Detective Loki x Nurse!Female Reader
Summary: After the bullet grazes Loki’s head in the shootout with Holly Jones, our nurse discharges him from the hospital. And Loki…? Loki’s hoping it won’t be the last time he sees her. Spoiler: it won’t be. Set in 2013.
Word count: 2,191 (OOPS????!!!)
Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of abandonment/past, cursing. None that’re super prominent, I don’t think. 18+, no minors whatsoever.
Themes: slow burn romance, restraint, grumpy Loki
Author’s note: I hate using second person in my writing lmaooo so I hope yall can enjoy my third person POVs. I hope I made her neutral enough for yall. If you want her more fleshed out with a name and appearance, tell me! I’m so happy to do that. She has a name in my head. I def didn’t proofread this lmaooo. I’m open to criticism, just message me and be kind okay? This is my first time writing Loki, first shot at fanfic in YEARS. Anyway, bye! Enjoy!
The rain comes down in fat throws, every other tap against the window hitting an involuntary spasm in his left eye. The good eye. The one Holly Jones narrowly missed. Did enough damage, the sclera clouded brown from so much blood.
Now that he’s awake, the sterility of the hospital rakes against every thread of patience he has. Muffled wails leak down the corridors from rooms away. Monitors bleep in a slow, indifferent rhythm next door. Someone hacks so violently David crunches his nose, expecting the splat of a lung when it comes out.
Supposed to go home today.
Five days in medical captivity, only two of which he’s been truly awake for. It’s quiet now, despite the echoing throes of the other patients. No more white coats rushing him. No more quick hands grabbing for his face and head, met with a litany of expletives. No fucking with the fresh wound on his head, or in his goddamn eye, or babysitting.
Jesus, that’s the worst part. The babysitting. The enforced incapability because the nurses can’t risk a fall that acquires more paperwork. For David Loki, relying on anyone but himself means hell. For all parties.
Today, just a few more hours, and he’ll be gone. Good fucking riddance.
Shoulders hunched where he sits on the edge of the hospital bed, he rolls his phone between his hands.
Tumbles right. No vibration.
Phone’s useless, something he could live without, if it weren’t for work. He’s paying for it, so he makes use of it. The flick of his thumb opens the screen, pulling up the camera.
He leans in close, a crease deep between his brows as he investigates the injury. Two fingers pull down the bottom lid, the bursted vessels sprawling to pink flesh.
It doesn’t bother him, blood that’s his.
Just as he catches movement in his periphery—a shadow at the door—a voice comes. Gentle, unfamiliar, knowing. “It’s called a subconjunctival hemorrhage,” she says, “Should clear up in the next few weeks.”
In a drug-delayed tic, David’s eyes flick to her. Long hair tamed in a high ponytail, a wisp of bangs framing the temples. Black scrubs outline her body. A clipboard sits on her hip, other hand pocketed where she leans in the doorway, awaiting permission. Features for excellent RBF—sharp nose, wary eyes—but the easy curl of her mouth expels that impression.
“Mm.” David grunts in acknowledgment, nodding once as he sets the phone beside him. His eyes drift, anywhere but her.
“David, yeah?” She addresses him as the person, not the occupation, or his career record. Just… David. The man he forgets he is.
“Loki, yes.” The answer’s worn down, throat unaccustomed to talking again.
That’s her permission. The swish of scrubs fills the space between them as she drags the swiveling stool to take a seat a safe distance away. Giving him space, not cowering.
“Can you confirm your birthday, David Loki?”
“Isn’t it on the paper you have?”
It’s unintentional, but the comment pulls her mouth wider. The tiniest smirk, maybe even halfway annoyed, maybe not. She clicks her pen, scribbling a note that he cranes his head to see. No luck.
“Sure is on my paper, but I need to know that you know your birthday if we’re going to let you walk.”
In a sigh, “Ten-thirteen-eighty.”
More scribbling. What the hell is she writing? It doesn’t stop, and the question’s burning his tongue, so— “You’re not my nurse.”
The pen pauses, and she looks at him under a raised brow. “I am today.”
“Rhonda normally has this wing.”
“Rhonda works three twelves in a row. Rhonda might want a day off.” There’s no malice to her words, only the twitch of a one-sided smile. Used to this—this flow between person to person, patient to patient, every individual need and personality.
“Not complaining.” The tape tugs, rustles, one finger scratching beneath the bandage.
She points the pen at the door. “I can get the nurses with rough hands and worse attitudes, if you’d like.”
Quick, Loki raises a hand. “No. No. By all means…” And motions for her to continue, eyes on the floor as he counts the tiles to rein in the tics.
“You sure? You’re not going to tell me toooo…” She flips a few pages, then squints as she quotes, “‘Eat a dick’? Or ‘go fuck myself’? Or, my personal favorite, ‘sit on a cactus’?”
The cinch of his brows, the line of his mouth, expresses the consideration, maybe the hint of shame he doesn’t have time for, but he ultimately gives her the answer of, “Nah.”
“…Nah. That’s convincing.”
“You always antagonize your patients, nurse?”
“Just the ones that need extra TLC.”
Loki huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Okay, Loki, I’ve got just a few more questions for you, then you’ll be a free man. They’re easy, I promise, and the day’s yours after just a few more minutes with me. Okay?” The tone of her voice drops to something soft, something David can tell she reserves, and only when he looks at her does he realize he’s been twisting his ring on his finger like screwing a nail.
Just a few minutes with her. With the kind smile he rarely sees, softer eyes, and the placating nature of her presence.
“Just some basic information to update your forms, god forbid you’re back—”
“I was that bad of a patient, hm?”
“Not quite,” a wry smile, “Just saying I hope I don’t see you in here under these conditions again. You were the perfect patient when I had you—”
“—When were you my nurse?” Always the detective. Always getting to the answers. He’d remember her.
“Mm, mhm.” She nods, crossing a leg over the other. The end of the pen taps against the paper, a distant gloss of memory over her eyes. “When you first came in. Had you for those first three days. You were mainly unconscious.”
“That made me the perfect patient? Nice.”
She leans in, sharing what she didn’t get to finish: “You were the perfect patient for all the wrong reasons. I’d rather have all the cuss words in the book thrown at me if it means my patient can verbalize their needs, feed themselves, and get one step closer to walking out the door.“
The automatic bristle in his posture starts to abate, shoulders setting. He isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing at all. Nods, then halfheartedly motions a hand. “Go ahead with your questions.” Quieter now.
Her spine straightens, finding that facade of professionalism again. “Right, the questions… Here we go.” Clearing her throat, she studies the paper like she doesn’t know what’s on it. “Do you have a healthcare power of attorney?”
“Do you understand what a power of attorney of healthcare is, Loki?”
While she’s writing, he’s finding.
The badge pinned to her top gives him more than enough.
Her name, with the title of BSN, RN. embellishing it. Registered Nurse, four year degree with it.
“Go to school around here?” David asks without noticing he interrupts her.
A light, incredulous breath of laughter bows her head. “I know it may feel a little unconventional, but I’m asking the questions for a minute, Loki.”
“David…” His name draws a smile on her lips, cheeks taut where she won’t let it grow. “Okay. Back to business, David. Who can I list as your emergency contact?”
Immediate: “Uh—” Cut off by an unamused chuckle. “Leave it. As is.”
Her hesitation, his secrecy.
The rain knocks at what neither of them will say.
“…So…blank.” Her tone level. Cool, probably making assumptions he doesn’t owe answers for.
“As is.” He repeats, hand signaling the question’s answered and isn’t to be pressed again. “If anything happens, I can’t speak for myself, notify Conyers PD. Captain O’Malley specifically.”
A longer note now, her cursive outside of the box with the direction.
“Any next of kin you’d like listed?”
One final scratch of the pen, ink branding a permanent reminder of the nothingness made from abandonment.
“Last thing.” She sets the clipboard aside, on the bedside table, and laces her fingers.
Their eyes meet. Hers, with a soothing expertise of the plan. His, dulled from the hit, masked by gnarly bruises, but fixed on hers through one singular tic from his cheek to his eye.
“I need to change the bandage.” She nods at his head. “Check the wound, make sure it all looks good, I’ll put a fresh gauze over it. We’ll go through your take home instructions, medication, and follow up plan. Sound good?”
For once…? “Yeah… Sounds good.”
“Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” She rises, graceful in the years of experience molded to her muscles. The metal table tray clinks over the tiles as she pulls it to her hip, standing where he sits with her knees in a respectable slot between his. Latex snaps, her hands gloved. Utensils clatter in careful organization, the rip of paper as she opens sterile gauze, tape.
David eases his palms together, idle, a physical distraction. The warmth of her body seeps from the scrubs, his personal space infiltrated by the honeyed citrus of her perfume, almost overpowered by the suffocating antiseptic woven into her clothes.
“Okay, I’m about to peel the bandage off.” Two seconds later, there’s her touch. Light, deliberate fingers against his shaved scalp. The mindful but swift rip of tape from his head.
David swallows a hummed grunt.
“It’s tender, I know,” she says, the empathy far from pity. “I’ll work fast so I don’t disturb it any more than necessary.”
With the wound open to air, coolness greets it. The soft passing of her breath in his hair, the shift of her stance as she hones in on finishing the job. Her pinkies graze the long hair, her thumbs smoothing his temple as she works.
David decompresses under it: the quiet efficiency, the preparedness he feels in her verbal demonstration. There’s no grabbing, no unapologetic manipulation of his face, no prodding in or around the wound.
“…You’ve got good hands.” He says before he can stop himself, eyes fastened on the stomach pocket of her scrubs to keep from looking at what’s eye-level. Her tits. Her tits are eye-level, and he’s not going to be a greedy bastard.
“That’s a compliment I’ve never heard.” She hums, diligent, ever-moving. “Glad you didn’t have me get the other nurse?”
He huffs, closest thing to a laugh he can fathom. “Yeah.”
“You had a visitor, by the way. A few, actually.”
“Yeah, the Birch’s and Dover’s stopped by. Saw ‘em.”
She blinks once, lips pursing. “…No. No, sorry, I meant while you were under.”
He blinks. Draws back just enough to look up at her, empty in his guess. “…Who?”
“Your captain, I think. The name—O’Malley—it’s familiar. A few of your colleagues came by, too. Well, I’m assuming they’re your colleagues, since they were all in uniform.”
David hides behind the act of adjusting his ring, forward again to let her work. “Making sure I’ll be back at work by Monday.” He hides behind the sarcastic dismissal, too.
She shakes her head, saying little. That says enough. Says she’s seeing right through his act.
David draws in a slow, steeling breath.
She finishes her work, as promised. Easy. Clean. He’ll be a free man soon, like she said.
He’ll try to remember the exact concoction of perfume-to disinfectant-ratio that smells like her.
He’ll drag his hand through his hair, and realize instantly it’ll never feel the same.
The present’s just one intangible second before it becomes memory.
The world’s indifferent to that.
She steps back with a triumphant sigh, peeling the gloves off.
“Look at you.” It’s quiet, her beam subtle, but it’s real, it’s there, and Loki’s throat bobs. “Good as new.”
And for some reason, he believes her. Just for that fleeting second.
“Thanks,” Loki rasps, tongue sweeping his bottom lip. “Appreciate it.”
“No trouble, David.” She collects the clipboard again, and shuffles to the stop halfway to the door. “Your meds are at the nurse’s station. Discharge paperwork’s there, too. You’re all set. You’ve got everything you need.” She bats an honest wink. “I personally checked twice.”
He reaches for anything conversationally, anything to drag it out just a little more. “Criminal amount of norco in my goodie bag?”
“Oh, even better…” Her brows raise, face comically animated as she divulges the disappointing secret in a whisper, “Ibuprofen and antibiotics.”
The snort he makes is hardly a sound.
She turns, heading for the door.
Loki’s out of lame attempts to stall her.
She pauses in the doorway, twisting back to look at him. Eyes bright, smile coming easy, more alleviating than whatever pain meds they were stingy about.
“Just don’t let it be in here.”
Inbox open for how you think they should meet next… 👀 🥰💅🏼
*Please like & reblog if you enjoyed! This fanfic/content is mine, please don’t claim as your own or repost elsewhere. Mentioning again: no minors 🔞, as future work will hit on sensitive topics (no smut). Let me know if you want tagged when a new fic is posted! 🩷*
