Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 929
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics
Authors note: Here is the first chapter of my series that you guys voted for! I'll be getting it set up so Fridays is when the chapters will post! Also I'm a chronic illness girl but I will be keeping things vague so everyone can enjoy
7:00 a.m. – 8:00 a.m.
The Pitt was already awake and snarling by the time you arrived.
You’d come in with Baran for her 7:00 a.m. shift, the two of you walking through the sliding doors together. She was in fresh scrubs, you were leaning heavily on her arm as she called out for someone to help her. Another flare. Same unpredictable beast that had lived in your body for years. Baran hadn’t even hesitated when you told her you needed to come in this morning; she’d simply grabbed her keys, helped you into the car, and driven you here herself.
“Hey sweetheart. Another flare?” Cassie came up with that sympathetic look on her face. You nodded in response as you sat at one of the triage chairs. McKay pulled up your file, Baran next to her giving the orders to her senior resident.
Your head lulled a bit as Cassie had Mateo get your IV in. They took blood and you whined out, “Noooo my blood…Mateo how could you?” You joked, making him laugh.
“Even when you feel like shit you’re here cracking jokes.” He set the vials down on the tray before getting your drip going.
Baran and Cassie talked quietly about what to do next and about trying to get you a room upstairs,
“Last night was bad. We’re still dealing with the same ones. I’ve still got patients from the past three days waiting for beds in the ICU.” Cassie told her. Baran made a tsk noise and whispered a curse in Farsi under her breath.
You gave a soft smile, reaching for her hand and brushing your thumb over the back of her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Now you were tucked into Bay 8, curtain half-pulled, monitors already singing their familiar tune. Baran stood beside your gurney, one hand resting on your leg while she reviewed the intake notes on the computer.
“Labs are still processing,” she murmured, glancing at you. “Pain?”
“Six out of ten and climbing,” you admitted. “The ride over didn’t help.”
She nodded once, already typing in an order for IV fluids and pain medication. Her shift hadn’t even officially started yet, but she moved with the quiet authority of someone who knew every inch of this department.
Whitaker poked his head in. “Dr. Al-Hashimi, they’re asking for you at the desk—”
“Thank you Doctor Whitaker, give me five minutes,” she said without looking up, tone leaving no room for argument. The resident vanished.
Baran turned back to you, softening immediately. She brushed her fingers along your cheek, she could feel the flush from the pain, then leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.
“I hate that we’re starting the day like this,” she whispered against your skin. “But I’ve got you. Same as always.”
You caught her hand and held it against your chest, right above your heart. “I know. I’m sorry I ruined your morning.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” Her thumb stroked your skin. “You’re exactly where I want you to be when you’re not feeling well, somewhere I can keep an eye on you. You and I both know if I had left you alone like this you’d try to drive yourself here eventually.”
“I would-” You tried but she cut you off,
“You’re right darling you would.” She smirks, joking with you before kissing your forehead once more. “I’ll be back when I can. If you need something, hit your call button.”
ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
The morning rush was building outside the curtain, ambulances pulling up, the overhead paging doctors, Trinity Santos’s voice already barking orders somewhere nearby, but inside your space it was just the two of you. Baran adjusted your blanket, checked your vitals herself, and stayed close while the meds started dripping in.
Around 7:40 Princess came by talking with Baran about the situation upstairs and trying to get you a bed, but this is the PTMC and with the conversation you heard earlier a bed could take hours or even days if you’re unlucky.
“Still no beds,” she said quietly, reading the look on your face. “But I’m already on it. You’re not spending the whole day down here if I can help it.”
You smiled tiredly, squeezing her hand. “I get to watch you work for a while. That’s not the worst thing.”
Baran’s lips curved, tired but fond. She stole a quick, soft kiss making sure to be careful, aware of the open curtain and the growing noise of the department.
“Behave,” she teased gently. “Or at least pretend to while I go sign in and check the board. I’ll be back before 8. Let me or Princess know if the pain gets worse.”
“I will.”
She lingered another moment, forehead resting against yours, then straightened her scrubs and stepped back into attending mode. Before she slipped out, she glanced back at you once more, she was putting on a brave face, but you saw it behind her eyes even if no one else did. She was worried for you, her wife.
Once you were alone you looked down at your left hand, the thick band made of tungsten, Your wedding ring. Those vows felt like forever ago, but Baran had taken to those vows long before they were official.
The Pitt was picking up speed around you, but at least for the first hour you’ve been here, your wife has made sure you felt safe, seen, and loved through it all as she has since your first encounter.
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 847
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics
Authors note: I love graham crackers and those little frozen apple juices...
10:00 a.m. – 11:00 a.m.
The Dilaudid and Zofran had done their job, but they left you heavy and drained. By 10:10 the pain had settled into a low, manageable hum. You curled onto your side in the gurney, one arm tucked under the warmed blanket, eyes fluttering shut once more.
Baran had stepped out briefly to handle a quick consult, but she made sure Princess checked on you before you fully drifted off. Sleep came back in a thick, medicated fog, not peaceful, but deep enough that the sounds of the Pitt blurred into a distant hum.
You weren’t sure how long you were out when a gentle hand brushed along your arm, warm and familiar.
“Azizam…” Baran’s voice was soft, coaxing, right beside your ear. “Wake up for me, just for a little bit.”
You blinked slowly, groggy and heavy, the edges of the world still fuzzy. Baran was perched on the edge of your gurney again, her mauve-grey zip-up now fully unzipped in the warmer bay, revealing the black scrubs beneath. In her lap she balanced a small tray: a packet of graham crackers and one of those little hospital frozen apple juice cups, still icy and starting to melt into sweet slush.
“Hey Jigar Talâ…” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep and meds.
Baran smiled tiredly but warmly, helping you sit up a little by adjusting the pillows behind your back with practiced care. She kept one hand on your shoulder to steady you.
Your head felt so full of cotton. Everything moving in slow motion but also too quickly all at once. Letting your head rest back on the pillows. A small noise coming out of you.
“I know you probably aren’t hungry at all,” she said gently, opening the graham crackers and breaking one in half for you. “But please try, even just a couple bites and some sips. I can’t keep giving you meds on an empty stomach like this. We’ll end up in that vicious cycle again of pain meds, getting sick, more Zofran, repeat. I want to keep you comfortable without making it worse.”
You nodded weakly, understanding even through the fog. The first sip of the cold, diluted apple juice felt soothing against your dry throat. Baran held the cup steady for you, then offered the graham cracker. It was plain and dry, but you managed small, careful bites while she rubbed slow circles on your thigh. It wasn’t the worst breakfast. Graham crackers had been your go to at home when your nausea hit, but you needed to eat something. It was sweet, but safe in your eyes.
She stayed incredibly close, her body heat and the soft fabric of her zip-up a comforting anchor. Every few moments she’d check your face, making sure the food was staying down, her thumb occasionally brushing a crumb from your lip with tender affection.
“Good job, azizam,” she murmured after you got half a cracker and a decent amount of juice down. “We’ll wait and see how it settles. If it stays down, I can give you another small dose if the pain creeps back up.”
You leaned your head against her shoulder, still drowsy. The faint scent of her, hospital soap mixed with the light, clean smell of her lotion, grounded you. “Thank you… for not just letting me sleep through it all.”
Baran pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there. “Never. I’ve got eyes on that bed upstairs too. They're still dragging their feet, but I reminded them again. You know I won’t stop bothering them. For now, you’re stuck with me between patients.”
You gave her a small, sleepy smile. “Best doctor I’ve ever had.”
She chuckled softly, the sound low and warm against your hair. Around 10:40, Princess poked her head in to check vitals. She smiled at the sight of the two of you and the snack tray.
“Looking better already,” Princess said approvingly. “Keep that down and we’ll stay ahead of the nausea.”
Once she left, Baran stayed with you as long as she could, feeding you tiny pieces of cracker and holding the melting apple juice cup so you could sip slowly. The Pitt continued its steady morning roar outside the curtain. more pages, more voices, the occasional laugh from the nurses’ station, but inside Bay 8 it felt quieter, safer.
By the end of the hour your stomach felt steadier, the nausea almost all gone, and Baran looked a little more relieved. She helped you settle back down, brushing your hair back from your face one last time.
“Rest if you can,” she whispered, stealing one more soft kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”
A small tired whine coming out of you because this was the part that was the wrost. You just wanted her here with you, but you knew she needed to be out there. Saving lives and truly you wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides that’s why you fell for her because she was so dedicated to helping people.
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 712
Warnings: chronic illness, medical gaslighting, hospitalization, emergency department setting, patient advocacy, medical trauma, discussion of pain, nausea, IV fluids, emotional distress, frustration with healthcare system, mention of abnormal symptoms despite normal lab results, implied long-term illness, kissing, established relationship, hurt/comfort, emotional support, protective partner behavior
Authors note: I hate when labs come back normal when you know something's wrong
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
The specialist call had ended, but the frustration still lingered in your chest like a heavy stone. Dr. Chan’s words helped at least someone upstairs was taking things seriously, but “normal labs” always left you feeling raw and unseen.
Baran stayed with you longer than she probably should have. She kicked the rolling computer station closer to your gurney and sat right beside you, her mauve-grey jacket brushing against your arm every time she moved. One of her hands stayed anchored on your thigh while she used the other to type.
“I’m putting in repeat notes on your symptoms and pushing the consult harder,” she murmured, voice low and focused. “I want them to see the full picture not just the numbers.”
You watched her work in silence for a few minutes, the steady click of the keyboard strangely soothing. Outside the curtain, the Pitt was hitting its lunch rush: carts rattling past, someone laughing too loudly at the nurses’ station, and the occasional trauma page crackling overhead.
Around 12:15, Princess returned with a new bag of fluids and a sympathetic smile. “How are we doing after that call?”
“Still pissed,” you admitted quietly.
“Valid,” Princess said gently as she swapped your IV bag. “I’ve seen Dr. Al-Hashimi go full advocate mode for you before. She’s terrifying when she’s on a mission.”
Baran gave a small, tired smirk but didn’t look up from her charting. “Good. They should be terrified.”
Once Princess left, Baran set the computer aside and turned fully toward you. She helped you adjust your position, propping the pillows higher so you could sit up more comfortably, then climbed carefully onto the gurney beside you. She lay on her side facing you, one arm draped over your waist, her forehead resting lightly against yours.
“I hate that this keeps happening,” she whispered. “You deserve answers. You deserve a doctor who believes you the first time, not after years of fighting.”
You closed your eyes and breathed her in the faint scent of her jacket, hospital soap, and the coffee she’d probably chugged earlier. “I have you. That’s more than I had before.”
Baran’s arm tightened around you. She pressed a slow kiss to your lips, then another to the corner of your mouth, lingering there like she could transfer some of her strength to you.
“You’ve always had me,” she said softly. “Even when I was just a terrified med student who didn’t know what the hell she was doing.”
A comfortable quiet settled between you for a while. Baran rubbed slow, soothing circles on your lower back, right where the pain liked to settle the most. Every so often she’d check the monitor or your IV rate, but she never pulled away.
At 12:40, Whittaker hesitantly poked his head in. “Dr. Al-Hashimi? They need you for a quick sign-off on Bay 3-”
Baran exhaled sharply through her nose but nodded. “Two minutes.”
She kissed you once more; it was deeper this time, full of quiet reassurance before sliding off the gurney. She straightened her jacket and smoothed it down, slipping back into attending mode.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised, brushing her thumb across your cheek. “Text me if the pain spikes or if nausea comes back. Don’t wait.”
You nodded, already missing her warmth. Baran lingered at the curtain for a second longer than necessary, looking back at you with that fierce, protective gaze that always made your chest ache in the best way.
The next twenty minutes passed slowly. You could hear her voice occasionally cutting through the department noise, calm, commanding, in control. When she finally returned just before 1:00, she looked a little more worn but immediately came straight to you.
“Chan’s official consult note is in,” she said, a small note of victory in her voice. “They’re reviewing beds upstairs. It’s not a guarantee yet, but it’s movement.”
She sat back down on the edge of your bed and took your hand, lacing your fingers together tightly.
“We’re going to get you out of this bay,” she whispered. “I’m not giving up.”
You squeezed her hand back, the frustration from the normal labs easing slightly under the weight of her unwavering presence.
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 1.3K
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics, nausea, vomiting, mentions of pain medication
Authors note: I wanted to do a little bit of a deeper dive into their past in this. I tried to make this line up with the shows canon but it might not at times since we dont have a full timeline on Baran and her past!
9:00 a.m. – 10:00 a.m.
The morning rush had fully taken hold. Outside your curtain, the Pitt thrummed with activity, more nursing home patients being settled, residents updating each other in hurried voices, and the steady background hum of monitors and overhead pages. Inside Bay 8, the dimmed lights helped, but they couldn’t touch the deep, unrelenting ache that was rapidly worsening.
By 9:10 the pain had sharpened. It radiated through your bones, your spine, and into every joint like fire wrapped in lead. You curled tighter on your side, jaw clenched, fingers gripping the blanket as sweat broke out across your forehead.
Baran noticed the second she stepped back into the bay. Her jacket was still partially unzipped over her scrubs, but her expression shifted instantly from focused attending to pure concern.
“Azizam,” she said, voice low and urgent as she crossed to you in two strides. One hand cupped your cheek while the other checked the monitor. “Scale?”
“Eight… pushing nine,” you managed through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut against a fresh wave.
Baran didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got you.” She leaned over the bedside computer, typing rapidly, then called through the curtain without raising her voice too much. “Princess! Push 4 of Dilaudid for Bay 8, slow IV. And have Zofran ready just in case.”
Princess appeared within a minute, syringe in hand and a sympathetic look on her face. “On it, Dr. Al.”
Baran stayed right beside you, carefully sliding one arm around your shoulders to support you while Princess pushed the pain medication slowly through your IV line. The Dilaudid hit with that familiar heavy warmth, slowly dulling the sharp edges of the flare. Your body began to unclench, muscles loosening as the medication spread.
But relief came with a price.
Your stomach turned hard and fast. Nausea rolled up like a cold, violent wave, bile rising in your throat. Cold sweat broke out across your skin and you swallowed thickly, eyes flying open in panic.
“Baran-”
“I know, love. I’ve got you.” She was already reaching for the pink emesis basin on the bedside table, holding it steady under your chin while her other hand rubbed firm circles on your back. Your body let go before you had a chance to even register it. Letting the bile out and into the pan. Clutching your ribs tightly and tears streaking your cheeks.
Princess returned quickly with the Zofran. “Pushing 4 of Zofran now,” she said gently, injecting it into your line. “That Dilaudid can hit the stomach hard, especially on an empty one. Breathe through it, sweetheart.”
Baran kept one arm securely around you, holding your hair back with her free hand and pressing a cool cloth to the back of your neck that Princess handed her. She murmured soft, steady words against your temple the entire time.
“Breathe with me, azizam…slow. In…and out. You’re safe. The Zofran will kick in soon. I’m right here.”
You leaned heavily into her, miserable but anchored by her solid presence: the soft fabric of her jacket against your cheek, the familiar scent of her skin and faint coffee underneath the hospital smell. The nausea peaked brutally for a couple of minutes, your body trembling with the effort not to be sick, before the Zofran slowly began to blunt it.
ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
By 9:35 the worst had passed. The pain had dropped to a manageable six, your stomach finally settling into a queasy but bearable churn. You were drowsy, heavy-limbed, and utterly drained.
Baran helped ease you back against the pillows, brushing damp strands of hair off your forehead with gentle fingers. “Better?” she asked softly, searching your face.
“Mmm… yeah.” you whispered, eyes half-lidded. “Thank you.”
A small, relieved smile touched her lips. “Good. That’s exactly what I was hoping for.” She leaned down and kissed your temple, then the corner of your mouth, lingering there. “I hate seeing you like this. I’m sorry I can’t stop the flare, but I can at least keep it from spiraling.”
You reached up weakly and touched the collar of her zip-up jacket, grounding yourself in the familiar texture. “You do more than enough. Just… stay a minute?”
“I’m not going anywhere yet.” Baran sat on the edge of the gurney again, one arm draped carefully across your waist as she watched the monitor. The Pitt continued its chaos outside the curtain — Trinity’s voice calling for a resident, another ambulance siren in the distance — but she tuned it all out for you.
She stayed as long as she possibly could, rubbing slow circles on your side until your breathing evened out and the meds pulled you toward a light, medicated doze.
ﮩـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
The hospital room faded.
The steady drip of your IV, the beeping monitors, and the distant noise of the Pitt dissolved into soft static as the meds pulled you deeper. Suddenly you weren’t in Bay 8 anymore.
You were back in that small, dimly lit room on the fourth floor, years ago.
The pain was fresh and terrifying then a violent, full-body flare that no one could explain. You’d been admitted for three days already. Doctor after doctor had come and gone, offering polite shrugs and the same frustrating line: “We’re still running tests.” You’d started to feel like a ghost in your own body.
Then the curtain slid open.
A young woman in a white coat stepped in, dark hair tied back in a slightly messy bun, deep brown eyes sharp with focus but softened by something kinder. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Her ID badge read: Baran Al-Hashimi, STUDENT DOCTOR.
“Hi,” she said quietly, closing the curtain behind her. “I’m Baran. One of the students who is working with Dr. Reyes’ team. I’ve been reading your chart… and I wanted to come talk to you myself.”
You remembered how exhausted and defeated you’d felt that day. You’d barely looked at her at first.
Baran had pulled up a chair without being asked and sat right beside your bed. Close. Present.
“You’re not wasting anyone’s time,” she said firmly. There was a fire in her eyes even then. “I’ve been going through your notes from the beginning. The pattern of your flares, the way your inflammatory markers don’t always match your symptoms, the neurological stuff that keeps showing up… it doesn’t add up to ‘nothing.’ It adds up to something we haven’t figured out yet.”
She’d stayed for over an hour that first visit. Longer than any attending had. She asked questions no one else had bothered with what the pain felt like in your own words, what made it better or worse, how it affected your sleep, your mood, your life outside the hospital. She listened like your answers mattered more than the labs.
At one point you’d started crying overwhelmed, scared, and so damn tired of hurting.
Baran hadn’t pulled away. She’d reached out and gently rested her hand on top of yours.
“Hey… look at me,” she’d whispered. “I don’t know what this is yet. But I’m not going to stop looking. I promise. You’re not crazy, and you’re not alone in this anymore.”
That was the moment something shifted. For the first time in weeks, you felt seen.
Young Baran kept her promise. She came back every single day after that — sometimes late at night after her shifts, bringing terrible hospital cafeteria coffee and printed articles from obscure journals. She fought with residents, pestered attendings, and stayed up researching your symptoms on her own time. She was relentless, brilliant, and quietly furious on your behalf.
In the dream, the memory shifted to one specific night.
You were flaring badly again, curled up in pain, when Baran snuck in after midnight wearing her student coat over wrinkled scrubs. She didn’t say much. She just dimmed the lights, sat on the very edge of your bed, and let you lean against her while the pain meds kicked in.
“You’re going to get through this,” she’d whispered, her hand gently rubbing your back. “And when you do, I’m going to take you for real coffee. Not this hospital garbage. Deal?”
You’d laughed weakly through the tears. “Deal.”
Baran had smiled small, determined, and already carrying the weight of how much she cared.
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 766
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics, nausea, vomiting, mentions of pain medication
Authors note: Dr. Chan who is mentioned here is not an actual chacter from The Pitt. I needed a pain managment specialist so I looked up doctors in the field and went with that one!
11:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
The graham crackers and apple juice had mostly stayed down, giving you a fragile sense of stability. You were more awake now, propped up against the pillows in Bay 8, the dimmed lights still doing their best to protect you from the worst of the fluorescent lights of the PTMC. The IV continued its steady drip, but the deep ache in your body refused to fully back off.
Baran had just returned from checking the board when Princess walked in with a fresh IV bag and a tablet.
“Labs and imaging are back,” Princess said, handing the tablet over to Baran.
You watched Baran’s face closely as she scanned the results. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly the longer she read. That small shift told you everything before she even spoke.
“Everything looks… normal,” Baran said carefully, keeping her voice even as she sat on the edge of your gurney. “CBC stable, inflammatory markers only mildly elevated, right in your baseline range. Electrolytes look good. Chest X-ray clear. Even the metabolic panel isn’t showing anything new or alarming.”
Normal.
The word hit you like a slap. You stared at the monitor for a long moment, frustration boiling up hot and bitter in your chest.
“Of course they’re normal,” you muttered, voice tight with exhaustion and anger. “They’re always fucking normal. I’m over here feeling like my body is being torn apart from the inside and the tests just shrug and say ‘looks fine.’” Your hands clenched the blanket. “I hate this. I hate feeling like I’m crazy.” You wanted to scream and cry and ask for once have the labs come back with something.
Baran set the tablet aside immediately and turned fully toward you. Her zip-up brushed softly against your arm as she cupped your face with both hands, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks.
“Hey… I see you,” she said quietly, firmly. “I know exactly how infuriating this is. It pisses me off too. You’re in real pain. You feel like shit. And the labs act like nothing’s happening. It doesn’t mean we’re not taking this seriously. It just means the bastard is still hiding.”
Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. You leaned into her touch, letting out a shaky breath.
“I’m so tired of this,azizam. Tired of hurting this badly and having doctors look at me like I’m exaggerating because the numbers don’t match.”
“You’re not exaggerating. You’ve never exaggerated.” Baran rested her forehead against yours, her voice dropping to that soft, intimate tone she only ever used with you. “I’ve watched you fight this for years. I know what it does to you. And I’m not dismissing a single symptom.”
She stayed close, one hand moving to rub slow, soothing circles on your back while you worked through the wave of frustration. The Pitt continued its noisy rhythm outside the curtain. You could hear Trinity calling out orders, the clatter of equipment, another overhead page, but Baran tuned it all out for you.
After a few minutes, she pulled back just enough to look at you.
“I already called Dr. Chan in Anesthesiology and Pain medicine. He’s one of the good ones. I gave him the full picture, your history, the new neurological symptoms, everything. He wants to talk to us.”
Baran pulled her phone out, put it on speaker, and held it between you while she kept one arm securely around your shoulders. Dr. Chan answered on the second ring.
After introductions, he asked detailed questions. Baran jumped in with observations from your previous admissions and her own notes. You answered as best as you could, voice still thick with lingering frustration.
“I agree the unremarkable labs are frustrating,” Dr. Chan said finally. “But your symptom pattern is consistent with a complex chronic condition that doesn’t always light up on standard tests. I’m recommending we get you upstairs for a more thorough workup, a repeat autoimmune panel, possible nerve conduction studies, and medication adjustments. I’ll put in the official consultation.”
Baran thanked him and ended the call, then immediately turned back to you.
“You did great,” she murmured, kissing your temple. “He’s listening. We’re moving forward. This isn’t ‘go home and deal with it.’ Not this time.”
You nodded, still emotional but comforted by her unwavering belief in you. Baran pulled you gently into her arms, careful of your IV, and held you against her chest. The soft fabric of her zip-up jacket and the steady beat of her heart helped ground you.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered into your hair. “Always.”
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 849
Warnings: chronic illness flare, hospital setting, medical procedures, IV insertion, blood draw mention, pain episode, hospitalization themes, medical anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, caregiving dynamics
Authors note: This is a little bit of a smaller chapter but the next one will be longer!
8 a.m. - 9 a.m.
The Pitt’s morning rhythm was in full swing now. Outside your curtain, the department pulsed with life: wheelchairs squeaking across the linoleum, soft murmurs from the nursing home transfers
“Where’s my daughter?” one elderly woman kept asking sweetly, and the occasional sharp call for labs or supplies. Only a handful of patients this morning, but their quiet shuffle filled the air.
Inside Bay 8, Baran had dimmed the overhead lights before stepping out briefly, bathing everything in a softer, more forgiving glow. Mornings during a flare were brutal for you. The light felt like needles, your body weighed down like lead, and the deep ache settled heavier into your joints and spine the moment the day started.
You lay curled slightly on your side under the warmed blanket Victoria had brought earlier, when the curtain rustled.
Princess stepped in, bright-eyed and efficient despite the early hour, ponytail swinging as she carried a fresh IV bag and the vital signs machine.
“Morning again, sweetheart,” she said gently, keeping her voice low. “How’s that pain treating you? Still climbing?”
“Seven now,” you admitted, shifting with a wince. “Everything feels heavier this morning. The ride over really stirred it up.”
Princess nodded with quiet sympathy. “Your flares hate mornings, don’t they?” You nodded with a small smile at her.
She worked with gentle, practiced hands — blood pressure cuff, temperature, oxygen sats, heart rate. While she did, Baran slipped back into the bay wearing her jacket now.
The jacket was partially unzipped, revealing the crisp black scrubs beneath, and it moved with her like a second skin professional yet comfortable, her version of armor for long shifts.
Baran didn’t say much at first. She simply moved to your other side and rested a steady hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles.
Princess glanced at your nearly empty IV bag and let out a soft, affectionate laugh.
“Someone’s thirsty this morning,” she joked lightly as she swapped the empty bag for the fresh one with practiced ease. “Dr. Al already bumped up the rate. We’ll keep those fluids flowing.”
You managed a tired smile. “Guess my body’s trying to flush this flare out the hard way.”
Baran’s hand tightened gently on your shoulder. “We’re helping it along,” she murmured, voice low and warm. She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, her jacket brushing softly against your arm.
Once the new bag was running smoothly, Princess made a quick note in your chart. “Pain meds should kick in stronger soon. Holler if nausea creeps up or if you need anything else. I’ll check back in a bit.” She gave your arm a gentle squeeze and slipped out, leaving the two of you in your small pocket of calm.
Baran immediately sat on the edge of your gurney, hip pressed warmly against your leg. She studied your face, dark eyes full of concern and that deep, protective love.
“You look exhausted already,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair off your forehead with careful fingers. “I wish I could just wrap you up and take you home right now.”
“I wish that too,” you replied softly, catching her hand and pressing it against your chest. “But I’d rather be here where I can see you between patients than alone at home.”
She leaned in closer, forehead resting against yours. For several precious minutes the outside noise faded the nursing home chatter, overhead pages, Trinity’s sharp voice directing a resident down the hall. It was just the steady drip of your IV, Baran’s quiet breathing, and the familiar scent of her Lululemon jacket mixed with hospital soap.
Around 8:35, Cassie poked her head in briefly, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Al, quick question on the board,” She paused when she saw the two of you and offered you a kind, understanding nod. “Sorry to interrupt. Hope you’re hanging in there.”
Baran gave her a small, tired smile. “Two minutes, Dr. McKay.”
Once Cassie stepped back out, Baran turned back to you fully. She helped adjust your pillows so you could sit up a little more comfortably against the ache, then stayed close, one arm draped lightly across your waist while she quietly updated notes on the bedside computer. Her side was warm where it touched you.
“You’re doing so well,” she murmured between typing. “Even on your worst mornings. I’m in awe of you, every single time.”
You squeezed her hand, emotion tightening your throat. “Only because I have you.”
She stole another soft, slow kiss,full of quiet promise before the department’s growing energy pulled at her again. But even as she stood, she lingered at the curtain’s edge, looking back at you with that fierce, tender gaze that had always made you feel seen.
“I’ll be right back. Hit your button the second the pain gets worse.”
The hour ended with the Pitt humming busily around you, but your bay remained a small sanctuary, lights low, Baran’s presence a familiar comfort, and her fighting for you every step of the way like she has since she was a student.
Summary: You have a chronic illness that wrecks havoc on your body. This means spending time in the ED, but it's not so bad when the love of your life is the attending.
word count: 615
Warnings: chronic illness, medical gaslighting, hospitalization, emergency department setting, patient advocacy, medical trauma, discussion of pain, nausea, IV fluids, emotional distress, frustration with healthcare system, mention of abnormal symptoms despite normal lab results, implied long-term illness, kissing, established relationship, hurt/comfort, emotional support, protective partner behavior
Authors note: I thought it would be a good idea to introduce someone
1:00 p.m. – 2:00 p.m.
The specialist consult had given a small sense of forward motion, but the wait for an actual bed upstairs still stretched on. You were propped up in Bay 8, the dimmed lights helping a little, when your phone buzzed with a text from your sister.
Baran was sitting beside you again, her jacket partially unzipped over her scrubs, one hand resting warmly on your thigh while she reviewed notes on the computer. She glanced over when you smiled faintly at your phone.
“Everything okay?” she asked softly.
“Yeah. My sister’s on her way with some stuff I left at the house this morning. I didn’t exactly pack like a pro when we rushed out.”
Baran’s expression softened with understanding. “Good. You need the little comforts.”
About twenty minutes later the curtain rustled, and your sister stepped in carrying a small tote bag. She looked tired but determined still in her pajamas, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, smelling faintly of coffee and pancakes.
“Hey,” she said gently, keeping her voice low as she took in the monitors and your tired posture. “I got your text as soon as I woke up! Sorry I worked the night shift at the diner. Then I had to drop the kids off with Dad he sends his best wishes and if you have to stay over he said he’d visit tomorrow. I grabbed everything you asked for.”
Baran stood up immediately, offering your sister a warm, grateful smile. “Khahar,” she said softly, pulling her into a quick but heartfelt hug. Your sister returned it just as tightly the two of them had grown close over the years through hospital stays and late-night updates.
“Thank you for coming,” Baran murmured as they separated. “It means a lot.”
Your sister smiled and handed over the tote. She pulled out your soft, well-loved Bartholomew bear Jellycat first, the one with the slightly worn ears from years of being squeezed during bad flares. You reached for him immediately, hugging him close to your chest with a relieved sigh. The familiar plush texture and weight against you grounded you in a way nothing else quite could.
“Thank you,” you whispered, pressing your face into the bear’s head. “I really needed him today.”
Your sister squeezed your hand briefly. “Of course. The kids sent drawings too, they’re in the bag.” She glanced between you and Baran with quiet affection. “I’ll let you two have some peace. Text me if you need anything else. Love you.”
Baran walked her back to the curtain, giving her one more quick hug and murmuring “Drive safe, khahar” before your sister slipped out.
Once you were alone again, Baran helped you settle Bartholomew against your side, tucking the blanket around both of you. She climbed carefully onto the gurney beside you, lying on her side facing you so her arm could drape over your waist, hand resting warmly on your lower back.
“Better?” she asked quietly, her thumb tracing gentle patterns against you.
You nodded, hugging the bear closer while leaning into Baran’s warmth. “Much. He always helps when it gets bad.”
Baran smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple. “You’ve got your bear, you’ve got me… we’re getting you upstairs soon. I promise.”
She stayed with you like that for the rest of the hour when she could one hand on your waist, the other occasionally checking her phone or the monitor while the Pitt continued its steady afternoon churn outside the curtain. The little comforts from home, combined with Baran’s steady presence and the familiar family support, made the wait feel a fraction more bearable.
