Hi! May I request John Shen x pregnant!reader where she's an attending and goes into labor during a trauma?
so i realized about halfway through that ellis is a resident, not an attending, but close enough, y'know. not much backstory, but established relationship and expecting :)
It wasn’t uncommon for attendings to be at odds.
Between patients, their needs, personal needs, the bureaucracy of the American healthcare system, and whatever else The Pitt decided to spit out, tensions run high. It’s a high stress environment not meant for the faint of heart. And Dr. John Shen’s professional opinion is that it is also not a place for pregnant women, much less one who is nearly crowning and can barely make breakfast without getting winded.
“Well, if it isn’t Mama Bear,” Dana cooed, arms open for her signature tight embrace. “Why aren’t you at home?”
“I could ask the same thing,” John muttered from behind you, already moving past with both of your bags slung over his shoulder. He didn’t even pause, heading straight toward the lockers like he needed distance before he said something sharper.
“What’s got his scrubs in a bunch?” Dana chuckled, her arm slipping comfortably around your shoulders as she guided you toward the hub at the center of the emergency department.
You waved him off. “He thinks I should be at home, but why would I want to be there if he’s not?”
She hummed. “Clingy stage, hm?”
You nodded, a little sheepish but not denying it. “Something like that.” You shifted your weight, one hand instinctively resting against your belly. “Where do you want me?”
“Oh, honey, I think you’re going to regret asking that question.”
The group chat had blown up. Some (mostly your husband) were trying to argue that if day shift could survive with one attending, surely night shift could survive with two instead of three. You had smirked when Shen rolled over in bed that evening, his hair a mess and his jaw slack with disbelief as he read your message out loud.
“‘I can come in’?” he repeated, incredulous.
You were already halfway off the mattress, one leg hooked over the side as you tried to sit up. “Help me up, baby,” you said, reaching back for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The entire drive there had been the same biting comments. John was mostly attempting to convince you to take it easy, that you should be resting. Technically, you were on slower, lower hours. Accommodations for more sitting time and longer breaks.
You rotated around triage the first few hours of your shift, working with the less urgent patients. It was a nice change of pace from traumas and whatever other cases were straining enough to get their own rooms. It was a slower pace, one that allowed you to sit more often, to breathe between patients instead of sprinting from one crisis to the next.
In fact, as you leaned back slightly in your chair between patients, one hand resting over the steady curve of your abdomen, you could admit it was kind of nice.
For once, no alarms were blaring. No one was shouting for a crash cart. No trauma bay doors were flying open with the force of urgency. Just the low hum of monitors, the occasional murmur of voices, and the steady rhythm of an ER functioning exactly as it should.
“How are you feeling?”
You glanced up at your husband, already reaching for the edge of the desk to help haul yourself upright. The movement was slower than it used to be, more deliberate, but you refused to make a thing out of it.
“Fine.”
John didn’t look convinced. Not even a little.
“Fine like fine,” he pressed, folding his arms across his chest, “or fine your feet hurt? How’s your back?”
You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. You lifted the hem of your scrub top just enough to reveal the thick band wrapped snugly beneath your belly.
“Belly band is working overtime,” you said lightly.
His gaze lingered for a second longer before he glanced around, scanning the area out of habit. Miraculously, for once, no one was within earshot. No nurses passing by, no residents hovering, no patients calling out.
It gave his voice space to soften.
“You know I respect you,” he said quietly, stepping a little closer, “but please just… take it easy.”
“I am,” you mumbled, already easing yourself back into the chair. “I promise I’m okay.”
“Are you?” His eyes dragged over your face, studying you in that way that made it impossible to hide anything for long. “Because you look exhausted.”
You exhaled slowly, tilting your head back for a moment before meeting his gaze again.
“I don’t know how you can be so calm about this,” he continued, voice tightening just slightly. “You’re ready to pop any day now.”
You sighed, already tired of having the same conversation.
“I’m fine,” you said again, gentler this time. “If anything happens, you’re here. I’m surrounded by people who work great under pressure, and there’s a maternity ward a few floors above us.” You gave him a pointed look. “And you and I both know that most women with their first go past their due date.”
“I hear you, but I just—”
You lifted a hand, cutting him off as your eyes flicked past his shoulder.
“Abbot.”
Jack had been lingering just close enough to absolutely be listening, even if he was doing a poor job pretending otherwise. He straightened slightly when you called him out, caught somewhere between guilty and amused.
“You know how to deliver a baby, right?” you asked.
He blinked, his gaze bouncing from you to John and back again, immediately clocking the tension.
“I’m not getting in the middle of whatever this is,” he said carefully.
You shook your head, expression perfectly composed
“There’s a patient who might need it if OB doesn’t pick up the damn phone,” you said, the lie sliding out smoothly.
“Oh.” Jack’s lips pursed as he considered that, his posture shifting into something more professional. He nodded after a second, one shoulder lifting in a casual shrug. “Then yeah. I do.”
John rolled his eyes, completely unconvinced and still staring you down like he could will you into compliance.
“This is your last shift,” he said flatly. “That’s it.”
You held his gaze for a beat, then nodded, easy and agreeable.
“Scout’s honor.”
The way his eyes narrowed told you he didn’t believe you for a second. And truthfully, you should have known better than to relish in the calm.
The doors burst open with a force that snapped the entire department to attention, paramedics wheeling in an unconscious patient.
“Trauma incoming!”
Everything shifted in an instant. Chairs scraped back, voices sharpened, movement accelerated towards the doors.
“Where’s Shen?” someone called.
“In a consult,” another voice shot back.
“Abbot?”
“Tied up in two!”
You hesitated for exactly half a second before your brain turned itself into doctor mode. You reached for a pair of gloves from the station on the wall, already turning towards the stretcher.
“I’ve got it,” you said, already moving. Thankfully, no one had time to stop you.
“Thirty-two-year-old male, MVC, unrestrained. Lost his pulse en route, we got it back once—”
“Transfer on three!”
You were at the bedside before your brain could catch up, muscle memory taking over. Gloves. Positioning. Assessing. Calling out what you saw, what you needed.
“Get me pressure, no manual.” You looked around, catching everyone who was in the room with you. “And where’s respiratory?”
Your body moved like it always had, but there was a beat in your back that made you falter.
You positioned your hands over the patient when it came time, locked your elbows, and began. Everyone worked around you. Information was shouted into the air. Your responses were robotic, relying on the information you committed to memory all those years ago. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you remembered why you missed it so much. Why you’d spent all shift fighting with your husband, because you need to be here. You need to help.
You lifted just enough for the count.
“Lady Shen,” Nazely gasped beside you, her voice cutting through the noise just enough to register. “You need a break.”
You counted again, breath tighter now, adjusting your stance instinctively. “I know,” you said, voice strained but steady. “I feel it.”
The next roll of pressure between your hips bade your breath hitch, sweat dripping down your temples. The next break came, and this time you stepped off the stool.
“Resuming compressions,” someone echoed, closer now.
A hand touched your arm, another guiding your shoulder. You traded places automatically, shifting to the side, eyes still locked on the patient.
“Epi’s in.”
“Charging to 200.”
“Clear!”
You focused on the monitor, on the numbers, on anything that wasn’t the low, persistent ache now settling into your pelvis. Your eyes fluttered shut for half a second before it passed. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself against the edge of the bed, forcing your attention back where it belonged.
By the time the patient was stabilized and rushed off to the next step, you felt it. The adrenaline ebbed first, leaving behind a hollowed-out kind of fatigue that settled deep in your bones. Your arms felt heavier, your back tighter, your legs just a little less reliable than they had been an hour ago.You leaned against the nurse’s station, one hand braced on the counter, the other instinctively cradling the underside of your belly as you exhaled.
Nazely was there within seconds. She rolled a chair over without a word, positioning it carefully behind you like she’d done this a hundred times before.
“Oh, thank you, sweetie,” you murmured, easing yourself down with a soft groan you didn’t quite manage to hide. Your palm stayed pressed to your abdomen, fingers splayed. “Just five minutes.”
She hovered for a second, her expression tightening ever so slightly.
“Should I go get Dr. Shen?”
“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it’s just… a lot of physical exertion for someone who hasn’t done cardio in months.” You tried for a smile, something reassuring. “I’m good.”
Nazely didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded anyway, taking a step back.
The pressure hit again before she made it ten feet.
It rolled through you low and deep, tighter this time. Less discomfort and more like something with a purpose. You sucked in a breath, your fingers curling slightly against your belly.
“Okay,” you muttered under your breath.
You pushed yourself up from the chair, thighs trembling in a way that had nothing to do with the earlier exertion.
“Traitor,” you grumbled, one hand bracing your lower back as the other stayed firm over your stomach. “You better not be trying to prove your dad right.”
As if on cue, a small, deliberate kick fluttered just beside your belly button.
You huffed out a quiet laugh despite yourself.
“Yeah, yeah. I house you. I feed you. You made me take out my belly ring, kid,” you muttered, shaking your head. “The least you could do is cooperate. I hope you know that your dad may seem fun on the outside, but he’s a big ball of crazy.”
Another faint movement answered you. You reached for another chart at the triage desk, fingers brushing the edge of the paper before another hand landed over yours.
“You said you were fine.” John’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything else.
You didn’t look at him right away. “I was,” you shot back, a little sharper than intended. “At the time.”
He blinked, processing, his grip tightening just slightly before he shifted his stance to get a better look at your face.
“How far apart?”
You exhaled through your nose, glancing around like you might find an escape route in the chaos of the department.
“Nothing bad,” you said. “Just… like Braxton Hicks, but worse.”
His expression changed instantly. “We’re going upstairs.”
“N—”
“Oh yes you are,” Jack cut in, appearing at your other side with his arms crossed like he’d been waiting for his moment. His tone was lighter, but there was no real room for argument. “Just go upstairs. Let them check, and then—”
“I might as well just yank my pants down right here,” you snapped, finally looking between the two of them. “You guys are stepping on my dignity.”
A couple of nearby nurses very deliberately pretended not to hear that. Both men shared a look over your head.
John sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Usually that’d work,” he said dryly. “You keep making your period face. I know you're in pain.”
You opened your mouth, ready to argue, ready to push back but then you felt your pants get heavier. A sudden, unmistakable warmth spread between your thighs, quick and overwhelming as it soaked through fabric and began trailing down toward your knees. Your jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
For a second, the noise of the ER dulled, like someone had turned the volume down just for you. You didn’t need to look down.
“I’m going,” you said tightly, already shifting your weight, already moving. “But not because you told me to.”
John’s hand was at your back immediately, steady and guiding, his earlier frustration replaced by something sharper, more focused.
Jack stepped aside, then reached out to clap John on the shoulder as you passed. “Good luck,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth despite the situation. “I’ll call Robby.”
John didn’t even slow down as he steered you toward the elevators, his attention fully locked on you now.
You cut him off before he could say anything. “Don’t. If you give me a lecture, I’m keeping you out of the room and the first time you see our baby is going to be through the glass.”
“I was going to say,” he murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple, “that we’re having a freakin’ baby.”
The words landed differently than anything else he’d said all day. He pulled you a little closer as the doors slid shut, sealing you both into the brief, humming quiet of the ride up.
“I’m sorry,” he added, his voice lower now. “For… all of it. I got a little pushy.”
You exhaled, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders despite the tightening still rolling through your body in waves.
“I know,” you said, quieter. “You’re annoying, but you mean well.”
He huffed out a breath that almost passed for a laugh, his forehead dropping briefly against yours.
“Annoying,” he repeated. “That’s what you’re going with right now?”
“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, eyes fluttering shut for a second as another contraction built, stronger this time. Your grip on his hand tightened. “Top-tier irritating.”
“Good to know,” he said softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he felt the shift in your posture. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m right here with you.”