This is longer than the last one, so it's a preview situation. But PEOPLE ARE REALLY LIKING SHENSHARK/SHENPARK/SHPARK. They like my Shpark. I'm so happy, because you love to see a crackship succeed in life. This takes place during Christmas 2025 and then right after this season. You can read all 3.2k words on AO3 here, and here's a preview:
Brendon fucking hates Christmas. He hates when he gets Christmas off, because he has to go home and see his parents and pretend they're not making his blood pressure shoot up. He has Garcia write him a propranolol script ahead of time, because he ended up with a stress and tension headache the last time he'd gone to their place for the holidays.
“Just come to my dad's,” John says. “I'm off this year, too. He usually just makes prime rib and we get buzzed and watch Die Hard and Muppet Christmas Carol. My family does all the big stuff on Christmas Eve, so we literally don't have to see anyone else.”
For a long moment, he considers refusing. But John's doing that thing where he's acting nonchalant but it's probably a big deal, and that's how they'd accidentally almost broken up over moving in together one time. It's not an experience he'd care to repeat, he's pretty sure his entire surgical team feels the same.
“I'll tell them I can't make it this year,” Brendon says, also grateful for the out. “What does your dad drink?”
“Bud Light,” he replies, and Brendon snorts. “No, seriously. But if you want him to like you, bring a bottle of whiskey. He'll literally never drink it, but it's one of those things that he thinks is cool.”
And Brendon finds that he really does want John's dad to like him. He knows that his mom was the hardass, the one who pushed John to do well and succeed. His dad is the relaxed one, the one who'd caught John trying a cigarette in high school and said he looked like an idiot and couldn't pull it off instead of grounding him. To his credit, John never tried smoking again.
They don't need to go to his dad's until later in the morning, so Brendon makes peppermint mochas while John makes breakfast. They open their gifts to each other and get into another debate about getting a cat, because John wants one and Brendon doesn't want to have someone come feed it when their shifts line up for long stretches. He doesn't like having other people in his space if he's not there. So he starts looking into automatic feeders, water fountains with filters, litter boxes that clean up for them, and how to keep a cat enriched when it's alone for an entire day.
“You ready?” John asks from where he's bundled inside his new big wearable blanket thing. He has the hood pulled over his head, so all Brendon sees is a mug and a chin when he looks over at him.
“Are you?” he counters, and John flings the hood back and nods.
John sets the mug on the end table and climbs over Brendon’s feet to kiss him. It makes Brendon’s stomach flutter. “Don’t do the hair helmet.”
“I won't,” he says, sighing. It's mostly a work thing, because his hair doesn't read as professional when it's curly and all over the place. Plus, it's easier to scrub in without loose strands flying around.
“Then put on some shoes and let's boogie,” John says, kissing him again before jumping up. He takes the hooded abomination off and drops it over the armchair. He's wearing a Christmas sweater underneath that Brendon got him that's got the Tree of Gondor on the chest. How he's not boiling alive is a mystery.
They put on their shoes and grab their coats, the whiskey, the box of Bud Light, and venture out into the cold.
Brendon’s met John's dad a few times, but they'd spent the first eighteen months of their relationship barely even seeing each other. So they already lived together when Brendon finally met him, and he'd liked him. It's clear where John's laid-back nature comes from, and his dad has the same sense of humor. And Brendon had expected John’s dad to maybe have been a retired teacher or something based on his demeanor, but his dad's a fucking retired FBI agent who still trains people in cyber-forensics.
He answers the door wearing a sweater with a pickle in a Santa hat that declares Christmas a “big dill,” and he's already holding a beer.
“Hey, kids!” he says, grinning. “Come on in, I've got food.”
“And we've got alcohol,” John says, hugging his dad. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Sh—Alan,” Brendon says, handing over the bottle of whiskey.
“Nice stuff,” he says appreciatively before hugging Brendon. “Merry Christmas, thanks for coming.”
to the three people who ship shenshark, would y'all be interested in a fic where shen and park fall in love in world of warcraft but are enemies at work? like a nerdy you've got mail lmfao.
What if your favorite dunkin spokesperson and your favorite bitchy cartilaginous fish were married and building a life together? what then??
warnings: past miscarriage, miscarriage scare, mentions of school shootings and growing up in a post columbine world, past religious trauma, misgendering, mpreg/trans male pregnancy
summary: John Shen is pregnant, not for the first time in his life. Every other time it has ended in heartbreak and he's not sure this time is any different. Anxiety, PTSD, cramps, and a little bit of blood turns the attending to a patient all while his husband is upstairs unaware of what is happening just a few feet below him.
Pairing: John Shen x Brendon 'The Shark' Park
Read on AO3
“Patient presents with…” Shen is jittery. He doesn’t mean to be but he’s done this song and dance a thousand times before. He’s terrified that the outcome will end the same as always, he’ll go home to his empty bed to sleep through his day off until his husband comes home exhausted from surgery and has to hold him while he sobs through the hollow feeling inside him.
“Uhm, Doctor Shen,—”
“John.”
“Huh?”
“If we’re going to do this please just call me John. It feels too impersonal and I just…I need personal right now.”
He swallows down hard. It’s terrifying to admit in these sacred halls. Notoriously nonchalant Attending Doctor John Shen is falling apart in front of an intern he knows from Jack’s infatuation with him more than ever having an honest conversation with him. He would be humiliated if his terror wasn’t grasping at his throat right now.
It’s day shift, most of the people around him are his friends but they’re not family. Not his Ellis or his Abbot and his husband is upstairs with potentially no idea what could be happening and he feels so fucking lonely. It feels unfair to ask Whitaker to treat him like a person and not another idol he can project his hopes and dreams onto but fuck he needs it more than air right now.
“Right, John, sorry,” Dennis nods, tight lipped but not unkind. He’s the bloodhound of day shift. Shen thinks he could probably smell the anxiety coming off of him. “All I’m saying is, you’re not on this shift and…you don’t have to present the case when you’re the patient. You could just let me look after you. I appreciate the attention to detail but right now you’re not my attending. You’re a patient who needs help. Let me help you?”
His eyes are so kind. It’s not normally easy to settle John. He usually needs like three different things stimulating his mind and body to even calm his racing mind, and that’s still the case but Whitaker says he’ll look after him. That’s something. He feels small and helpless and alone and Dennis is soft and sweet and the exact opposite of the person he needs right now but familiar enough that he can feel a phantom comfort invading his periphery as he forces himself to take a deep breath.
He nods reluctantly. John Shen is allergic to being taken care of. His need for control is all consuming, especially when he is a patient, especially when his husband is upstairs unable to look after him because he’s healing people with real problems.
John takes a deep, shuttering breath. Closes his eyes and counts to three. Tells himself his problems are just as real, just as scary and potentially traumatizing. He swallows the nausea. He’ll get scolded later for not eating this morning but he’s relieved to not be throwing up again. Still, he has to tilt his head back momentarily to swallow the bile that rises.
“Can you tell me what’s been going on?” Dennis questions, pulling up the rolling stool to sit on his level. He knows that’s one of Robby’s lessons and it brings a lingering fondness that warms him just a little. Still, it’s not enough. Nothing will be enough until he’s told that everything is fine or that his worst fears have been confirmed but it’ll be done soon. Either way he needs some answers and he’s only going to get them by conquering this conversation. The conversation he would very much like to not be happening.
“You read my patient file?”
“I did, but I’d like to hear from you.” Dennis is pretty good at this whole doctor thing. Not that anyone asked for John’s opinion but it’s nice to know he wasn’t thrown off on the intern just because it was convenient. He’s always believed that PTMC hires the best of the best, patient satisfaction scores be damned, but it’s another thing to be on the other side of it. He decides that once he feels up to it, which will vary depending on how this ends, he’s going to give Dennis some very good scores. He shakes his head, trying to come out of his distracted mind.
“No I know just…don’t want there to be any surprises. Having to come out over and over is exhausting. And I don’t really need it spreading around so I just need to know we’re….on the same page here.”
“John Shen, twenty-nine year old male, assigned female at birth, eleven weeks pregnant according to your last appointment with your OBGYN. And currently under the care of Doctor Whitaker who has no intentions of committing a HIPAA violation and wouldn’t out you to anyone anyways because I’m not a massive prick but also because we have that in common. So secret for secret, we’re even. Now please, tell me what’s going on John.”
“Oh.” John’s brain is already fried from all the emotions that have been pumped through his body today, especially with the hormones and past trauma teaming up to attack his consciousness.
For a moment, his brain short circuits.
He thinks maybe he owes Whitaker an apology. He shouldn’t feel he has to come out just to make John comfortable. Because that’s what he meant right? When he said they had that in common? Even if Whitaker punched him in the face right now he’d die with that secret. He should say that, should reassure that he’s safe. But is anyone safe? John doesn’t feel safe. He feels like he’s drowning. John shakes his head once more. No matter how often he does, his brain refuses to clear. He thinks maybe he’s panicking. Maybe he’s been panicking for hours.
He decides to stick to the facts. That’s what gets him through most days. Cold, hard, occasionally terrifying facts. “I’ve been experiencing hyperemesis gravidarum, aka morning sickness of epic proportions,” Shen groans. He enjoys the way the corner of Dennis’s lips twitch at his description. He’s always found comfort in his own playful stupidity. Apathy with a hint of foolishness is how John copes.
“That’s um, that’s been ongoing though. I haven’t been able to keep anything down since lunch yesterday….” John feels sheepish at the admission. If his husband were here he’d be properly scolded because he knows he should have said something sooner. “So I’m…I’m probably dehydrated. But I’m more concerned about the spotting and the cramping. I just want to rule out a miscarriage…” he hates how hopeless he sounds. He’s not sure he can survive this again. He shouldn’t be alone. He's not, Dennis is there but he really desperately needs a hand to hold and even if it wasn’t completely inappropriate to ask that of his doctor, who is also his subordinate, he barely knows Dennis. He does not wish to seek any more comfort from this sweet boy than he already has. He takes another deep breath. If he’s not going to disturb his husband for a potential encore of their past grief, then he will just have to get himself through this.
“I know I’m overreacting. Please don’t waste your breath and tell me because I know I am. I’m a doctor. I-I know these are all normal things that can happen but last time…last time I didn’t go to the hospital and I…I lost…” John is struggling to breathe. The words will not come out. It’s like he’s in confession and Whitaker is the priest his mother so desperately wants him to speak with.
“Confess sweet girl. God will forgive you if you just confess and change your ways.”
He is a doctor. He knows how this works. God isn’t listening. And still, as each child bleeds from his body he can’t help but wonder if he’s being punished for something. He briefly remembers that Jack mentioned the kid being a theology major and he knows if he were in his right mind he’d laugh at the irony.
“You’re not overreacting,” Dennis reassures, reaching out and squeezing John’s trembling hand. Funny, he hadn’t noticed the shaking before. It’s odd, being on this side of the terror. Unlike with Pitt Fest, where his years of witnessing school shootings on the news and practicing lock down drills more and more often as graduation approached or the three times his college campus was shut down for threats, he cannot use his past experiences to numb the dread.
His grief should feel routine by now, just like his post Columbine student survival training was and yet the little bundle of cells, the not yet human life inside of him cannot be hoped and prayed into survival and he cannot shake the sick feeling. The nausea in the pit of his stomach is not a symptom of this pregnancy but a symptom of hope and grief battling in what may be the greatest, bloodiest cage match of all time. He wishes he could confidently put his money on hope right now.
“We’re going to get you taken care of, alright? Like you said, these are all very normal things that can happen, so let’s take a deep breath and get you some answers, okay?”
Dennis is running him through what they’re going to do next. He’s half listening, just nodding along as Dennis says everything he was taught to do. It all sounds right, but his pulse is pounding in his ears and he just wants to tell Dennis to do whatever he needs to do in order to look after the fetus inside him.
He doesn’t even notice that he’s laid back with his eyes closed, trying (and failing) to regulate his breathing until he hears the door wrench open and a furious, but very familiar voice barking at them.
“What the hell is going on?!” For a moment, John’s pounding heart stops. He isn’t sure if he’s relieved or going to be sick.
“Doctor Park, you’ve got the wrong room. I didn’t call for an ortho consult and this is a private matter so I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Dennis Whitaker is a damn good doctor. Doctor Brendon Park is a terrifying man that no intern would ever dare talk out of turn to. Shen asked for this to not get out. John asked for privacy and understanding so without care of consequence, fear that the shark will sink his teeth in until Dennis Whitaker is nothing but another blood stain to be mopped up in the emergency department, he told Brendon to leave. It is a kindness John Shen will appreciate the intention of later, but for now a whimper escapes him at the sickening idea of being alone again.
“Don’t go!” Shen panics, sitting up too quickly to reach for him and getting dizzy in the process. His head is pounding and he knows now that he’s definitely dehydrated and an absolute idiot for not trying to eat the sleeve of saltines left on the bedside table for him. He hates the ginger ale Brendon has been trying to get him to drink but it does settle his stomach and he really wishes now that he had brought it with him.
“Fucking obviously,” Brendon growls, barreling past Dennis to get to John. He cradles John’s face with a tenderness no one on Earth, excluding John of course, thought ‘Park the Shark’ could possess.
“He’s going to start being a big bossy dickhead if you give him a chance so please continue treatment while I’ve got him distracted…” Shen sighs, trying for playful and failing as he melts into Brendon’s touch, his thumb wiping away tears John didn’t know had fallen.
He takes what he thinks might be his billionth forced deep breath of the day and turns his attention to Brendon, ignoring the confused look on Dennis’s face when he steps out of the room to grab a nurse and get everything he needs.
“How did you know I was down here? I have the weekend off. And it’s 1 in the afternoon. As far as you’re concerned, I’m at home napping right now.”
“You work here. People recognize you, you know?” John rolls his eyes.
Yes, obviously people know who he is, but as Dennis very clearly just exhibited, not everyone on day shift knows that the PTMC’s yin and yang of apathy are married. John looks at Brendon expectantly, hoping for more details. Him appearing at work on his day off on his not regular shift is odd but not too alarming and he didn’t sign in with Lupe as a patient so much as buzz himself in and then look to Dana with panic and tell her in frantic half sentences what was going on before she dragged him off to a treatment room and grabbed Whitaker. So, all in all not many people knew he was married to Park and even fewer people knew he was a patient and he wanted to know who the hell blabbed.
“Garcia saw you freaking out,” Brendon answers with a sigh. He’s never been able to keep anything from John and honestly there was no reason to. Yolanda Garcia, allergic to commitment yet a wonderful friend, never gets involved in other people’s business unless she thinks it’s worth it. He is both irritated and grateful that Brendon has a friend like her. Still, now, he’s a little irritated. He’s not even sure why; he wants Brendon here, it’s all he’s wanted since Brendon got out of the bed for work this morning, before he had any reason – other than the consistent baseline anxiety lingering under his skin – to worry that he was losing their baby. He knows in the back of his mind that it’s because he feels sick at the idea of letting him down again.
Not long ago Brendon had suggested that maybe they just give up. He never needed kids, he liked the idea of John having his babies, but it wasn’t a necessity, not at the rate that it was hurting John. Still, the disappointment in Brendon’s eyes after every miscarriage haunts John, makes him feel like a failure of a lover and father. He knows, logically and through therapy, that it’s not how it works. Sometimes it just doesn’t take, it’s not God or his failings or anything other than statistics and science but it feels like hell. When John closes his eyes and remembers the cramping and blood and empty ultrasound he can hear his salty tears hitting the ground and sizzling as they hit the hellfire licking at his heels.
Brendon recently told him that it just killed him to see him in this much pain. That the suffering that had been consuming John all this time has an appetite big enough to devour the two of them without a second thought. John feels shame now where he hopes to one day feel their child kick as he sees the pain and fear in his typically stoic husband’s eyes. ‘The Shark’ doesn’t experience feelings, let alone weak things such as sadness or love, he’s defined by how truly uncaring he is but Brendon, John’s shelter in the storm, has a bleeding heart that could drown entire nations. Here, in these too loud halls that John spends too much time projecting calm abject apathy so that no one looks too closely, Park will hold John in his big hands and be Brendon for as long as he needs him.
Shen grimaces as another cramp washes through him and when he sees the worry worsening on his beloved’s perfect features, he decides to bitch in order to keep him distracted.
“Fucking Yoyo is always snitching on me, it’s bullshit,” he pouts, and John is a brat at the best of times, but he’s also in pain, irritable, and scared, so the frustrated look on his face is extra convincing.
“And why, exactly, did she have to tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?” and John shouldn’t find comfort in the angry timbre of Brendon’s voice but it’s so solid John can almost reach out and grab it and he’s been so unsteady for hours that it’s nice to have something to hold onto. As that thought crosses his mind he reaches out for Brendon, needing an actual anchor to keep him tethered. Brendon, whose glare could honestly laser cut glass, offers his arm when he sees John’s grabby hands reaching out to him. John grabs his hand and sets it on his chest and then hugs his arm like it’s precious, which it is. Brendon is precious and while he didn’t want to bother him with this he cannot imagine going through the rest of this terrible awful day without him.
“I called up to your department, they said you were busy,” he shrugs. He watches Brendon’s jaw twitch and cringes. John hates himself, hates how he just keeps making things worse for everyone. “Don’t get mad at anyone but me, okay? I didn’t tell them why I was calling.”
“Baby, what the fuck?” Brendon groans, his hand that had been cradling John’s face when he first came in now lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration or exasperation, most likely a combination between the two.
“Hey just be happy I even came here. I almost went to Presby,” and before the words even finish leaving John’s mouth he’s wishing that he would just shut the fuck up. Why is he like this? Why, on even the worst days, does he refuse to stop getting himself in trouble?
“Presby?! Why the fuck would you go to Presby when all the people you trust work in this department and your fucking husband works upstairs?!” and okay yeah, John expected this reaction from Brendon, but he also flinches at the yelling and he would like to pretend it’s from his headache but as he shrinks in on himself and Brendon forces a few deep breaths and shoots him an apologetic look, they both know that’s not why it unsettled him.
“Please don’t be mad at me for something that didn’t happen, okay?” he sighs, his fingers gently stroking up and down the arm he’s still cuddling, a gesture meant to sooth them both. “I just…there’s a reason my OB isn’t here and it’s not because I hate convenience, okay? Not everyone here knows and look I’m comfortable with who I am, you know that, but you also know how fucking hard it is to keep having that conversation, to worry that no matter how kind a person is, it might change how they see me. I didn’t want this to change everything….”
“No, I know, that makes sense,” Brendon nods and John can tell he’s trying to calm himself down. John wants to apologize, to hold his face between his hands and kiss away every worry line that is littering his perfect face right now. It should make sense, they’ve had this conversation before. John knows eventually he’s going to have to say something, if this baby goes to term, and he hates how big of an if it is, people will start to notice, but he wants it to be on his own terms, not because he was cornered. “So why change your mind sweetheart? Why come here then?”
“The fear of losing them was worse than the fear of losing what I have here,” and John watches the wind get knocked out of Brendon at his words. He doesn’t blame him, the words leave him feeling a little breathless too. He decides he might try and lighten the mood again, though he already sort of knows it’s not going to land the way he hopes it would. It never does honestly, mostly because Brendon can see right through him. “Plus, Presby wouldn’t let me skip the line.”
Brendon snorts, shaking his head and leans down to kiss John’s forehead. It’s a joke except it isn’t. Truthfully, one of the deciding factors, after Brendon being upstairs, was that he could just walk right in and someone would help him. Normally, he would feel ashamed to take advantage of his standing in the hospital. He’s had broken bones, had a fever of 102, and had a patient punch him unconscious in the parking garage on his way to his car and every time he crawled his way into the waiting room before someone he knew noticed him and dragged him inside. Brendon’s heart aches knowing that John must have been so panicked to take advantage.
“You should always skip the line, you’re more important than anyone out there,” Brendon says honestly and it feels so good to be this loved, it’s a relief to the loneliness he was feeling even ten minutes ago.
“As your husband, that’s very sweet, as an attending of this department and a patient who knows you work here, it’s a little concerning,” John teases, and for the first time today he feels like he’s finally breathing normally. That is changed almost immediately when he hears a knock on the door before Whitaker lets himself back in, Jesse following behind. It’s a relief, Jesse is a comforting presence, someone he’s had more of a chance of knowing since he switches between days and nights and also just seems to have a calming energy overall. He’s cool under pressure with a practiced ease that doesn’t feel as performative as Shen’s own calm does. He wants to be like him some day, feels like a little kid looking up to their father, mirroring everything they do in the hopes that one day it’ll be more than an act. It also helps that Jesse already knows and so he doesn’t have to worry about any other big changes today. He can’t help but wonder if Whitaker found a way to investigate without outing him or if it’s just a big coincidence but he’ll take the win regardless.
John doesn’t really listen to what he says. He’s tired, and thirsty, and aching all over and now that Brendon’s here he doesn’t need to control the situation. Brendon will take care of him, he always takes care of him. He vaguely hears himself agreeing when prompted but otherwise he rests his head against the bed and stays cradling his emotional support forearm tightly to his chest, only letting go when he’s given some zofran and then gently prompted to settle and give Jesse his arm to set up some IV fluids to help with the dehydration. Knowing he is the worst patient, especially when it comes to needles, Brendon holds his free hand. Brendon’s heart practically stops when John shows no reaction. He knows John finds comfort in Jesse, and okay maybe Whitaker isn’t a complete and utter idiot, but he also knows that if John were feeling anything less than defeat and complete, mind numbing exhaustion, John would be a classic brat.
He wants this baby, he does, just like he had wanted all the others, but fuck he hates what this is doing to his love. Brendon feels sick at the thought of what might happen if this baby doesn’t make it. When Jesse finishes he offers John gentle praises about how good he’s doing. Brendon offers him a kind smile and doesn’t even care that Whitaker’s eyes go wide in shock at the fact that ‘Park the Shark’s’ face can even do that. The kid can be as shocked as he likes so long as he does his fucking job right.
John barely hears Whitaker’s warning about the cold gel and still whimpers when it touches his stomach. He’s got Brendon’s arm back now and he doesn’t dare lift his head yet. If that screen is empty he won’t make it. It’s pathetic. Miscarriages happen every day, as a doctor he knows this, and still, statistics won’t stop his heart from giving out this time.
He has a vague idea that he might be disassociating. His mind feels fuzzy and he hasn’t really heard anything clearly since Whitaker came back into the room. Suddenly, and all at once, the sound returns to him as he hears an incessant beating pounding in the room. He knows that sound, quick like a hummingbird’s wings, feels it in his chest like when you’re standing too close to the speakers at a live show. His head whips up, a dull ache pulsing through his skull at the movement. He doesn’t care. His vision takes a second to focus, and then he sees it. The little bundle of cells inside of him hasn’t moved; his baby, their baby is still safe inside of him.
Unexpectedly to even himself, he starts sobbing, entire body shaking and Brendon moves without thinking, letting the rail down and cradling John into him as best he can without actually getting into the patient bed himself. Whitaker hands Brendon a box of tissues so that they can clear away the gel and wipe away the tears and snot that are escaping John at a frankly impressive rate and excuses himself to give them some space. John doesn’t really have the presence of mind to remember what else happens in this situation but Brendon and Whitaker are both aware that he’ll be back to run a few more tests and give further care instructions before he can comfortably discharge them. None of that matters now. Their baby is okay, which means John will be okay. Brendon can finally let his tense shoulders rest and do what he does best, look after John.
“Okay baby, you’re okay,” he shushes, gentle but firm hand running up and down John’s spine while the other cradles his head against his chest, a tight but not painful grip tugging at John’s hair. He lets him cry, uncaring of the fat tears and mucus now coating his scrub top. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”
Eventually John’s heaving sobs turn into soft sniffles and whimpers. He feels a little high and a lot stupid as he settles. He thinks he could pass out. He also thinks he owes Whitaker and Jesse an apology for wasting their time. He should apologize to Dana for taking up a patient room. He should apologize to everyone who saw him today for worrying them. He should apologize to Brendon for being a big pathetic anxiety ridden cry baby who took him away from work and ruined his scrub top and being stupid and dumb and over sensitive and…
He goes to open his mouth but Brendon is cutting him off before the words can even come out.
“If you apologize, I’ll make you regret it,” he says and to anyone else it would sound cold but John can feel the love the words are laced with so deep it hits bone. He always thought it was kind of funny, that he fell in love with an orthopedic surgeon and he could feel him etched into his fucking bones. Brendon’s hands are gentle as he threatens him, cleaning his stomach first and then his face. John, as always when Brendon is around, is not allowed to lift a finger when it comes to looking after himself. Brendon cleans him as methodically as one would expect a surgeon to and then holds his head in his hands like he’s precious. John feels precious like this, even if it’s only to Brendon. He’s never been precious to anyone before, not since becoming John at least. It’s nice, even if it feels foreign and unearned.
He swallows his billion apologies and takes a moment to bask in the love that is warming him like finding a stream of sunlight on a lingering chilly day between Winter and Spring. He hopes he doesn’t have to suffer this much every time to earn this feeling. He knows he won’t. Brendon will always take care of him. As he swallows down the taste of guilt and sorrow, and the IV fluids dull the worst of his headache, allowing him to be enveloped in his own exhaustion, he feels new feelings blooming in him. Hope burrows its way into his chest cavity immediately accompanied by gratefulness. He is grateful to Dana for getting him looked after immediately when she is an already overworked guardian angel to the whole of Pittsburg. He is grateful to Dennis for treating him like a person and treating him and his baby, for not only doing his job but being empathetic throughout this terrible day, for Jesse for being gentle and kind in his moment of weakness, for Garcia getting Brendon when he was too stubborn and scared to make the right decision and Brendon for, god for everything. For this extraordinary life, for being hope and comfort and home, for picking him up after every bad day, for being his person. There will never be enough words to convey just how grateful he is for Brendon Park, but he could spend every day trying.
“You said I can’t say sorry…” John sniffles, entire body dragging as he fights sleep to look up at his lover.
“Mhm.” Brendon doesn’t need words as he looked down at John, stern but fond.
“What about thank you? Can I at least say that?”
“I’ll allow it,” Brendon’s smile is gentle, relieved even, and John thinks his heart might actually burst. For all the terror he’s felt these past few weeks, especially today, that he’ll continue to feel as time goes on, he can’t wait to have this man’s baby.
“Thank you, for everything,” he sighs, resting his head on Brendon’s chest. Love is all consuming, but the exhaustion is pulling at him and it’s getting harder to fight. He’s letting himself be manhandled moments later, Brendon laying him back in the bed and letting him hold onto his arm once more. Once he’s comfortably situated, Brendon leans forward and kisses him gently on his forehead, his tear stained cheeks, and then his lips, lingering and it feels like John’s being branded with his affection. It’s a tenderness reserved only for John Shen and ‘Park the Shark’ would need only glare at someone for a half second to dispel any rumors that he may be soft from any angle, but Brendon Park would always be soft for his husband and he didn’t really care if the world knew if it meant John knew he was loved and looked after.
From another ShenShark fic I'm working on (I have no idea when I'll finished and post it, so don't hold me to it):
As Park finally walked away, hopefully to go home, the man must have been working over fifteen hours today, John turned around and came face to face with a wide eyed nurse looking at him like she had seen something unbelievable.
“Can I help you with something?” John asked her.
“That was Doctor Park? From ortho?” she said.
“Yeah, that was,” John said, confirming her question.
“And you were… joking with him?” she asked, saying it like Park making a joke was some sort of impossibility.
“Um… I guess so?” John asked, he didn’t really think Park had said a joke of any sort, but it definitely wasn’t a serious conversation.
“I didn’t know he could joke,” she said, in a slight daze as she gripped the tablets in her arms tighter and turned around.
John was left standing in the middle of the ED, completely confused as she walked away. Was Park some sort of guy who refused to talk to people or something?
John brought the coffee back up to his mouth and took another sip. If one thing was for sure, Park could make a damn good cup of coffee.
It’s always amused Shen with the way he’s an alpha magnet, but reeling Park in was distinctly unexpected. He has no complaints when someone as hot as Park keeps demanding him after all this time.
Go read that fantabulous fic, kudo, comment and bookmark! Thanks!
