemate, Emery grimaced before breaking their silence.
"Look, I don't mean to say you're not good at your job. I've always admired your work, actually. But you"
"Walsh," Parker interjected, an undeniable edge in her voice.
Emery threw her hands up in surrender, quickly continuing, "You don't seem yourself. I've seen you do better. You need to recalibrate. That's all." She turned on her heels and left.
Where did she get off? Dr. Emery Walsh must have been the most arrogant person Parker had ever met. They barely knew each other, and she thought she could tell Parker about her "game" and then just leave? What on earth did she know about how she worked? Parker snatched her coffee, immediately lifting it to her lips, and burning her tongue.
“Fuck.”
Maybe she was off. She pulled her lips tight, thinking of the shit-eating grin that formed across the lower half of Walsh's face as she delivered her another scathing critique, thinking of the way her mole moved the tiniest bit as she did it.
She had to get it together. She shook her shoulders, took some quick breaths, and did a couple of boxing shuffles. She was gonna get through this shift and then take her tired ass home.
~
Emery didn't mean to be the way she was. Everything she said came out harsh, with a sharpness to it. She was cold by nature; she wouldn't deny that. When she was trying to flirt, it came out as mere observation. When she was trying to teach, it came out as plain critique. And when she was trying to encourage, it came out like that.
She bolted her way back up to the surgery floor, embarrassed by every inch of that interaction. Only when she was in the elevator alone with her hands over her eyes did she remember that she forgot to get a coffee. She was off her game. She needed to get a fucking grip.
How she had managed to admit she’d been watching her colleague of three years intently while also managing to insult said colleague, she didn't know. All her talents remained on the 4th floor of PTMC, particularly within the surgery theater with her fingers placed carefully on metal, slicing and stitching flesh.
Despite her clumsy delivery, Emery had meant what she said. Ellis was not the type to make that kind of mistake. She was incredibly methodical, but with a keen awareness of patient needs. Emery's careful observation, particularly over the past few months, had shown her that. When she was with a patient, you could tell that the rest of the world fell away for her. She fixed her gentle, consuming eyes on them and let them say their fill, creating a space for just two with her attention. That is except when there were interns or junior residents nearby. In those times, her bubble expanded ever so slightly, and her firm guidance steered her peers onto their own path of attentive medical care. While her eyebrows were often quizzically raised, her eyes stayed gentle all the while.
Having been robbed of a decent coffee by her preoccupation with the younger doctor, Emery settled for some of the desk-side instant stuff. She tossed it back the minute she finished stirring it in her mug, now immune to the heat of a fresh cup, and rubbed her neck before getting back to business. She had one more surgery before the end of her shift. She needed to focus on her patients too.
~
The shift finished without fanfare. Kids from Pitt, CMU, Dusquesne, and Chatham streamed in and out. Too many drinks here, a broken bone there: the works. It was 8 AM and Parker was on her last chart. Her head was throbbing from exhaustion; it was new. Parker was often exhausted, but usually took care of herself, avoiding the worst of the physical effects. This shift had clearly taken something from her that only time could ever give back. She needed to get out of the pit ASAP.
She bolted to the locker room, putting in her earbuds and letting her locs down before slipping on her navy Carhartt jacket and Doc Martens. The jazz music didn't actually help her headache, but it had become an integral part of her wind-down ritual. She couldn't have heard Walsh stepping right behind her as she turned around.
The surgeon was already talking somehow. Her curly hair framed her face so delicately, having already ditched her shift-compliant updo.
"Walsh I literally cannot hear you," she said removing one bud at a time.
"Let's grab a coffee, my treat."
The younger doctor was stunned. Why would they share a coffee after that hellish night? And yet, the attending left little to no exit with imperative phrasing.
"I need to sleep, Dr. Walsh."
"You can call me Emery, and I can buy you tea instead. Come on," she started toward the elevator.
Rejection seemingly off the table, Parker reluctantly followed. She had to take the elevator anyway.
"I was apologizing earlier. I mean—I meant what I said, but I didn’t say it right."
"Oh, right."
"I'm still not getting right, am I?"
"Not quite, Walsh"
"Emery please. We're off the clock"
It wasn't like Emery to be this chatty, but it wasn't like Parker to be this quiet either, so she continued, "What I mean to say is—How are you, Ellis? You don't seem quite yourself today. I was a bit concerned when I realized that mistake was yours."
"How could I be myself on a day like today?"
All this time, Emery had yammered, facing Parker, but now, the younger woman was looking back at her, arms crossed, head tilted slightly downward, and mist forming below her irises.
"Today was not normal," she choked out, "...but it's also so normal?" And with that confession of distress, she burst into sobs, unexpectedly hiccup-y sobs. Parker’s emotions sat plainly on her face throughout every shift, but Emery had never seen them shake her whole body. Emery had to hold her. How could she not stroke her back and squeeze her? How could she not try to help her hold herself together?
"I know."
~
Somehow between all the tears, they made it over to Emery's car. It was an SUV with the room for a husband and 2.5 kids, yet it would only be the two them, their tote bags, and accompanying emotional baggage along for the ride this morning. Parker let herself be guided to the passenger seat. Their hands lightly brushed past each other’s arms through their organizing motions until she took hold of Emery's arm.
"You've been at this longer than me, seen other mass casualty incidents, Tree of Life..." she trailed off before looking up into her colleague’s careful dark eyes, "How do you manage?" Desperation twinged her hollowed voice.
Emery exhaled. She hadn't talked to someone outside of her inner circle like this in a while. She placed a hand to Parker's cheek like she might with Yoyo or Janet.
"You know there are a lot of good people in Pittsburgh and PTMC, people you can really talk to. I've seen you with the other residents. I promise opening up like this helps."
Her thumb made gentle circles around Parker’s sideburns as she continued, “You have me today, if that’s any consolation.”
And, surprisingly, it was.
~
The two buckled up and made their way to a coffee shop in Shadyside where they both happened to live. They sat by the window 'til lunchtime, getting used to calling each other by their first names, exchanging soothing touches then jabs when something was "way harsh" or "too funny". The sun trickled in, supplying warmth despite the early autumn cold. Crumbs from Emery's pastry littered the table. Parker's coffee went cold twice. Knowing they deeply needed rest, the two agreed, after four hours rolled by, that it was time to go home.
All there was left to do was say goodbye. They slipped into a hug; it was the only shape appropriate after the tender time they shared getting under each other’s skin from twilight ‘til afternoon.
"I really thought you were gonna fuck my day up," Parker admitted in their parting hug.
"I really thought I would fuck your day up too," Emery lifted herself out of the embrace to supply another cheeky grin.
They slowly separated knowing it wouldn't be long at all until they met again.
Today in Stupid: Billie Eilish Merch May Have Stolen From ‘Love Live’ Fanart
The first of a new segment called “Today In Stupid” where we look at people doing dumb and scummy things.
Billie Eilish unveiled a new line of merchandise with fashion brand Siberia Hills. However, after the reveal on August 7, many were quick to point out that one of the designs appears to be using altered or traced artwork by Makoto Kurokawa, a popular artist on Twitter.
The original artwork features fanart of the character Nozomi from Love Live!
The piece was originally uploaded to Twitter by Kurokawa in August of 2018.
Today's message to the stupid people of the world, especially those are Siberia Hills, DON’T STEAL ARTWORK FOR YOUR MERCHANDISE LINE.
