Throw Me A Bone
Dr Brendon Park x Forensic Pathologist!GN!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here As requested here by Anon hope you enjoy! ♥️ A startled meeting. A scalpel pointed threateningly at him. A strange encounter. Leads to many many more. Brendon Park is charmed by your odd nature, allured by your humour. And just perhaps. You develop a soft spot for the Shark. Chipping away at his steel facade, bit by bit, trying to find his funny bone.
Notes: some strong language, medical innacuracies, quirky and gender neutral reader who works in the morgue💗
Word Count: ~3.5k
Working in a morgue isn’t exactly everyone’s dream job.
A secluded space.
Often in the basement of the hospital.
Working beneath fluorescent lights where not a single ounce of natural sunlight could be found.
Walls of stainless steel cabinets. Everything is precisely controlled to ensure the delay of tissue degradation. Cool, sterile air with twangs of a metallic aftertaste as you breathed.
To some it contained a sense of eeriness.
The makings of a horror film.
Or the beginnings of a terrible nightmare.
Certainly not the makings of a rom-com film.
A sense of unease brewed in the pits of their stomachs at the thought of a morgue. The idea of being amidst the dead made them uneasy…
But for a few.
It was all part of the job.
In your opinion it was just as mundane as any other workplace.
You clocked in.
Did your work.
Said goodbye to some old ones, and then said hello to new admissions.
Examined a few bodies.
Wrote up your case notes and findings.
Had a coffee and snack somewhere in between.
Before clocking off.
Only to do it all again the next day.
Despite being surrounded by people. It was fairly solitary. Besides, the company you were in wasn’t the liveliest of bunches…
It was just your typical Wednesday afternoon.
Where you were in the midst of performing an autopsy. Fairly standard, nothing too unusual. From what you could find, the leading cause of death was pneumonia.
“Right–so as I was telling the other guy. Maria is so audacious, honestly. You wouldn’t believe the shit she’s been trying to pull–,” you muttered while you worked.
Some people journaled. Others spoke to friends or family. Or to a therapist. Just to simply let their thoughts and feelings out.
But you…
Well you spoke to the bodies you worked with.
A simple way to vent, let out your frustrations, make jokes that never really landed.
They truly were great listeners, especially when it came to shit talking about your colleagues…but as for their advice, well that was certainly not something you took into consideration.
“–Just last week I definitely caught her using my cereal. Completely ignoring the label I put on it. Honestly–” you muttered out, eyes scanning the organs, trying to find any discrepancies, anything out of the usual, anything needed to be noted down.
Too enthralled by your work, by your rant.
You failed to notice the opening of the door.
The faint footsteps approaching.
Until–
The clearing of a throat can be heard. Your brows deepen in concern as you look at the corpse before you…surely not…
“Hi,” a voice sounds from behind you.
You nearly jump out of your own skin, spinning around you clutching your chest, while your other hand tightly holds onto the scalpel, pointing it towards the person.
“Fucking cheese and crackers!” you exclaimed. Eyes wide as you look upon the newcomer.
The man steps back slightly, hands raised. Brows furrowed in confusion, darting between you and the scalpel within your tight grip.
You sigh. Letting your shoulders drop. Noting his scrubs and hospital badge. The relief doesn’t last as your annoyance bubbles up.
“Don’t sneak up on a person with a scalpel! I could’ve stabbed you. Didn’t your mom teach you better than that,” you said, before placing the scalpel down onto your tray, whilst it clattered upon impact.
You cross your arms over your chest, looking at him expectantly, “What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t everyday that someone decided to come into your workspace. The only times you saw doctors from other departments was mostly for Morbidity and Mortality meetings…otherwise known as M&M’s.
Those things always made you peckish…
But these meetings were always scheduled ahead. Always with plenty of time to prepare.
And well–you were normally able to palm them off to one of your other colleagues.
The man before you. Was familiar.
Not enough for you to remember his name. Or where he usually worked.
But the purple scrubs at the very least helped you recognise that he was a surgeon.
A sharpness to his features, a coldness that rolled off of him in waves. Broad stature.
To anyone else he may have seemed intimidating. Especially with those steel blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through you. But to you, he was no more intimidating than the corpse just behind you.
“I just wanted to check on a patient, just reviewing an M&M case,” he explained. Straight to the point. Words clipped. Precise.
The patient itself had died on the table, Brendon’s OR table, and whilst it is an unfortunate part of the job. He was always striving to do better. Always wanting to know what else could’ve been done.
Just so that next time, it could be avoided.
Ever since med school he had always been extremely particular when it came to these things. Always searching to know more.
“Right,” you nod, taking in his words. You arch a brow whilst looking at him questioningly, “And you’re definitely not here to cover up any incriminating evidence, right?–”
Before he could even mutter the word what? Completely thrown by your questioning. You continued, “Cause let me tell you…” you stand a bit taller, a bit more sure, before you add jokingly, “That would be a first for me”
He blinks in surprise, caught off guard by you.
The way you seemed to flip between sanity and absurdity was alarming.
If it were anyone else.
He’d have bit their head off by now. Chewed them out for their words wasting his time.
But with you.
He couldn’t quite place why.
But your odd nature.
Your strange humour.
Was something that he strangely…didn’t mind.
And then you shrug, before turning back around, pulling off your gloves before putting on a new pair, “Let me finish up on this one here, and then we can check on your guy–I’ll show you where the bodies are buried and what not,” you answered.
“I promise I’m not trying to hide anything incriminating,” Brendon claimed, for some reason he felt compelled to respond to your nonsense.
Glancing at him briefly over your shoulder, scanning him from head to toe, before your attention drifts back to your work, you reply, “I’ll believe it when I see it–I’m Y/N by the way”
“Brendon Park,” he responded, whilst you nodded in acknowledgement.
His name scratched an itch in your mind. But nothing you could quite place…Park. Now why was that familiar.
And somehow.
Your casual demeanor.
Your lack of care towards who he was.
And lack of fear towards him…besides the initial jumpscare.
Had made him start to fester feelings of respect. If just by a little. Watching whilst you worked diligently, and with care.
You were a little odd…
He had heard the rumours of course. But never paid much mind to them.
Had heard you described as recluse–hyper fixated on your work.
And on some level, Brendon could understand that. Could relate to that level of dedication. Of keeping people at arm’s length…
He could understand you–
The click of a finger, your mouth forms an oh.
“As in Park the Shark,” you said aloud in realisation.
Maybe Brendon spoke too soon…
It was an interesting afternoon to say the least.
…
The next time Brendon saw you was barely a day later.
He had managed to snag a few minutes to himself, about to eat, when he had discovered he had left his lunch at home.
With nothing else on offer, he had wandered to the cafeteria.
Certainly not his first choice.
But the hunger in his stomach simply needed to be fed.
Just as he was about to step in line, he stopped short. Eyes landing on you, standing just before him in line, eyes scanning the menu ahead.
“Oh, hey,” he greeted.
You turn around briefly, giving him a once over. With an arch of a brow, a blank look upon your face, “Do I know you?”
His name on the tip of your tongue.
But your mind draws a blank despite his familiarity…so you go with your instincts.
…You lie.
He’s taken aback for a second, “We met yesterday. I’m Dr Park? Brendon?”
Nodding you take in his words, before offering him a small smile, “Oh, sorry,” you wave a hand before your eyes, “I suffer from severe face blindness, so I didn’t recognise yah. How you been–”
That statement may or may not have been true…but it has definitely gotten you out of awkward jams before.
Especially when you forgot names. Which happened more than you cared to admit.
It was your favourite failsafe.
“What can I get for you?” The cashier asks when you step up, before you order, glancing back at Brendon with a grin, “Got anything incriminating you want me to cover up for you?”
He almost chokes from your sheer casualness. The deadpanned look on your face.
Made even worse by the wide eyed look the cashier sends them.
Startled, he shakes his head at you, before trying to regain his composure, “No,” he steps up to order while you move to the side.
You were strange, that much he was sure of.
But in the brief time he’d known you.
You’d been funny, you had been nice, not judgemental–which was more than he could say about a few of his other colleagues.
Jutting your head, you began to move, “C’mon Park, you’re sitting with me–gotta make sure you’re not doing anything sketchy,” you joked with a smile.
And Brendon.
Well he followed your lead.
There wasn’t a lot of crossover when it came to you and Brendon. The morgue was certainly out of the way, and you never had any reason to go to the other departments. Everything you needed was down in the morgue.
But your thoughts never failed to drift towards the image of the Shark…his face popping up in the most random of times.
And Brendon couldn’t quite shake the thought of you. Your image burrowed in the confines of his mind.
Inexplicably intertwined with each other.
…
The hospital auditorium was, without question, one of your least favourite places.
Too many people.
Too much talking.
Unlike the peace of your morgue...
"...and if everyone could please take their seats, we'll be starting in just a moment."
You sighed dramatically, "This is cruel and unusual punishment," you muttered.
Beside you, Robby snorted into his coffee, "You literally spend your days cutting people open."
"Formerly alive people," you corrected, wagging your finger, "Big difference. They don't make PowerPoints."
"...Fair,” Robby shook his head, amused.
Of all the physicians in the hospital, he was probably the only one you'd willingly socialize with.
Mostly because he understood.
There were patients that stayed with him.
The ones he couldn't save.
Every now and then, after a shift, he'd wander downstairs into the morgue.
Not because he needed answers.
But just...
Just to say goodbye.
You'd never interrupted him. Sometimes he'd stand quietly beside the body.
Sometimes he'd apologize.
Sometimes he'd simply whisper, "I'm sorry I couldn’t do more…”
Afterwards, you'd always leave a little extra time before beginning your examination.
It felt...
Respectful.
Since then, an odd friendship had developed.
You had grown used to his presence. As he had grown used to yours.
Your eyes lift to scan the room. These meetings were always something you dreaded, always tried to get out of and yet could never escape the grip it had on you. But then they land on the familiar face.
The friendly face – in your opinion, perhaps not shared by many others – of one Brendon Park.
“Hey–Brendon, over here,” you called out, waving him over.
Walking over to you, he takes the seat by your side, lifting a brow, “I thought you had face blindness?”
Robby snorts from the other side of you, “Did they tell you that bullshit too?” A grin spread across his lips while he shot you a look.
Only for you to shove his side, “Fuck off Robinavitch.”
He snickers from your annoyance. Hiding his grin behind his coffee cup.
Before turning back to Brendon, sighing, “Don’t tell anyone this. But–I just forget names really easily so rather than saying that, I just say I have face blindness,” you shrug, “Works like a charm”
Brendon asks smoothly, “Should I be flattered that you remembered mine?”
Rolling your eyes, leaning back into your seat, “Ok. Easy there. Still a long ways to go pal.”
The seminar finally began.
Graphs.
Mortality statistics.
Budget projections.
Someone talking far too enthusiastically about hand hygiene compliance.
Within seven minutes. You had begun doodling tiny skeletons in the margin of your notes.
Brendon noticed, murmuring quietly, "...Is that one wearing sunglasses?"
"They all deserve to look cool."
"..."
"This one's on holiday."
"You've drawn a skeleton in a hammock…" he said.
"Mental health leave,” you corrected.
Robby laughed quietly from beside you, with a small shake of his head.
Brendon looked down again.
Another drawing.
A skeleton holding a tiny coffee cup. With a speech bubble floating above, the words, Dead tired.
He felt it.
Just the tiniest twitch.
At the corner of his mouth.
Something you might’ve caught in the corner of your eye, and for one reason or another, it made you beam internally. Perhaps, a little proud of such a small achievement…
A new goal brewing in your mind.
A new fixation…
To find out if Brendon Park the Shark–
Had a funny bone.
And with each passing meeting. Each fleeting moment together. You had grown closer and closer. Growing more and more comfortable in each other’s company.
Brendon would find more and more reasons to come down.
Sometimes it was for necessity. For an M&M…but for most visits. If he were truly being honest with himself.
He was simply coming to stop by and see you.
Even if it were for only a few minutes.
Brendon couldn’t help but be drawn to you.
Not once had you ever seemed fearful of him.
Never once were you scurrying away from him.
Never once shying away from his company.
There was a lot to be said about that. Something that Brendon had grown used to. Had enjoyed.
In fact.
It was as though every time he saw you, you’d take the chance to go toe to toe with him. Trying to press his buttons and see what they’d do.
Trying your very best to make him crack.
On the surface Brendon kept a straight face. Steeley and composed. But beneath it all, with each joke you uttered aloud, your funny ramblings and stories all began to slowly chip away at his resolve.
Softening him from the inside out.
Your funny little jokes. Your off brand of humour.
All of which had charmed him.
Whether you had known it or not.
Brendon had become attached to you. Had begun to crave your company. And the way you made him feel.
And he was quickly becoming a bright spot in yours.
In the midst of closing up a patient, finishing up an examination, the door to the room opened to reveal Brendon walking in.
Your lips quirk up, “And what brings you down here?”
The words roll off his tongue, quick to match your wit, “Someone has to make sure you don't finally go insane talking to yourself,” he says with the faintest of smirks.
Without looking up from the autopsy, you replied, "Who says I'm talking to myself?"
Brendon raised an eyebrow.
You slowly looked toward the patient on the table, "...Was it you?"
Silence.
Brendon simply watches whilst you narrowed your eyes, questioning once more, "...Did you snitch?" Your tone, dead serious.
Brendon looked at the body.
Then back to you.
Then–
A tiny sound escaped him.
A short, involuntary snort.
He does his best to hold back the laugh threatening to escape, trying to break free, his shoulders shake a little from the silent rumble.
You froze.
Your eyes went wide.
You pointed dramatically, "There!"
He cleared his throat immediately, arms folded over his chest, "What?"
"You laughed,” you stated, with a wide smile, simply beaming with pride.
"I didn't," he denied, with a shake of his head.
"You snorted."
"I exhaled."
"You snorted," you doubled down.
"I disagree."
"Oh, come on!” You threw your hands up, "Throw me a bone here–I'm trying."
That earned another one.
Barely audible.
But undeniably real.
Brendon Park the Shark had laughed at one of your terrible jokes. You had finally cracked his steel facade, uncovering a rare secret held tightly within.
Brendon looked away, shaking his head, with a click of his tongue, "You're the worst."
Despite his words, no malice, no bite tinged his words.
Instead rounded off with a fondness to them.
"And yet..." You peeled off your gloves, tossing them neatly into the bin before wandering over until you stood directly in front of him, "...you keep coming back."
"Maybe I just like the atmosphere," he retorted coolly, eyes peering down at you. Unable to draw his gaze away.
Tracing every feature of your face, the curve of your brow, to the slope of your nose, the arch of your lips…
You looked around the morgue.
Lost in thought as they trace the rows of stainless steel. The bright fluorescent lighting. The unmistakable scent of disinfectant.
"Hm,” You hummed thoughtfully, "I think it's a little more than that."
"Oh?" He stepped closer.
Close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough that your teasing smile softened.
Close enough that his cologne enveloped you whole.
"So..." he asked quietly, voice lowering, testing the waters, "Why do you think I keep coming back?"
Teetering between the lines of friendship and something more.
You looked at him for a long moment.
Simply drinking in his appearance.
Trying to get a read on his thoughts…
Then your hands slowly slid up around the back of his neck.
Gentle.
Unhurried.
Bringing him just a fraction closer.
"I think..." Your voice dropped to barely above a whisper, "...You keep coming back..."
Another inch, "...For..."
His gaze flicked to your lips.
"...Me."
Silence.
Just the steady hum of refrigeration units. The distant echo of hospital life somewhere beyond the heavy morgue doors.
Brendon searched your face.
As if asking one last time.
Are you sure?
You answered by smiling.
Small.
Certain.
He closed the remaining distance.
His lips met yours with surprising tenderness.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing uncertain.
One hand settled carefully at your waist while the other rested against your back, holding you close enough to feel the quiet sigh that escaped you.
You smiled into the kiss.
Lips brush against each other, until you finally separate, only by inches, your foreheads brushed together.
His lips shift to trail alongside the side of your face, peppering soft kisses along the curve of your jaw.
The moment, tender, sweet–Peaceful.
Until you fracture it, joking lightly, “Are you just trying to butter me up to help with the incriminating evidence?”
He stops short. Dropping his head to your shoulder, mumbling out, “I can’t believe you,” muffled by the fabric of your scrubs.
“Sorry, sorry,” you laugh softly, a smile forming upon your lips, before adding, “Just had to check.”
Your fingers gently cards through his hair, before softly asking, “So what does this mean?–For us I mean…” Your usual humorous and witty tone faded, replaced by something a little more vulnerable.
A little less sure.
Something Brendon wasn’t used to.
His words softened, tone reassuring, “What do you want it to mean?” He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours, icy blue eyes peering into yours.
You bite your lip “…I’d like this to mean something.”
He smiles, “Let me take you out. On a date–and before you ask I’m not using you as some alibi,” he asks you sincerely. Adding his own little joke, playing into your sense of humour.
You laugh softly, “You know me too well.”
His lips met yours again. Brushing against yours gently. Savouring the moment, drinking in every last second of it.
While the wait had been long. It was worth it.
Perhaps to anyone else, kissing in a morgue would've seemed strange.
Might not be quite romantic.
Morbid, even.
And most definitely not found in any rom–com.
But for you both right now.
Surrounded by silence, by lives honoured rather than forgotten, it somehow felt fitting.
It was the place where you had both met.
Where your relationship had begun. And now. It was the place it had become something more.
And somehow…
In the quietest place in the hospital–
You'd found someone who made you feel the most alive.
And that is how you, PTMC’s quirky forensic pathologist…
Managed to endear Brendon enough to become his partner.
His spice of life.
His reason for smiling.
And the only one able to make him laugh…
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for the request, I hope it sort of fulfilled what you envisioned, I tried to make the reader a little odd in an endearing way, but that's always a little difficult to translate in writing so I hope it's ok. (The face blindness bit was inspired by a character in Poker Face that actually had that, thought it was funny) and these two are just such an endearing pair, exploring them getting together was so fun. Let me know what you think! ✨
Find Part 2: Sensory Overload here!
Feel free to check out my Brendon Park x Baker!Evans!Reader Series, Sugar & Spice here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my overall Pitt Masterlist here!
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