There’s an image in my mind of Emma asking Park to help her put together furniture for her new apartment because she “doesn’t know anyone else who can help her.”
He arrives in loose jeans and a white shirt already rolled up slightly at the sleeves. Bringing in his toolbox even when Emma insists all the furniture was easy enough to put together.
“We’ll see about that,” he tells her, entering her space for the first time. Caught off guard garland of construction paper streaming from the ceiling and freshly painted wooden trays set out to dry. There were cans of paint and enamel for cabinets. A tarp already laid out with boxes contains a few shelves sitting on top.
“I rented the sander,” she tells him proudly. It’s a nice surprise. He had envisioned himself doing the bulk of the work while Emma waited and watched from the sidelines. Anticipation rose once he observed her walk over, her outfit consisting of thigh length loose shorts and a tank top to fight the summer heat, and plop down onto the tarp.
They work together, Emma putting on a playlist of dulcet tones intermittently interrupted by early 2000s pop. He puts together cabinets while Emma sands down a dresser she snatched off of Facebook marketplace.
They eat sandwiches for lunch while she shows him a binder of inspiration and her plans for renovating. He tries to advise her on how to make her projects friendly for her rental but Emma quickly waves him off saying she’d rather be happy than have her deposit back.
It’s later, when the sun begins to set in the horizon and Emma yawns for the first time that Park decides it’s time to wrap up. He places the shelves and cabinets how she wants, he folds up the tarp, and helps her store away the paint despite Emma’s insistence she needs them set out to motivate her to work during the week.
“You’re going to paint after 12 hour shifts?” He pierces her with a look when she shakes her head, smiling. “Then the pain goes into the closet.”
It’s then that he notices the old hinges on the door to her hallway closet and her bedroom. Rather than leave a hazard in place, Park picked up new hinges (gold to match the color scheme Emma meticulously curated) and dinner.
It’s the first time all day that Emma rests while he works. Poking her fork into the baby spinach, black berries, blueberries, and feta of her salad, she looks up to see Park lift her heavy door, screw it in place. Eyes sinking down, averting in respect of his furrowed brow and the attractive clench of his jaw in concentration, she’s caught in the barely exposed sliver of his abdomen. The white shirt riding up.
It had been so long, not even with her boyfriend did she have to deal with what was accosting her now; a mortifying roll of her stomach, a feeling of emptiness wanting to be filled. Her desire burnish her fingertips that wished to be where the hem of his shirt was now.
“You okay,” he asks, stepping away from the newly finished door, his attention split without noticing her combative emotions.
Emma only nods.
“We got some good work done today. When should we keep going?”
“Oh,” she startled. “The big things are done so I’ve got it from here.” She nods again as if confirmation of her responsible attitude. Park cracks his own smile.
“Well, you have quite the binder of ideas. It might not be a bad idea to have a helper.”
Summary: All Adam ever seems to hear is Kim talking about Roman. In Molly’s, in the locker room, when he’s just walking through the district. All he ever hears is Kim making comments about Roman, about their relationship, about all the domestic elements of their life.
And it's killing him.
Or; Obliviousness, a game of telephone and a healthy dose of gossip leads to miscommunication... Miscommunication that just may lead Adam and Kim back together.
Set in S3, post break-up AU.
Word Count: 3k words
Read on AO3
Notes: This fic very much spawned from a cracky idea, so while it may seem angsty (and it is), it is primarily a fic that is rooted in humour. It is also a two part fic, this is part one, as it works better that way. It is also my first (posted) burzek multi-chapter, technically.
I first created this idea back in 2021, so I'm very happy I've finally written it and I hope y'all enjoy! 💖
Adam knew something was up with Kim and Roman.
That something was different, a difference that occurred after his engagement to Kim imploded and Adam isn’t stupid enough to not know that the difference most likely was because of said implosion. He may have been stupid enough to not realise Kim was slipping from his fingertips, that the fighting they had been doing wasn't only a rut, but he’s still a good cop and a good cop notices things.
His mind hadn’t wanted to go there; it rebelled at the very notion. But his eyes kept betraying him, pointing out all the ways they seemed to be closer, all the ways Roman was intruding in Kim’s personal space, and all the ways Kim didn’t seem to mind.
He chose not to dwell on it, or rather he tried, hard, not to—and was mostly successful, except for the dead of night when his bed felt so, so empty without her warmth snuggled beside him and there was no case or alcohol to distract him and occupy his mind with thoughts of literally anything else.
But he knew. He knew.
So when Adam heard that Roman suddenly went on furlough, and that he wouldn’t be coming back, that he had transferred, again, to yet another district, he had been immediately curious. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to ask Kim about it himself, but he could linger around corners and the locker room, acting like he was absorbed in something else, all while he listened to others asking.
All Kim said to anyone—even Kev—was that Roman needed a change of scenery, and she always said it so clipped, so final, making it clear she wasn’t engaging in any gossip. It’s something that would usually leave Adam feel a swell of pride for his girl, being so polite and tactful, but she’s not his girl, and it only made him feel mildly frustrated as he wanted to know why Roman left.
Naturally, Platt was no help either.
With no answers, Adam had made his own. He had decided that whatever was the thing happening between them, whatever that difference was, it had ended, been disconnected. And that was satisfactory enough for Adam—and a little bit of an ego booster, if he was honest.
But then it happened.
Adam was minding his own business in the locker room—for real, this time—getting changed before he headed to Molly’s when he overheard Kim talking to one of the other officers. It’s his fault, really. His ears are still trained to immediately zone in and listen whenever he hears her beautiful voice, even months after she broke his heart.
From context, Adam quickly got that the officer asked if Kim was joining them in Molly’s. Usually, he’d be crushed at her not going, always liking to catch a glimpse of her there even as she steadfastly ignored him. But this time, that’s not what crushed him.
“I can’t,” Kim said. “I have to get home. I’ve got a date planned for cuddles on the couch; Roman is still adjusting to the move,”
Adam’s heart had stopped.
He’s a good cop, but even an idiot could guess what had recently transpired in Kim’s life hearing that. Roman—he was living with Kim.
And Kim was having dates with him.
That’s when Adam realised he had gotten it all wrong; Roman hadn’t transferred because things between them had fizzled—but because he was dating Kim, because he was living with Kim.
Adam didn’t go to Molly’s that night. He still drank, but it was very much drinking to be alone, in the darkness, not amongst his colleagues.
Any hope that Adam had about him misunderstanding what he overheard evaporated only a few nights after. He was in Molly’s, and at some point Kim had turned up to, and when he was grabbing a beer, his ears betrayed him again and he tuned into her saying that “she had to leave,” that “she had a date with her boyfriends, Roman, Ben and Jerry,”
Despite having learnt already that Kim was living with Roman—living with him, when they never even got to live in a place that was theirs together—Adam hadn’t been prepared to hear the first time Kim referred to another man as her boyfriend.
Adam had an early night, too, that night. But his was a lot more miserable than hers was.
Kim had moved on. There was officially no hope for them.
After this, all Adam ever seems to hear is Kim talking about Roman. In Molly’s, in the locker room, when he’s just walking through the district. All he ever hears is Kim making comments about Roman, about their relationship, about all the domestic elements of their life.
And it's killing him.
He’s handing Platt some paperwork about his expenses when he overhears Kim talking with other officers about grabbing lunch. Someone suggests sushi, and Kim immediately groans.
“Ugh, no, pass, please. All I’ve been cooking recently is fish for Roman, and I’m officially sick of the sight of any seafood. Especially with how Roman eats it, I think he’s put me off fish for a lifetime.”
And he’s in the locker room, in the morning, getting ready for work when he hears Kim come in, chatting away with another officer—her replacement for Roman, he thinks, not that he’s been able to ask. Not when she’s avoiding him like he’s got the plague and not when he doesn’t know if he could get through a conversation with her without his heart literally breaking in two.
“And oh my god, the bathroom! I swear I’m having to clean it so much which I know I signed up for but he makes such a mess in there. And he always seem to want to pee right as I’m showering—no matter the time. It’s not even just that, it’s so much hair. You wouldn’t think that Roman would shed that much hair,” Kim sounds so frustrated, and Adam hates how much that hurts him, even though she’s venting about her new boyfriend.
“Typical man,” the other officer says, and the two of them burst out laughing, hard, for a reason that Adam doesn’t quite get. And it’s just another reminder that Kim has jokes now that he’ll never know, that it’s Roman’s privilege now to have that view into Kim’s world.
All these little moments that Adam overhears, they all hurt him. Deep, in an aching kind of way that he never thought he’d feel, a way he never knew was possible, a way that he never experienced when his previous engagements ended.
But the one that hurt him the most was another conversation he overheard in Molly’s. Kim is already in the bar when Adam gets there and if he hadn’t walked in with the rest of the unit, he might’ve been tempted to walk right back out. But he had, so he stayed, instead telling himself that he’ll stay way clear of her—he needs to give his liver a rest, after all.
His one consolation is Kevin, who shoots him an understanding look, clocking Kim as well. Things had been distant between those two, as well; Kevin had felt a bit upset at hearing about Kim and Roman through the district grapevine, and from what Kev had told him, which granted isn’t much, Kim had all but dismissed these feelings when he asked her about it.
If Adam’s honest, it doesn’t sound like something Kim would do, but then he didn’t think dating Roman would be something Kim would do, so what does he know? And he knows Kevin well enough to know his hurt is real.
It probably would’ve been fine, had Adam not needed to go take a piss. He was actually enjoying himself with his unit, so much that for a moment he got wrapped up in the fun he temporarily forgot that Kim is also in the bar. And that in order to get to the toilets, he had to go past where Kim sat.
“Partners... The wrong one can be so detrimental to everything, both personally and professionally.” It is busy in Molly’s, and so Adam was moving carefully, winding through the crowd and is unable to speed up to put as much distance between them as soon as he hears Kim’s voice and he remembers.
“Like my ex partner, he was just so wrong for me. His attitudes, the way he spoke to and about me and how he acted about my role, like I was beneath him? His opinions and wants was the most important and that was that. A partner to be good needs to support you, and help you accomplish what you need to, not dismiss your own dreams, especially your professional ones. But my partner now? Completely perfect for me, and that makes all the difference.”
There are times Adam wishes there is an off switch to his ears, and this is the only time he would be truly glad if that was the case. He couldn’t help listening to Kim speak, despite the noisiness of the bar, despite the obvious signs at the start of the sentence that it could be potentially devastating for him.
He had thought the moment when Kim handed him back her ring would be the most devastating moment of his life.
How very stupid of him indeed.
Adam knew, obviously, that Kim was unhappy with their relationship. She wouldn’t have ended it otherwise. And he knew that he wasn’t always the best—missing the dinner with her mom was a fine example of how he could fuck up. But he hadn’t quite realised that she felt like that, that she thought he was like that.
And suddenly all Adam could do was doubt himself, thinking back on things and wondering is that really how he acted? Is he really such a fuck up that he made Kim feel like he didn’t value her, respect her? That he dismissed her dreams and didn’t support her?
Adam feels sick, and he knows that he’ll be leaving the bar, now, even though just five minutes ago he thought he’d be here at least half an hour longer. That he’ll say goodbye to the team and head home—just as soon as he convinces himself to go back out to the bar, to leave the toilets. It’s a challenge to get his feet moving, standing immobile, unable to bear the thought of walking past Kim again.
He manages to, mostly spurred on by another man entering the toilets and Adam became so aware at how weird he would seem if he just remained frozen on one spot there. He hoped that maybe he wouldn’t hear anymore as he passed by again, but isn’t that lucky.
Even more unluckily, it seems that Kim is once again getting ready to leave the bar and Adam realises that if he just stayed in the toilets for one more minute, he would’ve been free of his hell. But he chose to leave, then, and as a result he gets to hear Kim say another thing that devastates him to his core.
“I’ll see you around. Good luck with everything,” Kim is saying as he draws near. “Now, I’ve got to get back to the love of my life,”
It is really credit to himself, and his dignity—what’s left of it, anyway—that Adam doesn’t fall to the ground right then and there, Kim’s words faltering him in his steps.
It’s not even the words. Well, not only the words.
But it’s how she says it. There’s a hint of humour to her voice, but there’s a certainty. That it’s like she’s just saying any old fact, that it is just the truth, and she’s just stating something so big like it’s something casual—because, in her life, as far as she’s concerned, it is.
The words haunt Adam for the rest of the night, going round and round in his head. He remembers all the times she said those words to him; whispered to him in their dead of night talks, casually said it over breakfast, or at a dinner with Kev. Remembered the time she stared at her ring for the one of the first times, and told him that, told him that she was so happy—happy because the love of her life wanted her just as much she wanted him.
How could it be that only six months after they broke up, that she had moved on so fast? That she had discovered that Adam was just a footnote in her life, and not one who’d have her heart forever?
But, of course, Adam knew how. He heard how from Kim’s mouth that same night; heard how she saw their relationship, saw him, and even though it confuses Adam, because surely, surely he wasn’t that bad, that doesn’t really matter. That’s how she felt during their relationship, and that’s exactly why she left him, exactly why Adam’s not the love of her life anymore, and why Roman is.
Adam had already been trying to stay clear of Kim’s path, out of respect for her wishes as well as preservation for his own heart, but after that night in Molly’s, he really starts avoiding her. If anyone notices, they choose not to comment on it, something which Adam deeply appreciates.
He doesn’t even wonder if Kim notices, knowing that she’s moved on, that he’s probably the person she least wants to think about and knowing that if she does, she’s probably glad—happily living her life with Roman, and glad there’s no lingering ex-fiancé hanging around her.
His avoidance amps up two months later when they hear word of a cop being shot in another district—and that the cop is Roman. There’s nothing Adam wants even less then seeing a distraught looking Kim, knowing that it will be because of her new partner, her new boyfriend, knowing that she’d be hurting over a man who gets to love her in the way he so, so wishes he still was allowed to.
Adam thinks the sight of it might actually be what kills him.
This includes not going to Molly’s, not wanting to run into her, not wanting to have to say his sympathies—or having to be the kind of man who can’t get past his own feelings to even choke out the words—and rather, not wanting to go and not see her and knowing it’s because she’s at his bedside.
And nothing makes cops group together like the one, big family they are like an officer getting injured and Adam heard words of everyone going to Molly’s because of the shooting and he knew he isn’t strong enough for that.
So Adam doesn’t go to Molly’s, and when he has some days off a week or so after the shooting, Adam stays in his apartment the entire time, even if before he would’ve spent the time catching up with people he hadn’t seen in a while.
No, for now, all the friends Adam needs is alcohol and takeout.
He’s half way through the Chinese he had ordered when there’s a knock on his apartment door. It confuses him for a second, looking down at his food, food that had already arrived and so didn’t need delivering but he shrugs it off and goes to the door anyway.
Kim repeatedly got on his case about his surprising lack of awareness depending he’s a cop, that he never questions why his door knocks, and about how he never ‘practiced safety’ by opening the door without checking the peep hole and this comes to his mind, now. Just like it had ever since she left him, his ears missing her voice repeating the same words she always did despite him never listening, and he had gotten into the habit of checking.
(There’s a part of him that wonders, if he did that more when they were still together, maybe she’d still be his).
But Adam’s feeling particularly irritable today, at the whole situation, at the aching emptiness in his heart that still remains despite the fact it’s been months, despite the fact that they’ve been split for as long as their engagement was now, despite the fact that Kim hasn’t given him a second fucking thought, despite the fact that she’s with another man.
So why the hell should he still be listening to her voice in his head?
Adam opens the door, pushing that voice into a box in his head. Because of it, he thinks he must’ve opened the door a little too forcefully, as Kim looks startled as he does so.
Wait, he thinks. Kim?
For the first time in months, Kim is standing at his door. It’s what he’s been dreaming of ever since she walked out on him, and he had came back to his apartment and every bit of her was scrubbed from it. Even just a few weeks ago, had she turned up, for whatever reason, Adam would’ve been immediately softened at her appearance.
Not today. Today, Adam feels irritable.
“What do you want?” He snaps at her. He doesn’t mean for it to come out just so harsh standing but it’s been months of no contact and now she’s standing here for god knows what reason and all Adam wants to do is finish his dinner.
Kim looks a little taken back by his tone, which should’ve annoyed him more, especially considering it’s reasonable to assume he wouldn’t exactly be all sunshine and roses at her presence, especially since he’s in a mood, but it makes him feel guilty, bad that he’s caused that reaction in her.
This woman is going to be the death of him, he thinks.
Still, Kim isn’t deterred by his tone because of course she isn’t, because she’s Kim, and Kim is a strong and determined woman who never backs down from what she wants to do.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” She says, and Adam almost wants to laugh. What possible misunderstanding could there have been—what, did she not actually break up with him, didn’t actually break his heart?
“Meet Roman,” At that, Kim holds up something and Adam realises this whole time there’s been something in her arms, and a pet cage at her feet that he didn’t see. (Yeah, he’s a great cop).
For Babyshark and omegaverse…this was not supposed to be a full fic
18+ minors dni. Blank blogs/ageless blogs get blocked
warnings: Omega!Emma, Alpha!Park the Shark, dubious consent bc of heat, past trauma (no details), f!masturbation, Park comforting Emma through heat, nesting, mention of Park's past relationship, switch!Park
I think there’s a version where Omega!Emma who is normally so good about taking her suppressants slips up and forgets a dose. It’s fine for the first few days. Sure, she notices she’s a bit more sensitive to the bright lights and sounds, her feelings more easily bruised by a stray remark. She’s a bit eager when she gets a task from Dana or Dr. Robby but she chalks it up to settling into her role at the ED. And yes, when she spots Dr.Park coming down for a case it takes everything in her to not hound after him. Her practically squeezing against the wall, hand on her chest begging to just calm down.
So, she’s feeling off. It happens. It’s fine. Just get through this day. She gets through it until she doesn't.
“Your scent is covering the place.”
She’s been staring at her locker.
“What?”
Dr.Park tilts his head, sharp eyes assessing. He sighs deep in his chest.
“This is unprofessional,” he says, harsher than he means as he watches the baby nurse flinch back. They’d talked briefly a few times on cases and his instructions landing on over-excited ears. They talk when she wasn’t doing a good job on a rinse. When she was spacing out. Once when she was just cresting a panic attack. He didn’t like feeling like he was responsible for her in the slightest, but the ED was such that no one seemed to care if a nurse was day dreaming. Or perfuming the area right outside of the elevator, smelling of coconut and honey, just a hint of sea salt.
Emma’s eyes widen finally noticing her emitting the scent. She smells her scrub and then looks around to see if anyone else has noticed her mortification.
“I don’t understand, why is this happening?”
Now, it was time for Dr.Park to be concerned. This couldn’t possibly be her first heat.
“You know you’re starting heat,” he phrases as both a question and statement. Emma nods quickly.
“I’m on a suppressant. This shouldn’t happen,” she says. Dr. Park takes a breath in short lived relief. “Oh god, this hasn’t happened since I started nursing school.”
His stomach drops. It’s just a stupid alpha’s instinct. Don’t think about it, he tells himself.
She closes her eyes, face burning in shame and embarrassment.
Dr. Park notices a curious glance sent their way, the look of mild concern when Princess passes by. Dr. Park shifts his weight to better hide Emma from the room. He’s never had to deal with something like this. Public proof of need, he couldn’t help but think, proof of being weak.
That’s probably the best word he could use for Emma. She seemed to always be stumbling and stuttering, unsure and seeking reassurance. It was easy enough to give, a head nod usually enough for her.
“I’ve got to go,” she says with new resolve. The panic from before gone now and replaced with a tightened expression that Park’s never seen. It doesn’t suit her at all.
It hits him then. She doesn’t have a car. Why would she in this expensive city and her nursing salary. But that means she’d pass through street after street smelling like this. Unmated. Soon her mind would be too clouded to understand a friend or foe.
“I can call someone. Do you have a heat mate?” The word tasted sour to him. No idea why, it wasn’t like he wanted to do it.
She shakes her head, trying her hardest not to look spooked. Park doesn't have to look hard to see Emma's beating herself up. Her clenched first, her hardened look threatening to give way to a pout that he under no circumstance wants to be witness to.
He sighs.
"You're fine. This happens." He doesn't think his words help. He shouldn't feel responsible, shouldn't get mixed up with this. The idea of Dr. Robby and his pissy attitude finding her flashes through his mind. "Let's go. I'll take you home."
Emma shakes her head again. She hated how much she wanted to jump at the offer, to nestle up to him. She hated this, feeling out of control and at the mercy of any kindness. Dr. Park wasn't even particularly nice.
But he was still here.
"I can handle it. Really, I'm fine." She says again automatically.
"You're fine walking around for any alpha without impulse control to find you." The words grated Emma. She hated that he'd said them and that they were true. That maybe it meant he also saw her as prey in this moment. "I'll drop you off," he says as though it's final. And in truth, it was. Emma was terrified at the thought of walking home when she could already feel her insides begin to ache.
Park gestures toward the door leading to the parking lot. He walks silently behind her, scanning and glaring at any unwelcome wandering gaze. He wasn't lying. It wasn't uncommon for someone younger to slip up and forget when a heat or rut was approaching. It was only unfortunate for omegas whose early symptoms were practically sirens for any alpha around.
Emma sets out into the parking lot breathing in the fresh air into her tired lungs. She unclenches her jaw, forces herself to count down from ten. Park walks up behind her, car key in his hand and unlocking his lexus. Her scent was sweetening like a fruit on the verge of ripeness, he noted. This was about the only scenario where he was grateful to be older than her; not at the whims of youth and uncontrollable hormones. He ignores the low burn in his stomach and ache in his teeth.
That was the least he could do for her.
She straightens, winces when a cramp rolls through her reminding her that something should be scratching the itch inside her. Arms cradling her stomach, Park waits for her gaze to meet his before he nods toward his car.
"Thank you," she whispers once she's in the passenger seat. Her skin heating up and not just because of her biology. Park sits silently in the drivers seat, eerily still, his eyes trained forward. An inkling of fear starts up in Emma like a well-trained hawk, keen and eager. She could still leave; this might be her only chance.
"Are you well enough to point the way or do you want to put your address in the gps?" Even asking the question made him feel like a creep. He didn't want to know where Emma lived, didn't want her sitting in his car practically helpless. Unprofessional, he had told her.
"I can type it in," she says. Relieved that his tension came from his dislike of asking questions, of deigning down to ask an omega like her for her preference. He handed her his phone with the gps pulled up, still not looking at her. Oddly, that gave her some comfort, almost a sense of privacy. She typed in her address. The gps gave the instructions.
She turned toward the window, holding her arms close and taking deep breaths. Telling herself she'd never make this mistake again. Park stayed quiet throughout the ride. No music which she was grateful for and the AC turned low. Then she remembered she was out of pain meds. Biting her lip, she stayed quiet. Didn't want to push the frigid surgeon's patience.
She brought her palms to cover her eyes.
"God, I don't want to do this," she can't help but groan. Taking the gamble that Park wouldn't mind. And he doesn't. The car goes silent again for a time.
"You must love work," he muses as they pull up to a red light. She looks at him, lowering her arms. He glances before looking ahead once more. "You make a week at home sounding horrible." The light turns green, he pulls ahead. Emma watches his hand on the steering wheel, steady and even. He doesn't like her, this she knows. The way he orders her around he trauma room, telling her to step back, to leave entirely when a case turns dire. She didn't need him to look down on her, to think of her as someone incapable. Who was he to judge her? He knew nothing about her. Had cast her off as someone not worthy of consideration.
"I don't like heats," she shoots out.
"Yea, I could tell," he responds. Insufferable, she thinks.
"Sorry for not wanting to be in pain and uncomfortable," she snaps. Regrets it immediately. This wasn't her, she reminded herself. She didn't want to be this person, angry and vicious. Park's mind snags on her words.
"Pain?" He raises in disbelief. Then, knowing he was already toeing a line but unable to stop his curiosity when at this point, he admits begrudgingly, he's kind of responsible. "It should be bliss."
He pulls up and parks by her apartment building. Emma doesn't respond and more concerning, she doesn't register them arriving. Even her scent stutters, an acidity coming through that has Park shift in discomfort. "Emma?"
"I had a bad heat once." It comes out having been lodged in her chest for years. Says it knowing it wouldn't be judged; if Park had any opinion on it at all.
He takes a sharp inhale. Bad heat could mean many things, but truly could only mean one thing; someone had caused this. "I had a couple after but I just...can't. So, yes, my stupid heats are painful."
Park closes his eyes. He's done enough here. Brought her home, even listened to her problems, he's done what a responsible superior would do in this, almost unbelievable, scenario. Nothing should keep him here, certainly not when the only other place this could go was to her apartment. But, it's the downturn of her lips, her hands unsure where to touch in order to soother herself. Most of all, it's the idea of leaving her alone after her admission. He wouldn't be someone that left her to face pain alone.
"Let me help you," he says softly. Emma's eyes widen in alarm and she looks at him hurt. He shakes his head. "No, no, I don't mean that. God, Emma, of course I don't mean that." He rushes out, quick to try to manage what was already too much stress for her state. A heat should be the height of relaxation and pleasure. "Just let me help take care of you. I'll get you pain meds, food. Make sure you're drinking enough water." Her features relax, though she's not convinced. "Your scent won't bother me. And if it does, I'll leave."
"You'll leave?" Her voice was small now, resisting the urge to have hope. She hated being alone during a heat as any omega would, but it was doubly worse when she deprived herself of release. The proximity of another, the occasional hand being held could make a world of difference for her. And yet, "I can't accept that. It's too much, I couldn't ask that of you."
"You're not asking. I'm offering."
"But," she looks for another reason. She begins to feel lightheaded, heat working through her and she shuddered in pain. "Could you just please help me upstairs?" She asks through gritted teeth. Park gets out of the car and comes around to the passenger side, helping her out and into the building's elevator. He feels her hot and clammy skin beneath his hands on her arms.
"We need to get you cooled off," he says. She shakes her head.
"Just let me lie down first." Emma takes out her apartment keys, shoving them into his hands. He'd have to scold her after her heat for the reckless move.
They enter her apartment. Emma leans against the wall, her forehead against the cool wall. Park kneels down and undoes the laces of her sneaker, helping her foot slide out of it. He does the same to the other, shaking his head at the hearts peppered along the sock.
He stands up, helping Emma onto her couch. He takes the throw blanket and covers her as he notices the shivers setting in. His mind can't help but remind him of how horny she must be now. Looking at her proved the contrary. Only agony across her face and etched into her muscles.
Park turned and headed to her kitchen. He had read about this. The effects of a traumatizing heat causing pain, difficulty in orgasming, and increased feelings of loneliness and isolation. He tries to conjure these symptoms as though for a patient. To be clinical as he pours a glass of ice water, looks in her bare fridge and settles on cooking her some scrambled eggs.
Park blinked as he truly felt that he was in her apartment. Her fridge covered in photos of Emma and her friends, a picture of her at her twenty-first birthday party, and photos of a dog. Hers? He wonders although the apartment was empty aside from them.
He goes back to her, setting down the food and water. Emma's arm was splayed over her eyes. He nudges her.
"Drink and eat something." He watches her slowly turn, her eyes watering as she eyes the food. Emma forces herself to sit up. She gulps down the water, stabs her fork into the eggs and eats. A tear slips down her cheek.
"Thanks," she says with no emotion behind it. "I feel really stupid," she admits suddenly. Park brushes it off.
"Eat first." As she takes another bite, he makes a mental list. Her fridge was near-empty. He'd need to get groceries before her heat was so intense that her scent covered him and he walked around smelling of heat. Mostly an excuse, he knows the real possibility that she gets attached enough to his presence that leaving would be physically painful for her. Or he gets protective. Park shakes the thought. He needed to get her pain meds and find a way to get her comfortable. he'd order them take-out tonight to make it easier. Familiar food would help.
Park scratches the back of his head. What else could he do when the only true relief came from something he wouldn't give her. Something that she had made clear she didn't want.
"I'm going to pick up some stuff. Do you prefer being here or in your bedroom?" The question was innocent, but Emma still flushed. She shook her head. "I'm going to pick up some stuff. Do you prefer being here or in your bedroom?" The question was innocent, but Emma still flushed. She shook her head.
"This is fine," she tells him. He nods and hands her his phone again.
"Text me what snacks you want and if there's something you want me to cook." He doesn't look at her dumbfounded expression and instead scopes the room to see if there were any items he could add to this temporary nest.
"I can't accept that," she says, too tired to truly mean it. Park only gives her a look, already by the door and slipping his shoes back on.
"If you don't text me you'll be stuck with protein bars and egg white bites. Text me what you usually crave, that way, I'll be fulfilling my promise to take care of you."
"Then, take my credit card," she argues. He actually scoffs.
"Cut that shit out. I'm not strapped for cash." He wants to say that he's not like whatever inconsiderate assholes she's hung around before. Luckily, his brain was working with a fraction more consideration than he normally would. With that, he leaves. Emma lays back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, her heart rate slowing for the first time since this morning. She hadn't realized that shark makes promises.
She texts her list as he's checking out from the pharmacy. He skims over the snacks and shakes his head thinking about the amount of sugar she'd be consuming. He knows he'll buy them without saying a word to her, he'd just keep an eye out to make sure she was getting the other nutrients she needed. Otherwise, her meal list was sparse. Oatmeal, fruit, milk, salmon, chicken, broccoli and so on.
He got to the store and bought Emma's list as well as what he thought he would need to make meals. He's about to head for the checkout when his phone vibrates.
A bit embarrasing, but I am allergic to carrots and cucumbers. I know it's a weird one.
He looks at the text and smiles. How could she be embarrassed about allergies. But he's thankful for the text, going to return the cucumber he'd picked up. Luckily, he'd missed picking up any carrots.
Park brings these items back to her apartment, letting himself in. As soon as he enters, he can smell Emma's arousal. Not just that, her slick as well. Was she touching herself, he thought breathlessly. Would she be alright?
"Emma," he calls out. "Are you okay?"
"I--uh," she stutters out, her hand having found it's way to her underwear. Only applying pressure to take off the edge. It's no easy task to remove it. "I'm fine. Come in." He was barely out of her line of sight, the sofa pushed back just out of view of the front door.
Park walks in to Emma averting her eyes, tucking the blanket closer to her. She had showered and changed out of her work clothes. Now she had on a loose shirt, lounge pants, and a fresh pair of socks from what he could tell. He gives her privacy by heading for the kitchen and gets to work putting away the groceries. Arranging the fridge and combing through various cabinets and guessing where things go. He takes the pain pills, a bottle of water, and a snack back to her.
Emma takes it gratefully, though her her expression was akin to being in pain. Although having someone around eased the pain she had, it only elevated the need. As though her body was complaining that she had a perfectly good alpha who could be put to use. Her head falls back against the couch, she quickly takes the pills and hopes for a miracle.
"So, carrots?" He asks. Not because he didn't understand how allergies developed, but more so to distract her. She had the kind of scent meant to entice a heat mate during a heat spike. Park rubbed a hand along his jaw.
"Yea," she says without changing her position. "Bad too. I get hives and everything, but only if they're raw."
Raw. Park cocked his head to the side. It's just the scent, he reminds himself. A stray thought was fine, but he had to get it together.
Emma brings her head down slowly, her eyes dazed.
"I don't know if I can do this." The admission from her had his nerves on edge. She could mean a million things and all of them bad.
"Don't," he says. "Just breath," he tells her, putting just a bit of bite into his words. "Breathe slow. In and out." She takes the few slow breaths. Park tries to help. "In and out...in and out."
She groans throwing her face into her hands.
"Don't say things like that, please." Park blanches a moment once he catches up to where her addled mind must have led her. Then, the worse thought that she was remembering something painful. He searches for a better distraction. It's tough when he sees that what she really needs is relief.
"I was in public too when my first rut started." He tells her. She takes a few more shallow breaths before she can turn her attention to him.
"How old were you?" She asks.
"I was about nineteen," he says thinking back. "It was hard to tell. I became a bit more aggressive, a bit more territorial. I guess it wasn't different enough to be pointed out," he explains thinking back to the indescribable feelings which he interpreted as anger. "I was a sophomore in college and this was around halloween. The reason I remember was because one day I was walking back to my dorm and I looked up to see this caricature of a ghost, but she was drawn to resemble a," he rolls his eyes, "a sexy cartoon."
Emma was enraptured now unsure how the story would end, but Park said no more. Not after a moment and in the silence Emma understood. She put her hand in front of her mouth to suppress her laughter, but she was still looking at him with her big, expectant eyes. Park hated how weak he seemed to be. "That's how my first rut started." She giggled. It was a pretty sound.
"That's terrifying. What happened then?" He shrugged.
"I ran to my apartment. I had to run through the forest and along this lake that we had to get back to my dorm. Couldn't let anyone see." The image of Park the shark printing with a poorly covered erection did bring Emma a temporary joy.
"What happened then?" She asked. He shrugged.
"Made it back. My girlfriend came over," he says as explanation and leaves it there. Emma's face twists, her chest tightening at the mention of a girlfriend. Hormones, she reminds herself. He tries to think of something else he could say to distract her.
"How was it?" She asks carelessly. Not quite, she was prodding on purpose, trying to gauge Park. Or maybe she truly wanted to know.
"It was fine," he says, decidedly. A tone that told he would reveal no more.
"Just fine?" She goads. Park's stare hardens.
"If you want something, tell me." His words were oddly reassuring. Emma's known plenty of guys who would have taken it as an opening, an invitation even. But why was she testing him like this when some part of her had already known he wouldn't react.
"I don't know." She admits. "I don't know if I want something. I just want! But I don't want anything of mine." She was rambling now, the words clearer in her mind. She was horny and wanted nothing more than to touch herself, but if she did it would only lead her mind to unwanted, painful things. She groans and pushes her head against the back of the couch. "I want to get off, so I can get a break from how annoying my body is being. But I can't do that if I'm left to my own thoughts."
After a minute Park nods, finally gleaning some understanding. Though not fully wanting to think about if Emma was seriously about to use his rut story to...he shakes away the thought.
"Have you tried porn?" Internally, Park winces when he asks. To him, porn seemed the kind of thing people used if they didn't know how sex worked. Or couldn't get any. Not something anyone should use during a heat or a rut and certainly not Emma when she had a perfectly good alpha in front of her. He took a slow, sobering breath. Her scent was all over him. His thoughts could go insane for all he cared, as long as he didn't act on them and as long as Emma felt safe.
Emma rubbed at her arms absentmindedly.
"It doesn't work. If I manage to make it work, ther after effects are pretty brutal." She doesn't have to say much more. Usually, omegas were very needy after orgasms during heat; to give the brain the illusion of people there to care for them, only to take it away was a cruel exercise.
Park sighs.
"How about you go into your room and I stay in the living room. I'll answer any question you want if it helps you," he gestures, "get there."
The idea ignites through Emma's body. Not just the offer, the promise of relief, but the care Park was putting into this. Something she never would have expected from him.
"You'd do that for me?" She can't help but ask. He glances away from her. Of course he would, he thinks. He wouldn't tell her why.
"Just tell me if you start freaking out." then, in a low voice. "I don't want this to be awful for you."
Emma doesn't let the words settle, can't allow them to fester in her mind that was more than willing to latch onto any kindness. She got herself off the couch and limped toward her bedroom. Once the door was closed, her back against the door, she heard Park rise and walk over. She could hear his breathing through the door and she knew he could hear hers.
"How do you want to do this?" He asks her. Emma thinks, looking out at her bedroom, her stuffed animals resting on the bed, the slightly askew throw blanket on her bed that she'd bring onto the couch after. She thinks of her journals on her desk and books in her shelf, most of which she'd cry from embarrassment if anyone, nevermind Park, saw. She felt a bit silly, thinking she could really handle an alpha like him.
"I don't know," she decides on. It's partially the truth. He doesn't respond. She doesn't think he will until she tells him. "Did it feel good when your girlfriend came over?" She dares to ask again, knowing he'd tell the truth.
"Of course, it was good." He says, no, sighs against the door as though the memories had flooded through him and out of his respiratory system. Emma grumbles and swears she hears Park smile.
Park wants to ask about Emma's first heat if only to make sure that it wasn't the one that hurt her. That ruined this feeling for her. He hopes, although part of him protests, that she's had pleasurable experiences in this regard.
"What was so good?" She huffs, although she's genuinely curious.
"My girlfriend, at the time, was a bit unconventional. When she found me after I managed to get back to my dorm, she," Park paused, wondered if he was actually going to tell Emma about his sexual proclivities. But then again, he felt there was some fairness in this. He has her at her most vulnerable, she should get something of his. "I was desperate and she held that over my head. She wouldn't let me touch her for the first three rounds." He smiles at the memory, only stopping when he heard Emma gasp in disbelief. "Sound mean?" He teases.
"Yes," she admits.
"Close your eyes," he tells her. Then, slowly, "You're probably feeling as desperate as I was. I was willing to take anything. It was fun to be just out of reach." As Emma was now. "I was laying down, my head on her lap, her one leg hiked over my shoulder. And she just skimmed her fingertips over my skin."
Emma's breath hitched at the image of Park the shark in such a vulnerable position. At the whim of someone else. The idea blooming in her mind that he could be at her mercy. Which didn't quite fit, if she were honest. She liked the feeling, the endorphins that rushed her when she received his approval or when he took the time to guide her hands in a procedure when he would come down to help stabilize a patient.
"Try it," he told her suddenly. Emma sucked in her bottom lip. "Go slow." She ran her fingertips along the fabric of her shirt. Then, her hand slipped underneath, staying in range of her stomach. Every touch her nerves sing, beckoning her closer to her breasts or down to where she needs most.
She inches her hands higher. Stops. "Keep going. Give yourself what you want." Emma closes her eyes and cups her breasts. She fights back a moan at the pressure, feels her slick. Her skin heats imagining Park being able to scent her.
When her scent hits him, he quickly abandons his initial plan to answer her questions as a way of bringing her pleasure. Something that left a sliver of plausible deniability. When her need becomes clear in his mind, he can't say he cares about civility.
"Feel good?" He asks knowing Emma couldn't speak right now, wrapped up in her own need. "If you want, you should feel how slick you are." He puts out carefully. Emma doesn't need it, her hand going down to run between her opening. She chokes down a moan. Shamefully, she imagines what his fingers might be like. "How's that?"
"Good," she pants. "Really good."
"Stop touching yourself," he says suddenly. Emma doesn't want to, but she forces herself to listen and as she does, she swears she hears his breathing pick up.
"It hurts," she whines.
"I know. Touch your clit," he tells her. She closes her eyes and focuses on his voice, the way it echoes in her mind as she just brushes her fingertips along the sensitive nub. She bites her lip at the jolt of her nerves; slow circles. "Use your slick."
Emma moans before obeying him, the wetness intensifying her burgeoning pleasure. "Give it more pressure," Park says, his head pressed against the door listening to every hitch and huff.
Emma feels sparks along her spine, her hips. She careens her fingers for a better angle, applies pressure the way her body as begged for all day. Her arm pressed against the door frame, she tries to steady her shaking body. So close, she can feel the beginning tremors. They should unsettle her.
"Let go, baby. It's all yours." It's the softest she's ever heard her voice and it helps her muscles relax as her climax takes over. She moans, her breath speeding up, and heart fluttering at the sensation. Her nails dig into the wood and slowly the waves calm back down. The relief was instant, the tightness loosening, and no longer courting the amount of stress needed to outrun a lion. She had done it. Her body had done it and it was fine the whole time. Emma pulled down her shirt, readjusted her pants, and wrenched open the door to find Park staring down at her concerned and horribly turned on.
Emma throws her arms around him and nuzzles her head against his chest in gratitude. He reluctantly returns it, rubbing her back.
"I did it," she says proudly. Park can't help the laugh at the back of his throat. She swats at his chest and he pins her hand there.
"Forgive me," he whispers in the intimate space. "I'm happy you were able to come." Her face heats at the way he says it and she looks away shyly.
"Are you going to be okay?" She asks and then, embarrassingly, gestures toward his hard-on. Park takes a breath.
"I'm fine. I'll borrow your shower if you're fine with it." Emma nods.
"I should probably shower too." Then, deviously, "should we save water and jump in together?"
"No," he cuts off the grinning nurse. Playfully, he flicks her forehead. "Don't bite off more than you can chew."
With that, Park takes a cold shower, Emma showers after while Park orders them take-out. He can hear her humming in the bathroom as she changes into comfortable clothing and Park wonders how he'll survive the next few days with his omega.
Warnings: Mature, making out, Javadi needs a hug, both are virgins, Javadi is more in control, rivals with benefits (?), let me know if I miss any
It was bad enough she was going out tomorrow evening for her birthday, but to go out two nights in a row was practically unheard of, utterly distasteful, as her mother would say not with words but with the shades of disapproval that never leave her gaze. Who was Victoria becoming under the corrupting forces of the ER? The question echoed in the halls of her childhood home, under careful scrutiny, squished between tense meals and stilted ‘goodnights’ ‘good morning’ ‘I love you’.
Victoria opened the window in her room, staring out at the city of Pittsburg she was destined to never leave. Her phone burning in her hand with a text from Princess in the group chat.
Drinks at the Bourbon Cowboy tonight! Warm-up for the real party tomorrow.
Victoria can’t help but feel the last sentence was specifically for her. Always teasing her out as though it was the only way to get her to do anything. If she went out tonight and tomorrow she could already envision coming home, her mother pacing the living room, her father sat reclined on the sofa, a soft smile on his face to try to calm his wife knowing it would only rile her up and cause her to miss the greater storm in his eyes. It would be the same script hounding her further and further away from being their daughter. She thinks of Princess, confident and reckless, she’s snagged the x-ray technician from a few weeks back, an awe-inspiring move on all accounts. Or Donnie, who despite having a newborn, agreed to come out to celebrate her birthday. She thinks of Whitaker, the confidence lately oozing from him, a growing calm to his work she’s never known. Still following behind McKay, looking for reassurance in every step. No, that’s not quite true anymore. She’s confident beside someone like Ogilvie, her experience nestling up to her knowledge to put him in his place. She suspects she’s even gleaned a bit of respect from the hot-shot, different from the quiet acquiescence he gives McKay. The text goads at her, coaxes her. She admits she could stand a bit more corrupting as long as it came from her emergency department.
Javadi sneaks out of the house in a moment where her mother is at the grocery store and her father picks up a call with one of his cricket buddies. She closes the front door softly, not bothering to lock it, and rushes downtown to where her friends waited. The word still tasted strange to her, a mix of dread and anticipation. She’s always screwing up, they still invite her. Tonight, her friends taste like recklessness, an itch beneath her skin to be like them. Confident and knowing and right. She could be all those things, she thinks, her feet thundering against concrete, narrowly missing the cracks. Her headphones blasting in her ears surging her forward between the broad and crowded streets streaming around her, pushing her in one direction and the next. The sun just cresting beneath the horizons of buildings.
She enters the familiar bar and looks toward the nook the ED and, occasionally, OR claim for themselves. Perhaps stupidly, she hopes to see Mateo. It’s been a few months since he was banished to the night rotation and she hasn’t really seen him. A shame, she thinks, if he was here tonight she had just enough courage to finally ask him out. Princess waves her over, Whitaker nodding to her, McKay raises her glass as though to salute her for coming. As Victoria walks over, she can’t stifle her mild shock at seeing Dr. Al-Hashimi at the bar with Dr. Garcia and Dr. Chen.
“Dr. Walsh is around here too,” McKay says as she approaches. “If you can believe.”
“I can,” Javadi says, though she can’t. Dr. Chen came when he was blessed with the evening shift. Dr. Walsh was a different story, usually only coming out when Dr. Robby and Abbot came.
She turns to her table. Whitaker was talking to Santos and Joy, who had started coming out with the group at the end of last week. Not even she could resist an excuse to decompress in the worst way possible. A flaw Victoria could finally latch onto and immediately let go of as she reminded herself that there was no competition between them.
From the bar, a newcomer steps back and toward them, a beer cradled delicately in his hand as though he disdained its presence and was simultaneously responsible for it.
“Ogilvie?” Victoria can’t stop herself. Why was he here? Shouldn’t he be in his room, reading furiously through textbooks and reviewing any updated study to try and catch her on the wrong foot. He’s been relentless lately, taking any chance to go on cases with her, grab her for a report which proudly features his insufferable grin. And sometimes, she thinks, annoyance flaring up, he purposefully gives a lackluster explanation just so she can try to correct him to which he confirms he’s already taken care of the potential oversight. Embarrassing her for trying to be a good resident. She can’t stand him and his stupid jokes that have softened significantly over the weeks. Never about conditions anymore, no off-kilter remarks on appearances, and looking to McKay for her approval when he can’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. Victoria always receiving approval for her jokes from McKay, she reminds herself. That’s one thing she still has over him.
And in every area, she thinks in a pleasing hum to herself not noticing the subject of her thoughts slinking up to her. The group having moved on to a show she hasn’t watched.
“I don’t get why people drink this stuff,” He says finally, grabbing the cup from his other hand and flicking off the condensation that clung to his skin. Victoria glanced at him before trying to seem invested in the group conversation.
“Then, why’d you get it?” She chides him. He shrugs.
“I don’t mind the taste so much as the mess it makes. Honestly, my only issue is they haven’t figured out a more convenient way to drink this.” He takes a sip, his face scrunching as he assessed the taste before deeming it passable.
“And since when do you even come to these?” Victoria can’t help but ask. She can’t deny that part of her curiosity was to see if he had been asked to come at the end of his first shift like her.
“Princess invited me today,” he tells her, still preoccupied with wiping down his glass with a napkin. Victoria can’t help but smile. Another point for her. At this point, Ogilvie had no chance of catching up to her. She’d make sure to tell Santos in the morning. Maybe McKay will overhear.
“Do you want me to grab you one?” He asks, suddenly. Victoria turns to him in question. He gestures to the beer.
“I’m not twenty-one yet,” she answers automatically, the way she’s been trained to do, the possible consequences of arrests and convictions, possibly being murdered by her mother.
“Your birthday is tomorrow?” He says in that inquisitive sarcasm that she doesn’t care for, but tonight was particularly grating.
“So? That’s tomorrow. I’m not breaking the law at the last second.” Pride pulses through her for sticking her ground. Another bout of peer pressure avoided.
“You do know in Pennsylvania any person underage in a bar or party where alcohol is served is breaking the law, right?” He asks, feigning actual concern, she swears she can still feel the sarcasm. Nevertheless, it unsettles her, turns her confidence upside down.
“Wait, really?”
He nods as though it was obvious. Victoria stares at him, her eyes darting to her friends for some evidence to the contrary. She lingers on Dr. Al-Hashimi who must be wondering why Victoria was here, that she had bad impulse control and breaks the law and certainly wasn’t fit to be in the ER or any doctor at all.
“Wait, are you saying you’ve never drank? Not even wine during the holidays? Or, like, when you go to Europe.” Ogilvie’s voice broke through her down spiral.
“What?” He turns his head at her the way he tends to do when he catches her being taken by her thoughts. “Oh, no. Of course, not,” she laughs awkwardly. His expression doesn’t change. “Why have you?”
“Well, yea. When I was younger.”
She nods, mouth slightly agape. Why was this rattling her? They competed in everything, facts, cases, even on guessing what snack a patient was choosing from the vending machine. Yet, all of a sudden when it came to following the rules, he just wasn’t.
Ogilvie worries he’s said something wrong again and offended Javadi. He contemplates taking it back, lying that he’s never drank but he reminds himself that he promised not to lie anymore. It’s a few seconds longer as he watches Javadi struggle to find words that it clicks for him. She was embarrassed.
But why? What did he say to cause this? They’d just had a normal conversation. Sure, her body was turned from him but that was normal for them. She rubbed at her arm, her eyes darting around, her thoughts practically radiating into the space, but he was used to that. He wasn’t used to her pulling away from a challenge even when he didn’t always understand what that challenge was.
“Did I say something?” He settles on, hoping that will be enough for Javadi to tell him what he did wrong.
“No, no. It’s fine, of course. Not like I’m realizing that if you were even willing to break the rules then I’m truly just such a…” Kiss-ass? Stickler? What kind of word could capture how she felt. Always following every rule and instruction since she was born, bending over and backwards to make sure no one ever had a bad thing to say. No complaints; branded onto her report card. Always walking alone the way her parents wanted her to be. And now, the one person who seemed to understand even a little how her brain was wired turned out to be…not like her at all.
Ogilvie watches anguish settle in her frame. He doesn’t understand, but in a way, he thinks he does. He had a strict father, he’s heard the way her mom speaks to her. And right now, it looks like she wants anything else to be true, that she wasn’t who she knew herself to be. Ogilvie averts his eyes, can’t take it anymore. Well, not quite.
“No one here is going to report you.” He says. Javadi blinks but his words don’t land. Wants to be somewhere else, someone else. “There’s still time, you know? If you wanted to break the rules.”
She looks up at him then. He says it so plainly, like a fact that won’t change in any way, nothing before and nothing after, as though the real world and all its consequences couldn’t touch the truth; it’s not too late.
She nods and he lifts his head in assessment. “Does that mean you want a beer?” He tries to clarify so as not to make a hasty, and improper, error.
“I—yes.” Then, she remembers herself. “But not here, I don’t want the others to see.”
“You don’t have to do this, y’know?” He can see the slight tremor of her hands as she wipes them along her jeans. Jeans, he thinks, in this hot weather.
She shakes her head, stubborn. If she doesn’t do this now she never will. She realizes she doesn’t want to leave her youth having never done anything risky.
“How about we go to the park? It’s like two blocks over?” She says, suddenly overcome with desperation. Needing proof that she was alive and that this was actually her life. A spark returning to her eye, Ogilvie’s never seen it before and gets caught in it. He nods, dumbly, the way he’s looked down at others for doing in the past.
He goes to the bar. Instead of canned beer, something that might put Javadi off of alcohol forever, he opts for some fruity beverages, so sweet and fizzy you forget it’s alcohol. Javadi excuses herself from the group, heading toward the door, her hair whipping across her face. Ogilvie thinks she’s quite pretty, but he thought that about most women. Could always find something to admire and chalking it up to a characteristic of women in general. But tonight, Javadi was pretty. Something about it had him nervous that she could appear different to him than normal. And what was normal? He reminded himself that even at work, he found her pretty.
The bartender hands over the cans, breaking Ogilvie from his ogling. He takes the cans, embarrassed to have been caught. The park, he vaguely thought, was objectively a worse place to do this. No one would truly care if Javadi had a drink here. They’d all understand except perhaps Princess who has been excited to pick out Javadi’s first drink. In a way, Ogilvie thinks, he may be saving her by getting her used to the taste before Princess has a chance to have her drink what, he can only imagine, was truly vile.
He tucked the cans into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder out of view of the group. He doesn’t say goodbye, can’t imagine they’d notice and heads to the door.
Javadi stands off to the side, just beyond the door, with her hands wrapped around her body, rubbing her arms. Ogilvie can’t stifle his laugh at how suspicious she looks.
He follows behind her as she marches down the streets, turning the corner and navigating them to the park. He likes this, he thinks, seeing a bit more of the Javadi from when they’re at work. Not the distressed version he’d just witnessed and preferred not to see again. Or rather, he’d hate to see her like that and not be able to help.
Javadi stares out at the dark and barely lit park. A few people were out walking their dogs. Some kids rode their skateboards on the ramp on the far side of the park near the basketball court. It was quiet otherwise. And dark. And she was here with alcohol and, of all people, Ogilvie, who, she thinks in horror, she doesn’t even really know. What if he was a psycho or what if he abandoned her, or worst of all, told her mother to get in her good graces. This was a mistake, the words are at the tip of her tongue when she turns to face him.
He’s gazing off, watching the people, watching the few pigeons hopping across the walkway when Javadi catches him. He straightens giving her what she could only describe as a shy smile. It was a smile that suited him better than his usual satisfied grin. Although, in the dark, she could admit she didn’t hate that one either. Made her work harder.
Ogilvie unhooked his bag and pulled out the two cans.
“I have cherry flavor and passion punch, whatever that means.” He squints at the label. Javadi laughs at him.
“I thought we were getting beer?” She teases. He looks at her, skeptical.
“If you’ve never drank before, you don’t want to start with beer. You’ll actually like this.” He hands it to her. A beat passes. “Maybe you’ll like it,” he says, now doubtful. Javadi cracked it open and took a small sip to keep it from overflowing. Ogilvie, not wanting her to feel pressured, does the same. Her face sours and she coughs a few times at the taste. Ogilvie watches her with mild amusement.
“That’s, uh, not what I expected.”
“In a good way or…” Ogilvie tries to goad her. She looks at him. How many people in her life coax her into things? Why is it only Ogilvie’s taunts that feel like they have no bite behind it. Like they’re just playing. She nods her head, feeling a bit stupid at the realization. He’s playing with her the way kids are supposed to.
He smiles at her as he takes another sip. She matches him, managing not to flinch as hard.
“So how does underage drinking feel?” He whispers and she has to step closer to him to hear. He nods toward a bench and she sits down beside him, suddenly more private. “Well, that and acts of public drunkenness,” he says, listing their possible crimes. Despite knowing he’s teasing, her heartbeat still picks up, unsure.
“We’re not even drunk,” she reasons. Ogilvie drags his eyes along her body as though to asses the statement. Javadi’s skin feels warm. He shrugs.
“Then, I suppose they’d chalk it up to public indecency.”
The way he says it itches her hands, something wanting to tug or claw and for once, it’s not directed at her.
“For a charge like that…this feels far too tame,” she says, quietly. Ashamed that her statement could be read as having any desire at all.
Ogilvie’s head shoots up, registering her tone, caught between playfulness and something more secluded. He leans toward her, curious now. She was usually easy to read. Every emotion showing on her face.
“Dr.Javadi, are you trying to break the law right now?” He lays back against the bench, long legs stretched in front of him. She tucks her legs up on the bench, his words making her feel more shy than she should be. This was what she wanted, right? To break rules. To live like any other young adult? Wasn’t that exactly what Ogilvie offered her? What he offered since the first day they met? She wasn’t a resident to him, she wasn’t a genius or someone to ogle at for being so young and so accomplished.
She shrugs.
“I’m just saying. If we’re going to break the law, it should be worthwhile, right?” She looks at him then, his face so close to hers. His gaze flickers to her lips, he stares, something like fear crawling up on him.
“Yea,” he says, his voice hoarse, unsure for the first time since she’s met him. Nevertheless, he can’t stop from leaning toward her, from letting her press her lips against his. Both wanting and unsure.
Ogilvie pulls away slightly. He needs to see her face and know she still wants this. He need to look for her eyes on him, his lips, blown pupils. He needs to see a head nod or other proof that he’s not read this wrong. God, how many times has he been wrong.
Victoria’s hands go to his head, pulling him back to her, desperate now. She wanted to kiss him, to taste the mix of cherry and mint on his breath. He leaned back into her, bracing his hand on the back of the bench. Her hand drags up to his curly hair, tangling and gripping in a way that has him groaning in his throat.
Ogilvie’s face flushes. He’s ruined it, he thinks in mortification. She kisses him harder, demands his lips to start moving against hers. There was nothing in this world he wouldn’t do to keep Javadi here with her soft lips and strong hands. He can’t believe she’d kiss someone like him. He takes the risk and brings his other hand to rest on her back. Her breath hitches and he feels himself ache. Now his face really flushed as Javadi pulled away. Please don’t look down, he thought, but it quickly flew from his mind as he saw her lips a little swollen, pupils wide and a shy smile gracing her features.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe I just did that. I mean, that was—”
“Enough for public indecency?” He asks, can’t help himself. An awestruck smile on his face looking at her, his hand still on her back, her hands resting on his shoulders. He wants so much more, but he’d never push it. Just this much was enough for him for a lifetime. He hopes, silently, that she can’t tell it’s his first kiss.
Javadi’s head whips around. The evening has slowed down. No one near them. The trees and shrubs covering them mostly. Her blood running so hot. Her birthday’s tomorrow. She’ll never get another chance.
“No, I think they’d let us off with a stern warning.” She tells him. He looks at her, like he wants to say something until she raises on her knees and awkwardly gestures to him. Understanding, but still not comprehending that she wants this, Ogilvie sits up straighter on the bench. Javadi slides her leg over his lap, his hands instinctively going to her waist, careful not to touch anywhere else. He swallows harsh as she brings her lips back to his and shifts her weight onto him. Onto where he both wanted and dreaded to have her.
He kisses her hard pushing her head back slightly to stifle a gasp, a groan, something horrible. Javadi’s hand flies to her bottom lip.
“You just bit me?” She asks, incredulous. Ogilvie shakes his head.
“No, it must have scrapped my teeth, I swear—” She pushes down against him, her lips latching onto his and her fingers tugging some of his hair. The way she’d read or heard of but has never done. Ogilvie swears he feels a piece of heaven, his stomach flipping. He flushes thinking she might’ve just felt his excitement. Well, more than she already does.
She dares to bring her tongue to his mouth. He opens for her, wanting anything she’d give him. Resisting his own desire to pull her hips closer, he lets go of her waist. She breaks the kiss to put them back and then kisses him again, this time their rhythm falling easy. Something foreign so quickly becoming familiar.
He hums against her lips, trying to let her know that it’s too much for him. His skin was so hot and his desire slowly dragging him out of control. Just a small break, he thinks. Just enough to look at her again and memorize the slope of her brow and the angle of her nose and all the other things he should indulge while he has the chance.
Javadi’s back pocket starts vibrating. She breaks the kiss, wide-eyed, alarmed. Ogilvie feels stunned as well, but for entirely different reasons. Javadi looks around as though there were cops hanging around who would actually arrest some people making out. It endears him.
She closes her eyes and sighs loudly before taking out her phone and answering it. Mercifully, she stays in his lap.
He’s only a few inches from her but he can hear the strained voice of her mother asking what she thinks she’s doing so late, what possessed her to leave. Javadi tries to interrupt, to explain. What? He thinks, that she left to drink alcohol and make out with one of her med students. He hates that he’s not ashamed of finding it a bit hot. Only because he was said med student.
“Okay, okay.” She groans. “Yes, I’ll come home now. No, you don’t have to call me a car.” She huffs out another frustrated breath. “Yes, okay, I’ll call an uber.”
She’s leaving. She has to, he knows, and he’d never hold it against her. Instead he gazes, taking in every detail he can. Her warm complexion, her pretty eyes, long lashes, the hair refusing to remain tucked behind her ear. He reaches out, brushing it along her cheek. Javadi’s shoulders fall, she closes her eyes regretfully.
“Okay, I’ll be right home. I promise, mom.”
She hangs up the phone. Oglivie still brushes the side of her cheek and her chest sings at the feeling. “I have to go,” she says softly. Oglivie nods, still a bit dazed from how the night has gone down.
“I’ll see you at work,” he says, as she gets off his lap. Quickly sitting up to hide his lap with his backpack. She smiles knowingly at him, her eyes landing on the action. He only raises his eyebrows. Teasing. Playful. Heart only somewhat in his throat.
Javadi nods.
“You’ll see me at work, yes.”
Ogilvie nods.
“And then, at your birthday? I hear it’s the first time you’re having alcohol.” He says, a strange earnestness in his tone she’s not used to. But she smiles, grateful now. He had given her this, been by her side, and let her be a little bit stupid for once in her life.
She tries to mimic him, shrugs in exaggeration and plays the fool. Takes a step toward the road.
“Who’s to say. I had some wild times in my youth.”
He smiles at her. He likes this side of her. Wants more of it for himself.
“I hear it only gets better with age,” he tosses out. She bites her lip.
“I guess we’ll have to find out,” she promises. Walks backward until she has no choice but to turn and trek back home.
Summary: All Adam ever seems to hear is Kim talking about Roman. In Molly’s, in the locker room, when he’s just walking through the district. All he ever hears is Kim making comments about Roman, about their relationship, about all the domestic elements of their life.
And it's killing him.
Or; Obliviousness, a game of telephone and a healthy dose of gossip leads to miscommunication... Miscommunication that just may lead Adam and Kim back together.
Set in S3, post break-up AU.
Word Count: 5.8k
Read on AO3
Notes: Part two is here!! If you haven't read part one, you can find it through my AO3 or on my blog, and I do very much recommend reading part one first.
This fic was only meant to be a two part fic, but due to the length of this one, I've had to split it into two so it's now going to be a three part fic so oops sorry about that.
Enjoy!!
It is on a night out at Molly’s that caused it.
Kim hadn’t really wanted to go out with Sylvie that night, but the blonde was insistent. She wasn’t on shift at 51, and had been waiting outside of Kim’s new apartment when she got home. Kim had been sort of dragging her feet about arranging a day for a night out, not only because she struggled with the desire to actually go out, despite how much she forced herself to, but because Sylvie and her really started bonding right after Kim had gotten engaged.
It hadn’t been because of the engagement, but that just happened to be the point in time their friendship had blossomed. As a result, Kim couldn’t help associating nights out with her, and by extension, Sylvie herself, with being engaged. With coming home tipsy to Adam, to talking about wedding stuff at the nights out, to all those little moments that occurred when Kim was engaged Kim, moments that will never be replicated now she’s back to being single Kim—or worse, now she’s become recently un-engaged Kim.
And if Kim was going to drag herself from the comfort of her bed and crappy microwave dinners, she preferred if it could actually distract her from her failed engagement.
It wasn’t fair to Sylvie, Kim knew this. Especially when Sylvie is her only friend who gets it, her only friend who had been engaged herself, who also had a failed engagement. The situations aren’t identical, of course, really the only thing the two engagements had in common was that they were an engagement, but it still was helpful to know there’s someone who gets it, gets it in a way her other friends can’t.
So when Kim came home and saw her sweet, considerate friend waiting for her, she had no choice but to agree.
And, Kim had reminded herself, the only way she can hope to survive this is with help from her friends.
Sylvie had suggested they keep it low-key, just her and Kim, in Molly’s with a beer. It hadn’t exactly screamed a recipe for success but she had found herself agreeing nonetheless. And Kim was proven wrong; Sylvie had grabbed them a booth near the back, and intelligence had been wrapped up in a case so she didn’t have to see anyone from work, which had been a blessing.
There had been some officers hanging around, of course, and a couple of them looked eagerly at her and Kim had just known that they’d be approaching her to try and get the gossip on why Sean was transferring.
But Sylvie had also clocked them, and she excused herself to talk to Herrmann and Kim still has no idea what she said to him, but none of the officers bothered them that night.
“It’s just typical Sean,” it wasn’t long before Kim was bitching about her ex-partner. “Transferring in such a way and leaving me to have to deal with the fallout. He couldn’t even give me that one decent consideration.”
“He’s an asshole, Kim, of course he wasn’t going to.” Sylvie’s words aren’t said condescendingly, even if they could be seen that way.
“Like so the man tries to kiss me only weeks after I broke up with my fiancé, who we both work with, then tries to tell me that I was giving him ‘signs’, and then that he loves me and he knows I love him—which what the fuck, I just broke up with Adam, and he knows I’m still very much in love with him—and then when I rebuff all this he just... Transfers. And does it so fucking coyly that it means of course, people are curious. Which only leaves me in this position of being noncommittal and only fuelling the gossip, or telling the truth which, let’s be honest, is only going to make people think that there was something there—and god forbid it looks bad on him, no, it’ll only reflect badly on me and no one will ever want to be my partner.” Sylvie had been right, going out had done her good, giving her chance to vent.
“And what gets me is that he was able to just transfer. Bam, just like that. And he’ll go and settle in to his new place, and he’ll get barely if any scrutiny over it and even if he’s truthful about everything—which not fucking likely—he won’t get respected any less. Me, on the other hand.” Kim paused, to take a sip of her drink.
“You know, I was going to transfer. Yeah, yeah, I know. Not great, and luckily Platt and Lindsay talked me out of it. But one of the reasons I didn’t? Because it would follow me around. But Sean’s second transfer in just as many years? Nothing.” Kim couldn’t help scoffing, she was just about done with the hypocrisy of the police force, of the hypocrisy of her fellow officers.
Sylvie, to her credit, listened patiently, sympathising with her and asking her questions about how she’s doing and genuinely caring about her response—everything Sean should’ve done, everything a decent human would do.
It was one of Sylvie’s questions that lead to this, the blonde asking her about how she’s doing, personally, beyond the Sean stuff.
“Honestly? Pretty fucking lonely,” Kim had drunk all of her beer by that point and it was either that, or just because she was on ranting roll, that made her be more openly truthful about things.
“I’m hurting, like all the time, and work is now this... Huge dread for me. And when I go home, I’m coming home to an empty apartment. A few weeks ago, I had a fiancé and a future and now everything just feels so empty and lonely. I have no one to share my life with; my sister has her own life, and my mother just keeps telling me I told you so and saying I should quit being a cop and it’s just a lot. Probably doesn’t help my new apartment is one I first saw the listing for when I was looking for a place for Adam and I,” Kim couldn’t help but scoff at herself.
“It’s all a bit pathetic, isn’t it? Because it’s because of me that I’m lonely, like what did I think I’d feel?” She was feeling really self-deprecating about herself.
“Kim, no,” Sylvie had shook her head at that. “It is not pathetic. Ending a relationship, especially an engagement, it’s a big deal and a big change. And it does mean you find yourself feeling a bit lost as you readjust. At least you haven’t moved to a new city?”
Kim scoffed again. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Kim,” Sylvie said softly, but scoldingly. “Look, my point is just that your feelings are natural. And yeah, you ended it, but that doesn’t make you pathetic for missing it, because it was still a part of your life. You just need to remind yourself that the cons began outweighing the pros—you ended it to prioritise yourself and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
The doubt Kim felt evidently showed on her face as Sylvie continued.
“Okay, let’s brainstorm. You’re not over Adam, and jumping into a new relationship is never a good idea, so we can’t end your loneliness with getting back out there. We can try and arrange more girls nights—even get Lindsay in for it, and maybe even Sarah from med—but our lives are pretty busy so that might not be the most effective... Can you go visit family you haven’t seen in a while—your father? You’ve never told me about him, but is he an option? Sometimes going somewhere and clearing your head can do a world of good.”
Kim frowned, making it very clear that wasn’t an option.
“Okay, so that’s a no. Hm,” Sylvie looked thoughtful. She was silent for a long moment, before suddenly her face lit up, and she leaned forward very excitedly.
“You could get a dog! A cute, fluffy companion! No need to worry about scheduling nights out to get company, and someone to greet you when you come home. Plus I saw one of your neighbours had a dog while I was waiting for you, so your new place is pet friendly. It’s perfect.”
Sylvie looked so happy, so pleased with herself that Kim felt guilty for the way she would have to crush her.
“Sylvie,” her friend’s face immediately faltered at Kim’s soft sigh. “I work all the time. And because of the move and the calling off the engagement, I don’t really have a lot of savings so I don’t know if I’d be able to afford a dog walker and I just... I don’t think I’m in a place right now where I could adequately look after a dog, do all the walking and making sure it was happy. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Right, yeah.” Sylvie nodded understandingly. Kim thought she had ruined the night, but then Sylvie’s eyes were sparkling again.
“What about a cat? We just responded to this cat sanctuary place last shift—one of their workers got woozy—and oh it is just so precious. The cats were all so cute, and they’re rescues and the owner was saying how they need more people to adopt them. All we’d need to do is get toys and set up a nice play area in your apartment to make sure they’re happy while you’re at work and oh you could get an automatic cat feeder and it’s perfect. And the owner said so many of them just wants love and cuddles and just a home.”
Kim frowned slightly. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a cat before.”
“Come and visit with me this weekend. Meet the little kitties, see for yourself. Come on, Kim. They need love, you need love... It’s a match made in heaven.” Sylvie had continued, looking so earnest at her.
And that’s how Kim found herself, on her day off, standing in a cat sanctuary, about to adopt a furry new friend.
The workers at the sanctuary had immediately greeted Sylvie with big smiles and sing-song hellos. The paramedic clearly had left a lasting impression on them, which, honestly, Kim got. Sylvie just has that effect on people.
“This is Kim,” Sylvie had introduced her, and then before she could even react, Sylvie was filling them in on everything, of exactly why they were there. Kim found herself feeling immediately annoyed at the blonde; she’s not exactly in a great place in her life and she isn’t exactly thrilled at it being broadcasted.
But the workers had been considerate, nice. They asked Kim questions about herself, about her home, about her wants and capabilities and advised her on everything she’d need to get and what she should expect, understating it all with that she had to actually want this, want the responsibility of another living being beyond just her own sadness.
Then they had told them to look around, standing back as they did so, giving them space while not being too far away.
Honestly, Kim was convinced she was just doing this to humour Sylvie. But somewhere along the line, between them getting there and the workers talking to them, and walking among the fluffy balls of cuteness, Kim found herself warming more and more up to the idea.
And then she saw him. A beautiful mix of white, brown and ginger, long-haired, especially around his neck and upper back, the only part of him, really, that was the ginger bit. He had sharp eyes, and when they met with her own, he flopped down looking adorably playful and Kim hadn’t ever really spent much time around cats but she couldn’t help but think that was his way of greeting her.
She never put much credence in love at first sight, especially after the closest thing she had to it imploded, but looking at that cat for the very first time, Kim immediately fell in love.
And she’d like to think he did too, that he didn’t just react like that to any old person, that he immediately saw her as his human.
The worker who was with them—Greta, her name tag said—clocked on instantly to the connection, and when Kim cooed at him, she jumped straight into action.
“That’s Roman. His previous owner was a history professor, and thought his fluff reminded them of Roman helmets. I don’t personally see it, but he’s a funny little dude and it suits him. Him being long-haired does seem to be putting a lot of people off, unfortunately, though but he’s just so precious.” Great informed her.
Kim faltered.
“Roman?” She repeated, unable to stop the frown that appeared on her face. Her eyes found Sylvie.
“We know someone called that—well his surname. And he’s an asshole,” Sylvie explains to Greta. “Come on, Kim, there’s other cats.”
Kim looked away from Sylvie then, and back at the cat—at Roman. There was a conflict in her; there was the association to the partner from hell that she’d very much like to forget, and Sylvie was right, there were other cats but...but Kim knew that her heart wanted this cat, that for whatever reason there was a kinship with this cat and that something as silly as a name wasn’t going to put her off.
Not when in the first time in ages, Kim felt like she might actually survive this.
“No, tell me more about him. It’s alright; I called him Sean a lot anyway. And this Roman is so much more of a nicer association for the name.” Kim said, and that was that. Roman the cat was hers.
Of course it wasn’t that simple. There was paperwork to sort out, a vetting the sanctuary had to do, and then Kim had to go and buy things for him—something she may have gone a little overboard on—and so much other things but he was hers.
And finally, her life had a little more light in it.
Kim and Roman settle into a routine before long.
Roman takes a little while to fully adjust to his new home with her, but after the first couple of days, even when he still hadn’t fully settled in yet, Kim would be immediately greeted by a little meow and a cat winding between her feet as soon as she got home.
More than anything probably because she’s the food provider, but he lets her give him a little fuss behind the ears when she walks through the door and after they have their respective dinners, they cuddle on the couch.
She had brought him a rather nice cat bed, and he does use it, uses the three different ones that somehow just keeps appearing in her home, along with more toys every time Kim goes shopping, but at night, he curls up beside her on her bed.
And Kim begins looking forward to coming home again. And for that, she is so glad that she took Sylvie upon her offer that day—even when it’s 3am and Roman is waking her up from much needed sleep for the third time that week for, as far as Kim can tell, no particularly reason.
She doesn’t exactly go broadcasting the fact she’s got a cat now, obviously, because it’s not really ground breaking news. But she does mention it to some people, just casually, and Kim expected that to be that.
It’s not, exactly. The district is a gossipy place, and it really can be unpredictable what is decided to be the new hottest piece of gossip, and Kim’s definitely been the source of that gossip a few times, but she didn’t really expect the fact she’s gotten a new cat to be that juicy that it spreads to everyone.
It even spreads up to intelligence, as Kevin asks her about it one day.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, sounding uncharacteristically hurt. It spreads around in the first few weeks of getting him, Kim still making sure he was adjusting, so she hadn’t had much time to talk to her best friend and so no time to catch him up with her life, especially when she’s been giving Adam space, and she knew that he’d need to lean on Kev and she never wants to make him feel like he has to chose sides.
It’s still never great hearing something new about your friend from district chatter, so she got his hurt to a certain degree, but it had taken her back a little bit.
“I didn’t think it was necessary—you would’ve found out eventually,” Kim answered him, confused. Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t exactly the best phrasing. Kevin—all the Atwaters—are an important part of her life and she realised that maybe with her break up with Adam he was wondering if she was ditching him too. To reassure him nothing had changed between them, she added;
“But now I’ve got you—do you want to come over soon? With Jordan and Vinessa, introduce them to him?”
Kevin’s expression is unreadable. “You want to my siblings to meet him?”
Between his expression and his tone, Kim just gets confused more. “Yeah? They’ll really love him. And I thought since he’s my family, and you’re—and they’re—my family that you’d—”
“That I’d want my siblings to meet him? Be a happy family?” Kevin interrupts her. “Look, Kim, I’m happy you’re happy. I am, you know I love you. But I’m just... Adam’s not doing well, at all, and I just think I need a bit of time before... that.”
If Kim hadn’t already been grateful for having Roman in her life, she would be then. There’s one thing putting some space between them for Adam’s sake, and maybe it’s because Kim feared Kevin wouldn’t understand, that if they gave him the option to choose a side, he wouldn’t choose her, not when Adam’s his brother, but Kim still—probably naïvely—thought that Kevin wouldn’t, that he wouldn’t choose a side.
And she suddenly didn’t expect him to choose a side without her asking him too.
“That’s fine.” Kim tried to smile and not let her own hurt show. “I have Roman, now, so yeah. Take time, whatever.”
It’s that day that when she got home, Roman first saw her cry. She hadn’t cried since getting him, but Kevin was the first person she ever truly felt was her family, someone in her peer bracket and loved her, and it hurt her deep that he didn’t choose her.
She didn’t want him to not choose Adam, Kim still loves Adam, and knows that Adam needs support and Kevin is both of their best friend, but she hoped that Kevin would still recognise she needed support—that Kevin is still her brother, that whatever happens between her and Adam, their respective relationships with him exists outside of that.
Instead Kim just wonders if this is confirmation of all her insecurities, her worries that saw how her boys bonded and the insecure girl inside of her worrying that Adam preferred working with Kev over her and that Kevin preferred Adam as a friend.
Roman is concerned for Kim, first pawing at her and when that didn’t work, he played with the toy that always makes Kim stop what she’s doing to coo at him and when that even didn’t work, he just curled up beside her.
“It’s just me and you,” Kim murmured at him, softly stroking his fur, comforted by the warm softness of it. “Just me and you.”
Life does get more bearable after that day.
It takes a while for her not to get that aching hurt in her chest, about Kevin choosing Adam over her, but she adapts. Just like she adapts to no longer being engaged, to her heart not hurting so much over that as well.
Kim quickly learns that she still loves Adam, that she’ll still miss him. That they’ll be days where she wishes for his smile, or his advice or nights where she’ll wake up from a bad dream and instinctively reach for him, wanting him to encase her in his arms, in a hug that smells like him and feels like love and safety.
And she quickly learns that unlike her previous relationships, she’s not going to fall out of love with him any time soon, that a part of her may very well always love him and that it’ll probably be a while before she’ll ever be able to think about dating again, let alone dating seriously.
But she learns that it gets easier to live with. She grieves their relationship, the relationship it was as well as what she wanted it to be, and through that she stops bargaining with herself, stops telling herself to lower her wants just for those times she misses him, that it had to be done.
And she stops wishing for all the ways the past should’ve gone and started just focusing on the future.
At work, Kim gets a new partner—Julie Tay—and they immediately get along like a house on fire. Kim never thought she’d find another partner as perfect as Kevin—Atwater, Adam is Ruzek, Kevin is Atwater, she’s taken up to telling herself—but Tay is pretty perfect herself. Exactly the kind of person Kim needs for where she is now, and that also helps take away the sting of Kevin choosing Adam.
Life gets into a new rhythm. It’s not like how her life used to be, but it’s how her life is, and she realises that she likes it. She has her cat, she has Tay, and everything just feels settled, that everything just feels easy again.
Sure, there’s no high drama or adrenaline in her life—beyond patrol chases—that everything feels very routine and that the height of her happiness comes from snuggling with Roman and a tub of ice cream on the couch, and there’s a case to be made that Kim prefers life when it’s a little bit more exciting, when there’s high emotions all around because yeah that means dealing with a rollercoaster of irrational emotions but it means that she’s not shutting herself off from feeling things, shutting herself away from experiences but after her past year, Kim is just ready to have it easy for a bit.
Before she knows it, almost in a blink of an eye, Kim’s had Roman for a little over half a year and it feels like a lifetime, life has settled that much.
She comes into work one day, after a hellish weekend of Roman being sick—nothing too serious, just enough to cost her a bill from her vet and a weekend of no sleep—and she knows she looks a mess. And so she mentions this, that she’s been looking after Roman all weekend, when she sees some of her co-workers give her a look that day.
Yet again, she expects it to not be so much of a big deal, but her fellow officers really are lovely people, and several times over the next week or so, Kim gets several of them asking after him. It’s nice at first—even if it’s somewhat baffling, especially the person who gives her flowers for him.
That one she had been confused at.
“Thanks,” she said. “They’re lovely, but he’ll probably just try and eat them,”
After she said that, the officer had the audacity to look at her funny.
By the time a week had gone past, Kim had officially reached her limit. She gets concern, and it’s lovely, but Roman has bounced right back now and she wonders why everyone is so concerned—especially when she has heard barely anything about an officer in another district who had gotten shot.
It’s Garcia that she finally loses her last straw with.
“How’s Roman doing?” He asks her and she normally likes the officer, but she’s beyond confused now and honestly just wishes that everyone would stop wondering about her cat, that surely she can’t always be the most interesting piece of gossip around.
“He’s okay! Having the time of his life pissing in my bathroom and eating damn flowers, stop asking! It was just a minor thing!” At what she bursts out saying, a few more officers nearby turning to look at them, Garcia frowns, looking rather confused himself.
“I though he was in ICU?”
Kim’s mind momentarily blanks at that, not in the slightest prepared to deal with how ridiculous gossip at the district can get, that information will pass from one lip to another and somehow get distorted to her cat being in ICU and she doesn’t even fully process the first thing that she says before it’s out her own lips.
“Do they even have ICU for cats?”
Garcia blinks. “Cats?”
And that is when Kim learns that for the past six months or so, everyone had thought she was dating Sean Roman, her asshole ex-partner.
Her asshole ex-partner who was recently just shot.
Naturally, the truth that Kim has a cat called Roman, and is not dating Sean Roman, isn’t spread around even a quarter as fast as the opposite was, and two days later Kim is still being asked, repeatedly, about Roman the human.
And even when Kim corrects them, they all pull the same kind of look at asks her if she’s sure—like she really doesn’t know who is and isn’t in her bed. Even Platt looks at her a little doubtfully.
Tay finds this all hilarious.
She finds it even more hilarious when on the third day, Kim walks into the district holding her pet carrier with a very confused Roman sitting in it. She hadn’t exactly been thrilled about having to take in Roman—although once he realised they weren’t at the vets, he seemed more calm—but needs must. Kim puts the pet carrier on Platt’s desk.
“Sarge, this is my cat, Roman. Proof I am very much not dating my ex-partner but that I am instead a dedicated cat mother. Now if you’ll allow it, I’d appreciate some time to go round and introduce my fluffy boy to the rest of the officers because I am ending this rumour, once and for all.”
Platt has had a range of different reactions to Kim’s demands before, and she never knows exactly how the desk sergeant is going to react. But today she knew it was going to be one of two ways; either Platt was going to tell her to get the fuck out and return cat-less, or she was going to find it all very amusing and let her continue.
Kim had hoped and hoped all morning that it would be the latter.
Luckily, it is.
“On you go, Burgess.” Platt had chuckled, a rare compliment in itself. “I’ve got to say, I’m relieved your brains aren’t totally useless, I thought you had better taste. And this Roman is an improvement on the previous one.”
It sounds like a compliment, but Kim doesn’t quite know what to think about Platt thinking she was dating Sean and very uncharacteristically not saying anything about it to her? There’s no time to dwell on that, however, she has a record to correct.
Even with her physical cat—and a photocopy of some of his vet records to prove his name—it’s still a frustrating job trying to convince everyone that yes, she’s really not dating Sean and that yes, all she’s mentioned Roman since he left was all about a cat.
Kim didn’t want to stay too long at the district, not wanting to put Roman through too much, but she ends up staying longer than she had planned. She’s giving him a little fuss in the quietness of the locker, checking to see if he seemed too overwhelmed.
“This is my locker,” she coos at her boy, pointing it out. “And right here is where I got engaged. And then un-engaged. Which is why I got you.”
Kim isn’t too sure when she became that person, the person to talk to her pets, but she had. She is just getting more relaxed and less frustrated by the fact that she’s having to do this, at the absolute absurdity of it, when another officer enters the locker room and she’s explaining, again, that she’s not dating Sean Roman.
This officer is being rather obtuse. He crosses his arms, and a look of triumph appears on his face and Kim just knows, knows, that she’s going to hate what he next says. She’s not wrong.
“Then why did he transfer? All you gave us was non answer bull, because you were dating him and you didn’t want everyone to know you’re a badge bunny. C’mon, Burgess. We all know you wanted to get into intelligence, fucking that Ruzek didn’t give you that, so you moved on to your partner. It’s fine, no one is judging you.”
“Excuse me?” The officer is lucky that she’s still holding Roman, otherwise she wouldn’t be accountable for her actions, that she’d be tempted to go for him. But as she’s holding her cat, she just enthuses her words with as much spite as she could without being too loud to not startle Roman.
“Get this through your head. I. Am. Not. Dating. Sean. Fucking. Roman.” Kim practically growls. Roman licks her chin. “And I didn’t fuck Ruzek, I was engaged to him, there’s a big fucking difference. And why we split has nothing to do with work, intelligence or any of your business. And fucking a cop, or two, or more, wouldn’t make me a badge bunny—it just means like every other profession, your colleagues are also your peers.
“And for why my old partner transferred? Because he wanted more and I didn’t and he was so fucking cowardly that he couldn’t just continue here or not make a big deal over it—and if you want a badge bunny, there he is. Because he has the record for seeing his partners as eligible romantic options not fellow officers and then running away, not me. Now get the fuck out of my face and I might consider not telling Sergeant Platt that she has a sexist officer.”
Kim has no intention of not telling Platt, but it’s worth saying it just to watch the officer’s face pale and watch him leave hastily. She immediately breathes out when she does so, smiling at Roman as he licks her chin again.
“Kim?” She looks up from her cat, to see Kevin—Atwater—standing in the locker room, looking at her with a sheepish and apologetic expression.
“I heard what he said to you—if you need a co-witness for your statement to Platt.” He tells her and Kim gets an ache in her heart at Kevin still knowing her so well that he knows, despite what she said, that she’ll be reporting the officer.
“Thank you.” Kim gives him a small smile, hoping that maybe there’s a way for them to fix the split between them. There’s a bit of an awkward silence so Kim approaches the pet carrier again.
“Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair now.” She says. She would’ve put Roman back in to the carrier then, but he stubbornly refused.
“No—I came in here to see you. I wanted to talk.” Kevin stops her anyway. “Well, rather apologize. I didn’t realise you had gotten a cat that day when I—”
Kim immediately gets what he is saying, a dawning realisation falling upon her.
“And you thought I was dating Sean, too. Right after breaking up with Adam.” Everything Kim said comes rushing back to her. “And thought I was telling you I wanted out families aka my new boyfriend to mix, when Adam is still hurting and is your best friend.”
“Exactly. I’m sorry, Burg. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Kim is shaking her head. “No, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you knew that you’re still my family, and that your siblings would probably love to fuss over a cat I didn’t think about phrasing. I’m just happy you didn’t choose Adam over me—I thought... I thought you loved him more,”
“Come here,” Kevin holds out his arms and Kim immediately goes in for the hug despite the cat occupying her arms. “Adam’s my bro, but you’re my sister. I could never choose between you.”
Roman squirms so they end the hug sooner than they probably would’ve, but Kim already feels so much lighter. She smiles, properly this time, at him.
“So then, do you want to bring Jordan and Vinessa over to meet my very cute cat? I’ll give them some treats to give him and he’ll love them forever,” Kim asks him again and Kevin smiles back.
“I’d love that.”
Kevin then pauses, frowning a little. “Have you talked to Adam?”
“... Not since the break up.” Kim shook her head.
“You should. Or I could, if you don’t want to see him. Just—he also thinks you’ve been dating Roman—the human Roman. And he’s not been dealing well with it at all.”
Kim’s heart immediately twists painfully.
Adam.
It’s been hard for her to remember that gossip reaches Intelligence’s ears all the same, and that Adam would hear things, things about her, that she doesn’t tell him. From basically the beginning, Adam’s always heard things through her telling him, usually the first one to find out—that is, until they broke up. But still it is a foreign concept for Kim to get her head around, that just because he’s not hers anymore, because they’re not together, it doesn’t mean that he somehow is blocked from ever finding out things about her, that just because she’s not telling him doesn’t mean someone isn’t.
Her heart aches. Aches because she should’ve realised, aches because she didn’t.
It’s been six months of an easy life, of low pressure and just existing, living in a peaceful bubble of just Roman and her, of healing and processing and moving on and a lot of that involved pushing Adam out of her mind, and it’s been good to Kim.
But that bubble bursts now. And Kim hurts—hurts because Adam hurts, because she’s always hurt when he does, and she hurts because it hits her then—she’s healed, and she still so achingly wants Adam.
“No, I’ll tell him—tonight.” Kim tells Kevin. She knows Adam needs to know, know that she never even considered Sean, and she knows that she needs to be the one to tell him.
