summary : two universes collide when spencer has to watch the team meet his workplace crush, called in from another branch for her decryption skills - and he doesn't really like sharing.
word count : 2.3k
pairings : spencer reid x FBI!reader (workplace romance)
notes : there is such thing as the intelligence branch !! spencer is very jealous and it shows, modern romance would say they're at that point in the talking stage where they still won't aknowledge eachother irl
working for the FBI had its perks.
mostly social, you had to admit. certain jobs, tough you weren't exactly sure why, carried prestige. the prestige you felt when over drinks on first dates or small talk with old friends, someone asked what you did for work.
you could've been a linguistic analyst anywhere else, the years of studies and countless research papers you'd worked on would've earned you nothing but eye rolls and judgemental stares.
curiously, with the acronym of FBI came instant gratification. federal bureau of investigation, the magic words that earned compliments and sometimes mocking gasps.
how does it feel to work for the government ?
you're part of the Intelligence Branch ? of course, you're so smart.
the best perk however, apart from the thrilling feeling pulsing through your veins that came with having a purpose, worked three floors above you at the behavioural analysis unit.
with his tall figure and soft cozy looks, spencer reid didn't look like he belonged in this world either. united by the feeling of standing out in the crowd, or rather feeling invisible between individuals with a stern appearance and a sterile heart, you two connected.
a workplace crush, that's all he was.
a really awfully good looking guy who had once blushed at your words when you rode the elevator with him and filled the silence by complimenting his thesis.
of course you knew who he was.
if he were to step a foot on in your department, you were pretty sure applause would echo off the walls. this guy had done more fore crime solving using linguistics than your entire team ever had, and his endless knowledge sort of terrified you.
and maybe since then, he'd started to use the east wing elevator abnormally often. and maybe you'd exchanged numbers. for the sole purpose of keeping eachother in the loop during important cases, of course.
and maybe you were tired today because you'd spent all night exchanging texts, and your brain was beginning to turn into mush from the hours of sleep it'd been denied in the previous weeks.
all because of the boy who stood on the other side of the room from you right now, with his arms crossed and brows knit together while he listened to something the unit chief was saying.
"the unsub we're looking for seems to be leaving hidden messages on the crime scenes," agent hotchner explains, not bothered in the least by the number of people hanging onto his every word.
then, he adds.
"the letters have been collected, and as of now they're our primary focus. we believe an in-depth analysis might help us with the profile."
all around the bullpen, the air was charged.
agents taking notes while the team just stood there, shoulders high and gazes unwavering, like a silent affirmation of their superiority.
you wouldn't have appreciated it, the condescendance lingering in the air, aiming to make you and your colleagues feel somewhat impressed.
not if it wasn't for spencer.
the boyish brunette who was leaning against a desk - his desk you presumed, based on the precise alignement of the books displayed - whose eyes on you could be felt from miles away.
prentiss spoke up next, arms crossed in authority.
"with this guy, danger is imminent. he's escalating, and that's why we called the IB. we need more experts on the case."
something the woman said didn't quite register in your mind, your attention focused on keeping your gaze away from spencer.
a blonde one you recognized as penelope led you to the conference room, and you simply followed like a stray puppy yearning to get his owner back.
no one needed to know.
not as the team gathered around the round table, specifically asking you to join the meeting in hopes of receiving your expertise. in the room of qualified profilers trained to spot miscalculated glances and fleeting touches, with eyes like lasers piercing through the illusion of lies, you had to pull yourself together.
spencer made it a difficult task.
“i was thinking i could quickly go through all the letters the unsub wrote to try to find a pattern. i'd just need access to the archive room to find old files, i've worked through a similar case before.”
quick words, evidently suggested like he’d invented the alphabet himself. you almost smiled when you remembered something he said two days ago, in that exact same nonchalant tone.
“studies prove key elements such as sharp angles, uneven pressure or stilted writing can reveal traits linked to psychopathy." he adds, apparently finding the watch around his wrist more interesting than you, sitting across from him.
hotch asserted himself once more.
"actually, the bureau wanted the input of a real language analyst for this task," he said, sharp jaw nodding in your direction. the focus in the room shifted on you as he said your name.
the smile you gave felt forced, pressured by the half a dozen pair of eyes on you. only one made your heart beat faster for all the wrong reasons, and they belonged to the one who knew you as more than a name on a badge, a piece of chess in the game.
"morgan, you'll help her with the profiling. everyone else, i need you on the field"
morgan ?
the man in question gave you a welcoming grin, and though you were hoping for someone else, you nodded in return. for some reason you swore you heard spencer swallow, adam's apple sticking out, and you felt your a slight pinch of something that almost tasted like disappointment.
you weren't a profiler.
you couldn't have known - and he was grateful for that - that the reason he kept his gaze down and hands to himself came from an irrational part of his brain he didn't know existed.
the one that was jealous.
so he gathered his files and abruptly got up, leaving you with morgan as the rest of the team headed back to work, without even looking back.
turns out the dark skinned man had more to himself than flirtarious smiles. you two worked side by side all morning and he helped you delve into the files.
and before you knew it, you'd managed to keep spencer in the back of your mind for hours.
at lunchtime, while snacking on a granola bar, you caught yourself rambling about the meaning of commas in the unsub's letters. your excitement was contagious.
"gee," derek laughed, cutting you off with a chuckle to remind you he couldn’t keep up.
"you're like a female version of reid or something."
you stopped chewing. looked up, alerted. attempted to wipe away some unwanted crumbs and dreamy grin that had appeared on your lips a little too naturally.
"i'll take that as a compliment."
"trust me, pretty girl" he said, giving you a reassuring wink that might've led you to think he knew more than he let on, "that's a compliment."
the door opened.
he stared. spencer.
files in his hands and mouth opened like he was about to say something but lost all ability to form proper words when he heard the exchange. you felt your hands tighten around the empty plastic wrapper.
morgan’s head turned towards you, then reid.
the tension was painfully obvious, he’d heard the last two sentences and that was already more than enough. a little too interested in the newbie to realise his friend was just being welcoming.
“i was just coming here to say we found a new body with another note displayed on the crime scene,” spencer spoke after what felt like ages. he still didn’t look at you.
“-but i guess you’ll do a great work without it, since you make such a great team.”
morgan whistled, attempting to ease the tension with yet another uneeded comment.
“woah, someone’s jealous.”
with a friendly pat on spencer’s very much tense arm, he left, leaving you and your male copycat in a very awkward situation.
suddenly, the conference room felt smaller.
the space, tight. tighter than the shirt sticking to your skin you suddenly felt trapped in. droplets of sweat clung to the back of your neck and you kept your chin down, eyes piercing through the documents laid out on the table.
he didn’t move, not until he cleared his throat and closed the door behind him. “i didn’t know your intention was to befriend the whole BAU," he snarked.
"i didn't know you had such a problem with me being in your life."
your sharpness made him flinch. daring words, toying with the feeling in his heart he was too much of a coward to properly name. nobody he'd ever met had acted this way towards him. with brutal honesty, confronting him with raw emotions he'd be tempted to conceal.
spencer's eyes were locked onto yours when you spoke. he looked vulnerable in this light, but the anger bubbling beneath his ribs didn't stop him from saying.
"i- that's not what i meant" he stuttered, looking both confused and indignated.
you'd pushed your chair out of the way to get up, almost reaching his height now. there was no escape from this conversation - and you'd very much rehearsed it in your mind anyway. now was time for the real deal.
"i think you did,"
of course, in your head, it wouldn't happen here, out of all places. feelings didn't match well with your work, and now in the conference room was far from the appropriate time.
"i think you're jealous" you affirmed with confidence, crosing your arms to prove your point, "jealous of the fact that i was assigned the task, and that derek had to supervise and not you."
gee, even hearing you call him by his first name made him boil.
"m’not jealous. i have three PhDs”
you laughed. indeed, even with academic degrees up his sleeves, he could still be very oblivious.
“not of the case, idiot.”
he knew what you meant.
and paused. swallowed again.
you bit your lip in waiting, almost facepalming yourself at the honesty of your words - you got that way when you were nervous. and you were really nervous now.
“i don’t think i’ve ever been jealous before.” he said, to himself more than you.
never had he encountered someone to be jealous of. he had the brains, the world seemed to like him. see something even he couldn’t sometimes. he was never jealous of the living because he spent most of his time in a world of his own.
and then he met you.
“there’s a first time for everything” you said with a reassuring smile, much softer now. time for trust, trusting someone and allowing them to see behind the illusion. for love, and letting someone in.
barely blinking, your mesmerising eyes are deeply focused on his now.
“i don’t think i liked it, though.”
“being jealous ?”
he nods, admitting. “you’re smart. and so good at what you do, i swear you made the room light up when you walked in.”
the distance between your bodies fades as he takes another step towards you. he nervously talks with his hands.
“and you could be a profiler !” he lets out, “i’ve never met anyone from another department who has enough talent to hypothetically join a higher rank and willingly refuses to even think about it.”
your lips part, a silent gasp.
“and it just hurts to see you here- here with everyone being so…”
the curious angle of your head makes him smile when you question. “so what ?”
“so perfect !”
it almost pains him to admit it. that the beauty you exude makes him ache, tugging at his sensitive heartstrings more often than he’d like to admit. when the elevator door close, or late at night while staring at his phone in hopes of engraving the pixels or your texts in his brain, he admires the closest to perfection the universe has ever created.
you.
"spencer," you let out in an amused giggle. "i'm not interested in your friends. or your job, for that matter."
he puffs some air into his cheeks, bashful. "i know. my brain just... likes to stop working when you're around, or something."
right, or something. with a playful nudge of the arm, you add.
"i am interested in you, though"
his eyes widen, pupils dilating. the little amount of oxygen left in the room is enough to make him slightly choke, which he covers by his hand. germ thing, sure.
"in me ?"
"yeah." someone has to say it, and you will if it means putting an end to the wrenching state of not knowing what you are. "-if you are, that is. unless i completely misunderstood the situation and you're actually jealous of my linguistics diploma-"
he calls your name, almost offended "i speak four languages !"
"i speak five. not that we're counting"
no bother mentionning you're also learning two. he's overwhelmingly close to you, and the smell of his cologne makes you melt little by little.
he utters quietly. "see ? perfect."
there's not exactly much he could do to make this conversation better. like, better than any debate you had over the phone, and yet he adds.
"i really am interested. and i'd like to see you sometimes... outside of work"
"and the elevator"
he laughs. a genuine sound you could get drunk on, and with a rush of adrenaline, reaches forwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
"just us. on a date. no work and no elevators involved, i promise"
jealousy looked good on him, earlier when he came in with clenched fists and a dark gaze. but nothing, no other expression could match the one he was wearing on his face. pools of hazel softened around the edges, spencer looked truly enamored.
and that ? that looked even better.
tag list, feel free to comment if you wanna be added/taken off !! @deerfawnn @xervoxs @kaz-03 @cynbx @sleepysleepnomore @emerkinsella89 @sweetheartspence @g4rvez-r3id @peanutalergy @keirareidss @eternlmoonshine @xbluereid @spencilweidblog @corollaim @mostofmeghan @siriuslyval03 @midn1ght-ra1n @rose-of-the-grave @copper-rose-strings @irisinlovee @thecrimsonfog @glossiercheek @littleredwolfnerd @babywinter @1-800-peakyblinders @reidslovegia @sreidahgirl @jjellecubed @sreidahgirl @cherrygarcia-07
Overall Synopsis: A car accident leaves you with missing puzzle pieces to assemble—the stumble to blindly pick them out turns into the realization you have not only your career, places, and people to relearn, but also a boyfriend. Where will said puzzle pieces lead you to in the end? And to who, if anyone?
Overall Tropes: amnesia, second chance, strangers to friends, (more than) friends to lovers, idiots in love, slow burn (if you squint), forced proximity, workplace romance.
୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ michael robinavitch x psych fellow!reader
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ needing control was michael’s biggest flaw. control of his department, especially. when a new psych fellow comes to challenge that control—he’s not intimated—he’s infuriated. he should know better than to go toe-to-toe with dr. jefferson’s new protegee.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, no use of y/n, reader is desribed as a glasses user, angst, workplace enemies, enemies to lovers, slowburn (working our way to it), cursing, potential medical inaccuracies, law enforcement presence, potential legislative inaccuracies, assault on a healthcare worker, violence & assault (outside a healthcare setting), workplace stress & trauma, mental health depictions, mentions of alcohol & drug use
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ i did a jack fic & now i need a micheal fic. when writing this, i thought of reader being the brendon park of the psychiatric department. does that sound crazy?
anyway, the ending does leave room for a part two, which i am strongly considering drafting. if all goes well, you may see it coming...
this is the full version of this snippet!
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 13.6k
part two: 'a mirage on sand' here! part three: 'two against three' here!
When the restroom door closed behind Robby, he let out the biggest exhale. Head thrown back, hands on his hips, trying to relieve the weight of this shift. What a shit show.
Between the overflow of patients and the pure exhaustion he has felt in the past couple of months, Robby’s resolve was cracking. He was losing sleep and dwindling like a candlewick at its final strands. If there was something left for him, he couldn’t see it. But despite that, today's shift, the usual, felt like his smallest problems.
Apparently, he should’ve worried about something greater than a full, understaffed department.
In reality, he wasn't hiding in the restroom from his responsibility (even if he felt he was drowning in it). He slipped away to dissolve the simmering boil in the pits of his guts.
Every time he closed his eyes, trying to maintain a peaceful attitude with deep breathing and steady concentration, the scene played over in his head.
You stood across from him while he sat at the work station, looking over a chart. A 23-year-old patient who suffered fall injuries from climbing over his neighbor’s backyard fence. Dr. Santos had put in the consultation, and when you went to speak with the patient, the Lorazepam administered had already taken effect.
“I’m just here to tell you I have no intentions of evaluating an unconscious patient. The next time you need a consult, page once the patient is available for an eval.” You coldly remarked, eyes hooded as you stared at him.
You had searched for him to deliver the message personally. Who did you think you were?
The initial shock he had came from the surprise of Dr. Jefferson not being on-call. Robby had warmed up to Caleb Jefferson, who, in the wake of the PittFest shooting, had taken a personal interest in Robby’s well-being. Robby had intended to take his recommendations, but he hadn't wrapped his mind around therapy, as Jack had.
So, when he found a young woman asking around for the attending physician of the emergency department, he certainly didn’t expect that confrontation.
And to really top it off, he didn’t even get your name.
You, a nameless psychiatrist, had been arrogant enough to approach him and remind him of protocol, as if he were your resident. He assumed you felt entitled to purposefully not introduce yourself. As quickly as you came, you slipped away, claiming to have more patients to check in with.
That was two hours ago.
And here he was, still reeling from it.
He shouldn’t have let it get under his skin so much. He had dealt with worse from administration once he became the chief attending physician of the department.
But he had had enough of the different surgical departments. Garcia questioning his judgment or Park imposing his ‘shark’ demeanor over his students. Even Shamsi came down a time or two to remind them they were ‘fixing’ their butch surgical jobs.
The last thing he needed was a psychiatrist imposing herself in a department she wasn’t familiar with.
Walking out of the restroom, only slightly calmer than before, he headed straight for the central hub. There were still six hours left of the shift, and he was sure the rest of his staff was feeling it.
When he saw Santos, he knew. Her temple rested against her fist, dictating notes. He slowly approached, craning his head to catch her attention. Lifting her sights, she sighed, pausing her notations. Her hand fell onto the desk, resigned and visibly flustered. “How can I help you?”
Robby furrowed both his brows, hands stuffing into the pockets of his jacket. He shook his head, a small chuckle of endearment escaping him. “You sound peachy.”
“Don't ever say that again,” Santos warned, twisting her neck from side to side. She grimaced, with tense muscles and an achy back. “I’m just ready for today to be over.”
“Well, you still have half your shift left and patients to see. I’m sure your charts can wait a moment.” Robby pointed out, glancing around the ED, where everyone was bustling in a chaotic rhythm.
Santos held in the groan she wanted to let out, opting to throw her head back, leaning further in the chair. Robby noticed the tick in her jaw. “Hey, are you doing alright?”
A scoff left Santos’ mouth, amused by the question. ‘Understatement of the century‘ was starting to become her motto. She flashed her boss a tight-lipped smile, “Yup, just waiting for this day to be over.”
Wheeling back, Santos lazily stood from the chair to walk over to the patient board. She let out a heavy sigh, arms crossing over her chest.
Robby followed her, staring up at the board. That was when he was awfully reminded of the patient. He saw the name on the board, still occupying South 20. He bowed his head, sighing. “Question: How come you ordered a psych eval on an unconscious patient?”
Santos scrunched her face, turning slowly to look at Robby. He turned his body to face her, expectantly waiting for an answer. He lifted a finger to the board, “You gave South 20 Lorazepam, which knocked him out, and then ordered a psych consultation for a patient unable to answer any questions.”
Santos silently cursed under her breath, glancing around as if her psych consult would come around. She had totally forgotten to check in on that. “I just wanted to make sure psych was included. Mohan thought he had some other issues that caused him to jump into his neighbor’s backyard.”
She was no stranger to corrections. It felt like, since she joined, she was on a straight, narrow path of constantly being told what she was doing wrong. He saw the pressure get to her sometimes. Her first day as an intern proved to be a test of her will, and since then, he felt she was grasping at straws sometimes.
Robby crossed his arms, leaning forward a bit. “I appreciate the proactivity, but not when I have psych down my throat about it.”
Santos raised her eyebrows, eyes wide. Robby didn’t look pissed, but he would sure get there if another attending had to call him out for her incompetence. “Dr. Jefferson ripped you a new one?”
“No, the new psychiatrist the hospital hired. She made it clear she doesn’t like wasting her time.” Robby groaned, running a hand down his face. That was putting it lightly. With an audience consisting of Perlah and Princess overhearing your injunction, he felt it was an attempt to demean him.
With much relief, Santos snickered, approaching the nursing station to take one of the charts. She slowly scrolled through to find the patient’s chart. “Ironic considering she’s in psychiatry.”
“Just make sure the patient is alert and oriented when you put in the next consultation request.” Robby gave her a nod, to which she silently agreed.
Before he could walk away, he found Dr. Mohan walking alongside someone. A young woman not dressed in scrubs, but in professional office attire consisting of slacks and some blue blouse. You were staring ahead, listening to Mohan rattle off about something, possibly about a patient.
Santos had turned, her small ponytail swinging with her. When she caught wind of Mohan turning a corner with someone obviously not from the ED, she knew. Clumsily, Santos subconsciously handed the tablet to Robby, who took it. With slight embarrassment, she followed the two of you towards the South rooms.
Despite his better judgment, Robby trailed Santos' steps. He coolly looked around, as if he were doing mid-day rounds. He stopped at the nearby workstation, leaning forward to watch. He saw you sit on the patient's bedside, a chart in your hand as you carefully explained intelligible information. Mohan and Santos stood behind, letting you take the reins.
You sat with the patient for ten minutes, smiling at him before standing from the stool. With your body facing his direction, he saw your relaxed demeanor change. Your face went stoic, lips pressed into a thin line.
Santos tried to hide herself behind Mohan, with the seniority, taking over the patient's care. All three of you approached Robby's direction, and he pretended to be reading a chart.
“Dr. Santos, I appreciate your effort to be involved with your patient.”
Was the first thing Robby overheard you say dryly. He glanced over and saw Santos freeze, hands in her pocket. Your back now turned to Robby, your head cocked to one side. “Need I remind you we all value time, and I can’t respond to consultation appropriately when patients are predisposed.
“Yeah, of course.” Santos fumbled, mustering up a polite smile. The blood had rushed from her face, leaving her staring at something she suddenly feared.
Before she could utter anything close to an apology, you stuck the chart out. “I’ll have a bed ready in an hour. Don’t stall the transfer any longer than necessary, Dr Santos.”
You briskly stepped away, leaving Mohan staring at Santos apologetically. Robby was now shamelessly watching the scene unfold. Comfortingly, Mohan placed a hand on Santos' shoulder, whispering something before continuing with her work.
Santos stood in front of the South rooms, chewing the inside of her cheek. Robby watched as she internally beat herself up before walking away with a huff.
Without hesitation, Robby followed your direction. He was a man on a mission, and when Jesse caught him passing by, he knew it from the look on his face.
Robby found you speaking with the police, posted by the nursing station. You were giving them a report of their detainee’s state. The police didn’t seem pleased by what you were telling them, and you didn’t seem to mind. Your aloofness ignored the restrained objections from the officers. Your candid shrugs and head shakes did little to lighten the tensions in the small pocket of the department.
He only approached you once you had excused yourself, turning away from the officers. Meticulously, Robby had swiftly spun to walk in tandem beside you. With a mere glance, you noticed him. He bowed his head so you could hear him, “Did you do the eval for our patient in South 20?”
“I did, and he presents concerning signs of acute psychosis.” Your steps continued with precision, and Robby felt like he couldn’t keep up the same pace. “I spoke with him twice, and the second time he appeared more apprehensive. We’re moving him upstairs for further observation.”
“The police didn’t like that?” Robby pushed, glancing back once to see the two officers speaking in hushed voices.
You shrugged, making your way around corners and staff like you were made for the bustling crowds. “They never like it when an arrest isn’t simple. More paperwork.”
Robby hadn’t realized he had followed you straight to the elevators till he saw the sleek doors. You stopped abruptly to press the up button. When stepping back, Robby looked around to ensure privacy. “No one likes more paperwork.”
He saw the menial shrug of your shoulders, your gaze barely registering your attention to his words. You kept looking ahead, waiting for the doors to open. He shook his head, hiding the same boil he tried to alleviate in the safety of the private restroom. “The same way my residents don’t appreciate being belittled in front of their peers.”
Your head finally turned to him. Your eyes had squinted at him, like you were reading in between really fine lines. He cocked his head, “This is a teaching hospital, and I'm not sure of your teaching methods, but insulting my residents will provide little educational value.”
You stood there, unfazed by his obvious irritation. Robby wasn't sure if he should be more ticked off by how calm you were or the fact that you looked at him like it mattered little what he said. He squared his shoulders, expectantly waiting for a verbal response.
The elevator dinged, and as you were heading to step in, Robby interfered. Casually sidestepping, his taller frame stood in your way. His height left you craning your head to look at his face. He pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head in disapproval. “Look, we can be civilized about this matter. I don't want to zealously escalate this. I just want to know if you understand.”
“I heard you loud and clear, Dr. Robinavitch.” Your head had cocked to one side, an eyebrow raised.
With one-step, your path was clear. Gracefully, you stepped towards the elevator, stopping on the threshold. “If you feel other appropriate measures are necessary, you can speak to Dr. Jefferson. I’m sure he’d welcome criticism about his fellow.”
You wasted no time watching Robby’s dumbstruck expression. With the click of a button, the elevator doors swiftly closed, and he saw his reflection in the sleek metal. One hand dragged down his face, the disbelief hitting him like a freight train—a fellow.
He had let an insufferable fellow under his skin. A psychiatric one at that. The concept felt ironic, as if the universe had planted you in his department to screw with him. If the past few years had felt like being stuck in a labyrinth of self-wallow and despair, you were starting to feel like the Minotaur.
“What are you looking at, Cap’?”
Robby’s head whipped to see Dana approaching him, hands rubbing together. He looked back at the elevator, sparing his reflection one more look before letting out an irritated laugh. “Dr. Jefferson’s new fellow, know anything about her?”
Dana hummed, positioning herself beside Robby as the two walked casually. “I’ve met her a couple of times. She’s pleasant."
“That’s not what I would call her.”
The corner of Dana’s mouth curled upward. She looked him up and down, taking in his edged look. As of late, that was the only appearance he had, but she’d describe this current phase as worse. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, maybe the fact that she dug into Santos about not wasting her time.” Robby huffed out, a strained and sarcastic smile on his face. Dana's eyes widened in response, “And me, as a matter of fact.”
“You?” Dana questioned, seemingly impressed by that information. Robby gave her a look, which only made her chuckle. “You aren’t the type to let anyone give you a piece of their mind, let alone a psych fellow.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” Robby’s dry laugh made Dana cheese harder. She did enjoy being particularly punchy, especially at this moment.
Dana shrugged, feigning innocence. “You doctors get your panties in a bunch when something sounds remotely offensive. The girl has other patients to see, too, you know?”
Robby appeared bewildered as they continued strolling beside each other. “Since when do you take the side of a psychiatrist?”
Dana joked while shrugging, before bumping her arm against his. “Full of surprises.”
After walking a lap around the Pitt, they ended up back at the central hub. Robby stared up at the patient board, measuring how much worse the shift could get. He wouldn’t have walked out the restroom if he knew another moment of you was waiting for him. It somehow was worse than the first and he didn’t like you anymore than the first time you spoke to him.
“You should speak to Jefferson. There has to be a reason she’s still around.” Dana insinuated, putting on her glasses to grab a tablet.
Robby shrugged his shoulders, uninterested in the suggestion. There couldn’t possibly be a reasonable explanation for Caleb allowing you to continue your fellowship. The two didn’t match.
Caleb had immeasurable patience. It was the only reason he hadn’t given up on pushing therapy options to Robby. However, the longer he got to know you, the more it felt like you were the complete opposite. You didn’t fit the bill to even potentially fill in Caleb’s shoes. Naïve and arrogant was one way Robby would describe you. He couldn’t imagine working with you upstairs in the behavioral health department. There was no hesitation on your part to act conceitedly for the sake of the ‘job.’
It might not be his place to tell Caleb how to manage his department or his fellows, but Caleb was bound to sniff you out if he hadn’t yet. Robby was sure.
A few days had passed, and Robby was keeping an eye on you. The way you strolled into the ED relaxed and stoic. He thought the conversation you two had would strike some nerve, but you appeared very normal. During his shift, you answered consultations promptly, and you’d disappear just as quickly.
You definitely didn’t like to waste time.
The few times he did see you in the week, you were with Mohan or Collins. From the windows or open curtains, he noticed you in your natural habitat, like some animal in an exhibit. You cared about the patients, but the minute you walked out of the rooms, you were clinical. It was as if you had trained to detach yourself. You gave the imitation of a smile and brief ‘hello’s’ when necessary, but he wasn’t sure he had seen you crack a joke or be nice.
Today there was radio silence on your end. He was on the last two hours of his shift, and you hadn’t brushed by with your cold shoulder. The atmosphere didn’t feel as tight or charged, even if Robby felt that way almost every shift.
When he turned to the corner to where the central hub was, he saw Dr. Jefferson wheeling in the opposite direction. Robby smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Caleb, it is very good to see you.”
Caleb laughed, removing the glasses from his face. “Why’s that? Have you finally considered my offer to meet some good friends of mine?”
Robby shrugged, looking away. Dr. Jefferson had been around long enough to meet Dr. Adamson, and Robby, for that matter. Therefore, when the department unfortunately lost him, he kept closer tabs on Robby. Everyone knew the late Chief’s protégée would take up the pedestal, even if he felt himself inadequate for the title.
They’ve been friendly since then, and with the aftermath of the PittFest shooting, Dr. Jefferson hung around the ED more often than not. He wasn’t personally treating most of the staff, but he connected them with trusted professionals in the field. He had yet to succeed with Robby.
“Still working on that, but I did want to talk to you about something else,” Robby mentioned quietly, walking in the direction Caleb was heading.
Attempting to hide a grin, he nodded. “Shoot.”
Robby tried to word it lightly, but the strain in his voice gave away enough for Caleb to reach his own conclusion. “There’s a new fellow you failed to mention, and we might have got off on the wrong start.”
Caleb humorously said your name, stopping off to the side of where the elevator was. Robby froze, processing that name; which he hadn’t exactly heard of till now. Labeling the face with a name, the way he did when patients were wheeled in unconscious and unidentified. He’d humanize them and reason with the idea that someone knows and loves the person he’s treating.
He couldn’t find it in himself to empathize with the likes of you, even with your name.
Caleb placed his hands in his lap, breaking through Robby’s absorbed thoughts. “She’s here for an emergency psychiatry fellowship. I’m glad you two finally met since you’ll see her around more often.”
“About that,” Robby pointed out, with obvious discomfort from the idea. He didn’t want you around. “I don’t know if she’s a good team player.”
“What makes you say that?” Caleb questioned, intrigued by the sudden concern. You must have been different around Caleb for this to pique his interest. You were a psychiatrist after all, how hard would it be to hide your true nature?
Robby sighed, head bowed. “She had no problem reminding me how to consult psychiatry when she found a patient sedated for an eval.”
Caleb made an ‘ah’ noise, relaxing in his wheelchair. When Robby really looked down at him, there was an indistinguishable amusement. The type that felt wrong for the moment. Robby furrowed his brows at the psychiatrist, who returned it with an easy expression. “That’s it?”
What? Robby’s arms crossed over his chest, hands gripping onto his bicep to restrain from acting erratically in front of a psychiatrist. He sputtered a bit, trying to find some other observation of his to alarm Caleb of this new fellow he was gleaning over.
“For someone training to work alongside my department, she seems indifferent to my staff.” Robby rattled off. If he hadn’t noticed, Caleb would have described what he was seeing as behavior from a five-year-old in school. “She insulted an intern in front of a third-year resident.”
Caleb casually rolled himself in front of the elevator. Robby stepped beside him, pressing the up arrow button. “I don’t know of her plans after this fellowship. She is still exploring her options, but have you noticed any other interactions?”
Robby shook his head, lips pursed. He could ramble about how you never cracked a smile or bothered to greet the other doctors when responding to a consultation. You show up, speak with the patient, debrief with his staff, and leave. Simple and efficient, but robotic. He had noticed the weird looks from his residents, unsure if they watched the interactions transcribed correctly.
“Well, maybe it was just a bad day.” Caleb shrugged. He sat pensively staring at Robby. He never liked it when Caleb did that. “She’s working the night shift tonight.”
The elevator dinged with the doors sliding open smoothly. Robby pressed his hand against the slot to keep it from closing. Caleb wheeled inside, spinning gracefully to face Robby again. “Test your theory. Ask the night shift attending if he finds anything of concern, and I’ll follow up with her.”
With a tight-lipped smile, Robby gave Caleb a stiff nod while taking a reluctant step back. The sleek doors slid closed, and the last thing he saw was Caleb chuckling to himself.
That was the opposite of how he expected it to go. Caleb treated the matter as if he expected it to happen. Was this a cruel joke? Was the universe mocking him with an immature, presumptuous fellow? Exasperated, Robby stalked off towards the central hub, looking for a worthy distraction of his time.
Collins was sitting at one of the workstations in front of their behavioral rooms. He browsed around the ER, checking his surroundings for anything needing immediate attention. His senior resident hadn’t bothered to lift her head as she continued typing and his shadow casted over the desk.
Robby leaned against the workstation, eyes fixated ahead as he lowered his mouth to a level that let them talk privately. “Can I get your opinion on something?”
Collins smiled softly, a tad entertained by the idea. “Depends. As long as it has nothing to do with trying whatever dish you plan to bring for the Thanksgiving party.”
Robby shook his head, catching the small look she gave him from the corner of her eye. He cleared his throat, “No, but thanks for the brutal honesty. It’s about the new psych fellow.”
Collins hummed, the tapping of the keyboard filling the silence of her thoughts. “What about her?”
“Have you seen her interact with any of the other residents or med students?” Robby questioned, eyes narrowing at her as he tried to phrase the question casually. No matter how he put it, she knew he was looking for something implicating.
Collins furrowed her brows, pursing her lips. “A few times. She’s been responding to most of our consultation requests.”
“And what are your professional thoughts about her?”
Collins paused for a moment, hesitant to answer the question. Robby expectantly looked at her, and Collins knew whatever she said would have weight over his opinion of you. Collins straightened her back, “I think she’s professional. Doesn’t tend to make small talk with us, but then again, that’s not really necessary for patient care.”
“And with patients?” The question came out quickly, like a planned interrogation to find an answer from his earnest resident.
“I don’t tend to stick around to see her interact with them. Mohan seems to think she’s good.” Collins commented. She watched Robby’s reaction from the corner of her eye. She knew he respected her opinion, but he was also fixed in his opinions at times.
“Mohan’s too soft.” Robby offhandedly commented, glancing away as he chuckled more to himself.
Collins shook her head, a teasing look on her face. “Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.”
Robby inhaled sharply, recollecting his thoughts. “I mean, Mohan sees the good in everyone. I’m sure she was impressed by her approach.”
“So you agree she’s good?” Collin’s fingers were moving over the keyboard, logging off. She spun in her chair, facing her attending. He took a step back, letting Collins stand comfortably.
Looking down at his feet, Robby shook the jab off. Collins meant well, but she could sense there was something more. Maybe he truly didn’t trust you, but she got the idea he was blinded by something out of your control. “My unprofessional opinion? I think if she were a man, you wouldn’t scrutinize her so much.”
Robby scrunched his face, a displeased smile on his face. He made an effort; he was sure Collins recognized that, but even when he was wrong, she always stopped to remind him. Before he could counter, she raised her hands in retaliation.
“I’m just saying. Anyone can be driven and patient-centered without wanting to be friends with everyone.” Collin reminded, “You do.”
Collins saw a refutation in his eyes. He had been living on the edge as of late. Between Langdon's sudden hiatus and whatever else he was dealing with silently, he was sparking a reputation of a man haunted. She hated to say she spared herself the grief of witnessing what occurred a couple of months ago, but if it saved her from looking like Robby? She was relieved.
“Robby, incoming trauma. 5 minutes out!”
The attempt was futile. He knew just as much as he did the day before, which was nothing. He should’ve known better than to bet against odds with a psychiatrist. He was beginning to feel confident in the idea that this was an orchestrated, cruel joke.
Coming in for shift change, Robby was antsy to know he was right. He wasn’t opposed to you due to your gender, as Collins suggested, or because he felt emasculated, as Dana inferred. There was something inherently wrong. He had to believe in his instinct about you.
He had missed the substance abuse signs from Langdon, whom he spent countless shifts and cases working with. His mission was to nip the problem before it spiraled out of his control again. It was for the benefit of the department, he reminded himself
Therefore, when Jack told him nothing imperative of a self-absorbed psychiatrist, he silently cursed under his breath. That doesn’t mean your reclusive persona didn’t go unnoticed. Jack didn’t mind it per se, but he did find it odd when the only person you made small talk with was Shen.
From then on, Robby made sure to keep track of all the cases you assessed. His resident may have noticed their attending hovering more than usual during cases that required psych consults. He was sure you were aware of the new vigilance over his department–because of you.
Robby was walking out of the breakroom when he bumped into you. The two of you were heading in the same direction, and your brisk walk had startled him. You had turned over your shoulder, catching the polite smile on his face. Halting your step, you turned to him. “Dr. Robinavitch, just the person I was looking for.”
“Is that so?” Robby asked with an amused tone. He pumped hand sanitizer, rubbing it into his hands. “What can I do for you?”
The phrasing of his words must have been humorous, because for once, the corner of your lips curled upwards. You didn't let him bask on that reaction for long, shaking your head. “I have an update on your patient in Central 12.”
Stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket, he shrugged. “Isn’t that Dr. Collins patient?”
“Yes, but I know you have a special interest in the case.” You teased. The relaxed expression on your face didn’t resemble that of the comment, but you were testing the waters. Better put, you were testing him.
Considering this was one of the few times the two of you had spoken, he was impressed by your professional demeanor. He scoffed, shaking his head. “I am especially interested in all the patients that come into my department.”
“Well, isn’t it strange that you tend to linger and question those that require my consultation?” You cocked your head to the side, eyes narrowed at him. He didnt miss the satisfaction in your eyes. A small triumphant glimmer in your eyes, seeing him crack a little, the center of his forehead creasing.
Robby opened his mouth, finding some cool and respectable way to deflect the accusation. You glanced away, watching nurses pass you both by. “That’s beside the point. I’m putting the patient on a psych hold. He will have to stay down here for the meantime.”
“May I ask why?” Robby posed, eyebrows furrowed deeply.
From what he recalled of the patient, a 28-year-old male who came in reeking of booze with a head laceration after some drunk and disorderly pick up from officers. The patient had come in slightly combative and agitated, which, after looking at his tox report, was explained by alcohol and drugs in his system. How could it have escalated enough to validate a psych hold?
“He’s a danger to others. Presents grave disability.”
Robby stared at you with wide brown eyes. He was expecting more than eight words to justify keeping a patient with substance abuse. He pressed his lips firmly, “Which would be what exactly?”
“I spoke with Mr. Romano’s family, and he has a history of schizophrenia. Apparently, he’s been off his medications for months.” You directed him away from the break room, moving over to the corner by pedes, where a small kitchenette was. Robby had his back to the rest of the ER. “When I spoke with the patient, he endorsed auditory hallucinations.”
“And you’re sure that is not a result of the drugs and alcohol in his system?” Robby questioned.
The prompted mistrust in your judgment must have rubbed you the wrong way since you cringed, nose twitching subtly. “EMS report supports what I heard from the family. The patient all but confirmed it when he kept rambling about ‘demon in walls.’”
A hand rubbed the back of Robby’s neck. He was almost done with the shift. He didn’t need to deal with the added luggage of another occupied bed. “I also overheard from Dr. Collins that he was walking, talking, and demanding discharge.”
“And I’m telling you, if you discharge him, he will decompensate on the streets.” Your firm voice was one he had yet to hear. Typically, you spoke with little cadence, but now, he knew he had pushed your buttons.
The sentiment of your voice left no doubt in Robby that you were offended by his objections. Robby had obvious authority over the department, over his residents' actions, and the ultimate say in many of their decisions. You were the gray area. Working in the emergency room required Robby’s involvement, but he wasn't your boss.
Robby crossed his arms, a displeased smile on his face. “We don't have the availability to hold him.”
“Put him in one of the behavioral rooms.” You suggested, waving off his obvious irritation. “All he needs is routine medication dispensing and soft restraints, if necessary.”
Robby shook his head, the idea hitting deaf ears. “I don't have enough nurses to spare to dispense meds on a schedule. Why can't you take him upstairs in behavioral health, where he’ll actually receive the proper treatment?”
“We don't have availability. Current bed wait time is at least 24 hours.”
“Fuck me.” Robby groaned out loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear. His hand dragged down his face, lazily shaking his head.
You noticed the sideways glances. The staff noticed the tension between the two. Robby’s reluctance to give in and your reluctance to compromise. Besides the chief’s tight face, you were internally seething, evident in the way your hands tightened, crossed over your chest.
You shook your head, scoffing, “That hardly seems like appropriate language, Dr. Robinavitch.”
Robby’s cold-stone stare didn’t go unnoticed by you. He should’ve admired your dedication to proper patient care, but he couldn’t help but feel this was all deliberate. “I can start the patient on his first dose of meds and put it into his chart for the next dispense.”
Right as you were going to brush past him, you stopped, craning your head to look at his side profile. “I appreciate your due diligence, but I am capable of doing my job without you breathing down my neck. You can at least show me that respect.”
When he felt the cold air hit him, he turned around, barely catching your back disappearing around the corner. He couldn't distinguish whether you leaving with the last word, or him letting you walk away at all, frustrated him more. He let out a heavy sigh, hands on his hips. It was just luck when he turned his head to see Caleb approaching him.
Wheeling away from a patient in the north rooms, he warily looked in the direction you headed. “Do I want to know what that was about?”
“I told you. I don’t think your fellow plays well with others.” Robby groveled, stalking past Caleb.
Without missing a beat, Caleb maneuvered his wheelchair, strolling closely behind Robby. He heard the rolling of the wheels behind him, but did not intend to turn back to explain himself. Caleb chuckled, “Well, I have a minute if you’d like to voice your concerns.”
“I don’t think that’ll do much.” Robby offhandedly commented, wanting to strike a chord in Caleb. Maybe you were picking up since transferring this ugly habit. You had to have learned it from somewhere.
“You could give me the benefit of the doubt by talking to me,” Caleb emphasized, which halted Robby’s steps.
The two had somehow made it to the lockers, where Robby found himself practically gridlocked between the double doors and Caleb. With slight shame, he turned to face Caleb who patiently waited for the right moment to speak again.
“Look, I’m sorry if you felt dismissed the last time.” Caleb initiated genuine sincerity in his apology. “I liked to believe my favorite fellow and ER physician can learn to get along on their own in a perfect world.”
The smile threatened to cross his lips. Caleb’s grin certainly didn’t help Robby hold the stoic expression. Robby shook his head, “Flattery? Is that something new you’re trying in your practice?”
“I’m still workshopping it. You’ll have to let me know if it’s effective or not.” Caleb joked, smiling up wider at Robby.
With easier breathing, Robby crossed his arms, shouldering his words with some dignity. If he was going to grovel about a colleague, he wanted to sound like the situation warranted it. “She seems to go out of her way to make my job difficult. I find it hard to believe she isn’t doing it out of enjoyment.”
“Funny. She told me the same thing about you.” Caleb responded, watchful eyes on Robby’s reactions.
Furrowed brows and a displeased frown told Caleb everything. Robby had been holding on to moments where he felt you ruined the ‘harmony’ of the ER. If he was on edge, everyone else was walking on eggshells. Robby narrowed his eyes at Caleb, “Considering the one time I saw her work with my residents, she insulted them, I wasn’t pleased. It warranted taking another look at her work ethic.”
“She thinks you're scrutinizing her every move, which doesn’t help her treat patients properly, if that is the case.” Caleb pointed out respectfully. His response was diplomatic, even if he knew more than he let on.
Considering how much effort Caleb put in defending you, Robby should’ve assumed you’d share your observations of his rather egregious behavior. You had just called him out about. There must be more discourteous observations you had made known to your superior in the privacy of your shared office.
“Maybe I don’t want some overly confident psychiatrist disrespecting my staff.” Robby scoffed, offering Caleb a tight-lipped smile. He no longer needed to pretend to be nice. They were close enough for Caleb not to be offended and for Robby to be blunt.
“You mean you?”
Robby stood dumbfounded by the question. Everyone seemed to misinterpret his message. Collins, Dana, and now Caleb. He had made his bed, totally approaching the situation of you with little bias, he thought. If he did it all for the sake of the department, no one could question his judgment over you.
“If your residents have a problem with her, let them come to you,” Caleb suggested, friendlier intentions than when you told him to back off. Robby stood with his hands on his hips, still unsure. “If this is about you feeling disrespected, find a way to work it out.”
“She’s not malicious. She just has a hard time letting people in. You should identify with that.” Caleb gave Robby a firm nod.
Reluctantly, Robby agreed. Caleb wheeled backwards before turning and disappearing in the chaos of the department. There couldn’t possibly be anything the two of you shared in common. Robby refuted the idea that the two of you could find a comfortable middle ground to become friends or friendly.
You probably would’ve made it your mission, so it wouldn’t be so easy if Robby dared to attempt. Your cocky attitude was an enigma eating away at him, and if he let it go longer, his department would suffer for it. He’d head Caleb’s words, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to waste his energy on a lost cause.
Pretending to be civil must be a hidden talent of yours. A superpower reserved to further dig yourself under Robby’s skin. Whether intentional or not, it was working.
In the last couple of weeks, you’ve kept your dialogue with him minimal. He knew you sought him out regarding all your cases, and neither of you made any comment on the fact. You’d give him your thoughts on a patient, any patient-care requirement from the psychiatric side, and disappear without so much as a farewell.
Robby didn’t expect it whatsoever. He didn’t assume you’d recover from the heated encounter with pleasantries and fake niceties. Robby couldn’t say the same about himself. He did attempt to compliment your efforts, but before he could get a word out, you’d wander away, abruptly ending his chances.
He stopped after the third attempt.
“Someone called for a psych consult.” Robby overheard as he was passing by the nursing station. He had recognized the sound of your voice by this point, from the rare times he heard it.
Robby halted his steps, peering over the brim of his glasses. You leaned against the central hub, speaking with Perlah, covering Dana while she (undoubtedly) took a smoke break. It was almost surreal to see you more comfortable than ever. You were sporting dark tortoise shell glasses, and the cardigan over your button-up was cozy. Maybe the holiday spirit was warming you up.
“I’ve got it, Perlah,” Robby called out from behind, making his way around the circular station. Perlah smiled politely before stepping away.
Robby glanced knowingly at you through the top of his glasses. He scrolled through a device in his hands while you stood around, bored almost. “I assume Dr. Jefferson is currently unavailable?”
“That is a safe assumption to make.” Your vague response had his finger freeze, hovering over the screen. If you were amused by the scrunch on his face, you kept it to yourself. With a sigh, you nodded. “He stuck with a patient upstairs. I was available.”
Robby’s sights landed on the middle-aged man sitting in BH-1, hands on his head, and elbows resting on his knees. The room was empty and cold, for necessary precautions. Your eyes followed the direction he was looking at, examining the patient from afar.
“Escorted by police, brought in by ambulance, after he threw acid on a pedestrian's face,” Robby informed in a low and serious tone. Standing beside him, his head craned down to be closer to your ear, defined the gravity of the situation.
“Right before Christmas.” You scoffed, shaking your head. Business was particularly busier with the change in whether and the usual holiday injuries that brought more people to the ER; which only meant more work for Robby and his staff.
“Why was he brought in and not immediately detained?” You questioned, lips pursed in deep thought.
Robby made the mistake of glancing at you. He saw the pensive expression, watching the man rock back and forth on the cold mattress top. The subtle rise of your chest was evident. You weren’t rattled or shaken yet. If he could describe the fleeting look in your eyes, he would see something human. The case was already personal for you, as all the others once you took them on.
“He suffered bruising and other surface wounds from bystanders attempting to stop him from fleeing.” Robby chuckled dryly at the irony of the situation. You reap what you sow. “He has proven defiant to treat, but police won’t allow us to discharge him until we at least do a tox-screen.”
You hum, nodding as you digest all the information. Craning your head, you looked up at Robby, who was staring at the man. “And why page psych? Because he chose a bizarre way to assault someone?”
Robby scratched the side of his beard, admittedly humored by your statement. He shrugged. “Witness statements claim he was aggravated but unprovoked before the attack. They want to make sure there is some legitimacy to those claims.
“So, sniff out the crazy?” You joked, gracing him with a crooked smile. It was a crude joke, but it also appeared like you had made it countless times before.
Robby awkwardly chuckled, unsure how to properly react to the remark. You simply shrugged, “Dr. Jefferson would’ve thought it was funny.”
You straightened your back, hands digging into your pockets as you pulled out a couple of pens, tossing them onto the counter. “Considering this patient is high-risk, I’ll need security and a nurse on standby outside the room.”
“Wouldn’t it be best to have two physicians in the room?” Robby questioned. He took off his glasses, stuffing them into the pocket of his scrub top.
You began to take off your jewelry, consisting of dainty necklaces and small hooped earrings, as if it were second nature. “I’ll be fine on my own. Since this is your department, I’ll have you assign a nurse.”
“I assign what nurses work in what cases.” Dana casually strolled up behind you, pressing a tablet into her chest.
Her eyes shifted from Robby, then to you. When she looked back at Robby, she was watching his posture and grip on the tablet. You spun around, nodding in understanding. Dana peered at Robby from over your shoulder. He stood there silently, too silent for comfort.
Dana slowly looked around, noticing Jesse passing by. “Jesse! You’re with me!”
Jesse halted, staring among Dana, you, and Robby. Dana pointed her head toward the behavioral rooms. “Stand watch with me while psych does their eval.”
“Great.” You clapped your hands with little enthusiasm. Looking at Robby one more time, it was obvious he had reservations about the entire operation. “You’re welcome to observe, Dr. Robinavitch, but I understand you’re busy here. I can find you once I’m done. Wish me luck.”
Without waiting for his response, you walked over to the officer, calmly explaining the approach you were going to take. Robby leaned back into the nursing station, carefully gazing over your soft movements. When the door unlocked, you walked into the room, calm and collected. Robby held his breath when the door closed, and he saw you position yourself by the right wall.
“She’s ballsy for wanting to go in there on her own,” Dana muttered, scooting closer to Robby. When her arm brushed his, she felt the tense muscles in his shoulder. With concern, she turned to head to get a better look at the rest of him—on edge and skeptical.
Jesse scoffed beside the charge nurse, shaking his head as he casually leaned against the nursing station. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room with a man like that.”
“Robby,” McKay came around Robby’s other side, hands in her jacket pocket. She came to a halt when she noticed the small crowd watching in the behavioral room. “Is that the guy?”
Robby pensively nodded his head. From the window, you were lowering yourself onto the ground, disappearing from behind the door. He teared his eyes away to look at his second-year resident, gawking at the scene. “I can’t believe they brought him here instead of arresting him.”
“Did you need something?” Robby posed the question, hands on his hips.
With his back turned towards Dana, she was positive something was bothering him. She knew he was on the cusp of crawling towards a hole no one could pull him out of. Whether it was drilling himself in the work or not allowing himself a second to breathe, it was all slowly drowning him.
What she didn’t expect was for you to enter the behavioral room to elicit such a response in him as it did. Sure, he grovels a bit about protocol. Last thing she suspected he wanted was for you to break the rules right under his nose, but she sensed it went beyond that. It was like when the door closed, separating you from the safety of outside the behavioral room, an odd, doom-like chill ran through him.
McKay gave him a tight-lipped smile, turning away from the gallery, observing the interaction. The last thing Dana and Jesse heard was her motioning to a patient in one of the central rooms. The small glance Robby threw towards your direction over his shoulder didn’t go undetected by Dana or McKay as he was pulled away.
The air was uneasy, or so Robby thought. It felt thick and opaque as he jumped around the ER from patient to patient. The unsettledness tended to appear when an apprehended patient came in, especially one known as violent.
Everyone kept a watchful eye when passing by the behavioral room. Apart for Dana and Jesse, who were the assigned nurses to the case, as well as the officers and Ahmad, everyone still felt inclined to check in. When Robby answered a trauma, luckily passing by BH-2, he caught your eye through the glass. One firm nod, and he stalked the ambulance bay.
Almost two hours had passed by, and you were still in the room with the detainee.
Dana and Jesse had gone in a few times. The room had somehow felt chillier than outside, and you were comfortable in it. Administering meds or checking vital signs made the detainee flinch. You had easily distracted him. Although he hid his face under his long, dark hair, he engaged with little grunts and noises that you could coherently interpret.
“How is she still in there?” McKay questioned, leaning one arm on the nursing station. She turned to Dana, who was writing away on the device. “I thought she convinced him to do the blood test already.”
“She did,” Dana responded, partly focused on checking in with their current available room. There were four hours left of the day shift, and the tension was still on the roof. “Apparently, she hasn’t finished her eval. Have you discharged the patient in Central 15 yet?”
“Still waiting on her CT results,” McKay answered, her head still turned to the behavioral room. She furrowed her brows, watching you through the glass.
“Good news! It came in a few minutes ago, and I need a bed. Get to it, Missy.” Dana grinned, shooing away McKay from continuing her staring, like they were in a zoo.
McKay begrudgingly walked in the direction of the patient, pulling Javadi with her as they crossed paths. Dana shook her head, muttering something about kids. With her head down, she didn’t notice Robby walking up behind her, but she did sense his large presence.
“How are we doing?” Robby questioned, arms crossed as he stopped beside Dana. It was the first time in the past couple of hours that he could do a proper analysis of the current standing of his department. He appreciated the split second to breathe properly.
“Four hours left. I’ve got a couple of beds opening.” Dana informed, peering at the attending through her eyelashes.
Robby rubbed the back of his neck, the bags under his eyes sunken in and darker than before. He exhaled heavily, shaking himself awake. “Okay, good, the more patients we can move out, the better. We still have two patients—“
“Hula-hoop!”
All the staff in the vicinity turned their heads in the direction of the call. Robby felt the dread in him at the term thrown. It wasn’t used loosely, and everyone knew to react quickly. When his sight landed on the behavioral rooms, the wave of staff rushing in alarmed him.
With a burst of adrenaline, Robby rushed over to the room, weaving around the nurses watching. Pushing through to the doorway, the scene played out in chaos. Ahmad was already on the patient, with Jesse pulling him off and tossing him onto the bed.
A couple of nurses rushed over, beginning to hold him down, putting on soft restraints. When Robby looked down at the ground, you were sitting up, nursing the left side of your face. There was blood dripping down your nose. The crimson red stained the front of your blouse. The hardened look on your face made it clear it was hurting.
Tipping your head back, he heard your labored and uneven breathing. Robby approached you on the ground, examining for other superficial wounds. “What the hell happened?”
When Robby brought up his hands, flashlight pen clicking on, you brushed him off. Maneuvering your head to watch the detainee instead of treating your current wounds. “Push 6mg of Ketamine.”
Your voice was raspy and hoarse, and when Robby’s eyes landed on your neck, he saw the bright red mark. The imprints resembled those of hands, and your skin was raw. He firmly stated your name, “Did he choke you?”
“He punched her before pushing her onto the ground and strangling her,” Jesse informed while stepping away from the patient as the medication was administered.
Robby looked over his shoulder, watching as the patient succumbed to the medication, no longer thrashing or screaming profanities. Looking back at you, he saw the fresh bruising around your eye, blood surfacing under the skin. His pen light came up to your face, checking your pupils for reactions.
In an instant, you swatted the light away, cringing at its brightness of the light. You scooted back, providing space to slowly stand. Dana immediately came up to your side, arms hovering under your elbows. “Honey, you need to let Robby check you. You can have a concussion.”
“Occupational hazard. “ You choked out, the strain in your face evident from the pain of suckered in the face and pushed to the ground.
Everyone in the doorway cleared out as you cautiously made your way out. The nurses debated on stopping you, pushing you into a wheelchair, and immediately taking you into a room. They opted not to once they saw you glaring at everyone staring at you.
Dana trailed your tail, and Robby followed her. One of the arresting officers approached Robby, “Is she alright?”
“I don’t know yet.” Robby sighed, his eyes stuck on you. Dana pulled up an office chair, sitting you down with reluctance on your part. “Your detainee assaulted a physician and is currently sedated. We will have another psychiatrist assigned to no longer waste your or our time.”
The officer scoffed in Robby’s face. The sudden distaste as he looked at you fueled Robby’s current temperament. Shaking his head, the officer tightened his jaw. “We offered our services to the shrink. She thought she could handle hardball.”
Robby let out a sour laugh, his eyes squinting at the heavy-set officer. Before he could boil things over further, Dana called out his name. “We need you over here!”
With one more glare, Robby turned away, approaching the scene of nurses surrounding you and Dana like hawks. Even some of his residents had huddled into the group. Whispering of questions and concerns barely made their way to his ear,
“Okay, everyone, give her space!” Dana instructed, imitating a boundary as she pushed her hands outwards to provide a greater space between you and the ED staff.
“How does your head feel?” Robby started crouching slightly to get a better look at the bruising around your eye.
“I’m fine, Dr. Robinavitch.” You mumbled, pulling your face away from his grasp.
The incredulous stare he gave you only opposed you more to treatment. Against your wishes, the pad of Robby’s thumbs began to press against your cheekbone, under your eye. He continued this until he reached the side of your nose, where you cringed harder from the pain.
“You don’t seem fine,” Robby mumbled back, quiet enough for you to hear. You rolled your eyes at him, turning your head.
His examination travelled down to your neck, the swelling going down gradually. Pulling on his stethoscope, he pressed the chest piece to your back. Without much instruction or previous reluctance, you took in deep breaths, holding it, before letting go.
“O2 stats look good,” Jesse informed, lifting the pocket-sized meter. Robby nodded subconsciously, still listening to the sound of your lungs.
With the proximity, he could smell the subtle hints of vanilla and fruit. The warmth of your skin radiated onto him, and the scent grew bolder. From behind you, he saw the flushed skin on the back of your neck. He safely assumed it was from the manual strangulation, but he wondered if you thought about the little distance between you, too.
Robby had to remember to focus when he felt you start to sit taller. He removed the chest piece, throwing the instrument around his neck. “Clear lung sounds.”
“We can stick her in North 5.” Dana grabbed your cardigan, still on the desk, and threw it over your shoulders. Your skin may have felt warm, but you were shivering in your seat.
“I don’t need to be coddled.” You looked around at the nurses. The statement was firm, almost self-assured, but you gratefully stuck your arms through the sleeve.
“Pupils were reactive, but I want to rule out a concussion. CT head and maxillofacial.” Robby spoke to Dana, standing at full height. He was no longer focused on your previous disagreements or blow-up; he was acting as the attending physician, now having to care for a colleague hurt on the job.
“Top of the line for CT,” Dana affirmed, beginning to write you down.
“Page Dr. Jefferson. I’ll talk to him about finishing the evaluation.”
“I can finish it.” You interrupted, standing up with little stability. Your hand immediately grabbed the back of the chair, gripping tightly. “I built rapport with him.”
“And he assaulted you as a result,” Robby argued, stepping closer to you. If you were uncomfortable with the public confrontation, you didn’t let it show.
He knew the adrenaline was keeping you up, eyes flickering around like a lamb amongst wolves. He did not intend to hound you, but you certainly weren’t thinking logistically. It was probably foolish on his part to assume presumptuously that you’d go down without a fight. If your history had taught him anything was that you were stubborn. Fighting was in your DNA.
“I can do my job, Dr. Robinavitch.” You seethed, fired up by the extra boost coursing in your body.
To the other watching, you seem infuriated from being actively booted from the case. It didn’t make sense why you were fighting so hard if it wasn’t to protect your ego. Yet, Robby wasn’t convinced that was the reason. Your forehead creased, and your lips transitioned downward. A frown?
“What happened?”
The voice echoed loudly over the ruckus you two created. Dr. Jefferson wheeled around Perlah and Princess, coming up behind you. Closing your eyes and turning your head to hide the masterpiece on your face.
Robby cleared his throat, still staring down at you like a child acting defiantly. “Your fellow was just assaulted by a patient while conducting an evaluation.”
Jefferson called your name, wheeling closer beside you. Jesse had stepped away, and Dana had shooed the rest of the nurses glued to the situation. You knew you couldn’t hide it, so you turned around, looking down at Jefferson.
He stayed quiet while he looked from the swelling under your eye, to your neck, to the blood drying up. Silently, he evaluated the rest of you, intact but shaken up, even while you tried to hide it.
“Are you okay?” Caleb asked concernedly, which surpassed that of his role as an attending. He asked as a friend or even something fatherly.
You let out an agitated breath, glaring at Robby from the corner of your eye. “I don’t understand all the fanfare. I’m not concussed, and I am competent enough to do my job.”
Caleb, taken aback, looked over at Robby, who disapprovingly shook his head. The environment felt hostile, and if it wasn’t before, it was sure now. Caleb scooted back, “That wasn’t my question.”
Your hands fell to your sides. While the two of you held strained eye contact, your body depleted, the weight of confronting your current dilemma weighing on your chest. All Robby saw was the subtle shake of your head, and Caleb's face contorted.
“Do you have a room for her?” Caleb directed the question to Robby.
“North 5. She’s next in line for a CT.” Dana cut in, offering empathetic smiles all around.
Caleb jerked his head to the side, hands on his wheels as he led the way towards the north rooms. Jesse pulled up smoothly with a wheelchair behind you. Without much thought, you carefully lowered yourself onto the chair, slumping down, your body caving into itself. Once Caleb stepped in to take the reins of the situation, you succumbed to his direction. Robby furrowed his brows, watching Jesse wheel you away, disappear with Caleb into a hallway.
Dana sighed, shaking her head. “Poor girl. She looks confused.”
She turned to Robby for him to respond with some quip about her arrogance or inflated ego, but all Dana saw was an appeal to nurture. Robby saw a deer in the headlights, frightened by the incoming danger. He thought he had you all figured out. Now, he was more confused than ever about what Jefferson saw in you.
Dana expectantly raised her eyebrows at him, and once the silence registered, he faced her with an exasperated sigh. “Right. Alert me when the patient wakes up. We’re going to need the police to take a statement after the CT results.”
Without waiting for Dana’s reply, he stalked in the direction of North 5. Maybe he should know better than to beat a dead horse. You weren’t going to be okay with passing on the case. After three hours with the patient, he would assume not. Yet, he incorrectly thought that if he acted civilly, he might change the outcome.
He slowed down as he approached the North 5 room. The curtain had been pulled closed, appropriately to provide you privacy after the dramatic show in the middle of the ER. Glancing around once, he prepared to announce his presence, his curled fist lifting to the door, until he heard voices.
“No one will think less of you if you drop the case. You were beaten and almost choked to death, for crying out loud.”
Caleb sounded almost infuriated. The man abandoned his patience, and it sounded like a different person to Robby. Even when Robby tested the waters, making comments, passing jokes, and warranting worry, Caleb never faltered.
“I told myself that too once, but I can’t risk dropping from another program.”
Robby furrowed his brows. He knew eavesdropping on a conversation between two psychiatrists was ironically improper, but now he was hooked. He stepped back to obscure the shadow on the curtain, hiding his presence a bit longer.
“The two are hardly comparable.” The exasperation in Caleb’s voice was evident through his sigh.
“Aren’t they?” Your dry, bitter laugh was oddly familiar to Robby. He was starting to feel the same way about this department. “First, this fucking disease, and now this patient? What more do I have to give up until I can just be a good fucking doctor?”
“Nothing else.” Caleb sighed, and Robby held his breath as the silence settled between you two. “No one is kicking you out of this program, but you can’t tire yourself out with this job either.”
“Caleb, you’ve got a minute?” Robby spontaneously asked, feigning no knowledge of the conversation the two were having in there.
He heard you mumble something, probably egging him to leave with Robby. After a beat, the curtain pulled back, and Robby caught a glimpse of you. Hands covered your face as you lay back on the gurney; you didn’t bother to lift your head and acknowledge him.
Caleb let the curtain drop, containing you back to the room. Robby stepped aside as Caleb passed the threshold. He motioned to Robby off to the side, putting distance between the two attendings to talk. “What did you need, Michael?”
Robby peculiarly watched Caleb’s expression. The lingering remnants of the heavy conversation settled in Caleb’s eyes as he looked into an abyss. You had an effect on people, Robby thought.
“We need to reassign the case to another psychiatrist,” Robby stated, more as a demand than a suggestion. “The sooner we finish that up and get the report to the police, the better for everyone.”
Caleb nodded with little indifference to Robby’s authoritative stance. Robby casually slipped into the break room, walking over to the coffee pot. Caleb positioned himself by the doorway, leaving the entrance open.
“I agree.” Caleb folded his hands in his lap, he glanced down at his watch. “I’ll debrief later about the patient. I’m sure we have enough.”
Caleb saw Robby nod in silent agreement, hands busy pouring himself coffee in a mug. He fiddled around with sugar packets, the rustling of the packaging clear to Caleb. He bowed his head, inhaling softly. “So, how much of our conversation did you overhear?”
Robby hummed, nonchalantly shaking his head. His nervous smile definitely gave him away when he turned back to look at Caleb. The knowing smirk on his face told him so much. “I’m going to assume you heard enough to have more questions about my fellow.”
Leaning back against the counter, Robby nursed the mug in one hand. He stared expectantly at Caleb. He certainly didn’t owe him anything about you; but if you two were bound to work together for the next year of your fellowship, he should know pertinent information.
Caleb shrugged his head over to the table, inviting Robby to take the moment to listen. Without argument, Robby silently slumped into the plastic chair, mug on the table. Caleb slotted his wheelchair in a space. “Psychiatry wasn’t her first choice. Better yet, a choice at all.”
“She used to be a surgical resident in California.” Caleb laughed earnestly, “I’ve been having a hard time shaking that icy demeanor.”
That must have been a drastic change, Robby assumed. Surgery provided an exhilaration that boosted their egos. He could see a hint of that attitude left, considering how the two of you met. If what he heard was correlated with what Caleb said now, there was something complex with your case. Dropping out of a residency program to join another drastically different program didn’t seem rational.
“How come she’s not a surgeon?”
Caleb paused, and Robby thought he instantly regretted speaking of the topic. It was somewhat invasive of Robby to ask your supervisor why you were different. He should’ve stopped it before it got too far. The coy smile told him the opposite: “You should ask her that.”
Robby bowed his head, laughing to himself. Of course, it was a ploy. Some way to get him hooked enough to push him in your direction. “Well played, Dr. Jefferson.”
With shameless pride, Caleb shrugged his shoulder, feigning humility. When Robby lifted his head, he took a hasty sip of his coffee. “Does this have anything to do with you trying to get us to bond?”
“I think you'll have a much different lens on her if you do try to get to know her,” Caleb suggested, almost certain that his attempts and theories would work. He was occasionally hopeful in his line of work, which sometimes was dangerous. But these weren't his patients; these were his colleagues. Something told him now was the right moment to be optimistic. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll like the person behind the curtain.”
“If you ask me, it sounds like you’re playing matchmaker.” Robby joked, a small nervous chuckle following.
Pushing him to get to know you as physicians working in the same environment was one thing. Caleb didn’t appeal to Robby as the type to be a wingman for either party. Besides, there would need to be a lot of work done for either party to remotely agree to those terms.
Caleb shook his head, a joyous laugh echoing in the breakroom. “No. I just think there’s a lot for me to learn about her as well. But what I do know is she is more human than you make her out to be.”
Before Robby can formulate a response, sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floors outside the breakroom. Robby turned his head towards the door, finding Whitaker stopping at the threshold. Robby sat up straighter. “Did you need anything?”
Whitaker nodded, eyeing Dr. Jefferson, who only offered a polite smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Don't worry, we were just finishing up.” Caleb shook his head, hands on the wheels of his chair. He teetered back and forth, looking at Robby. “Promise me you’ll think about what I said?”
Robby gave him a curt nod, sighing as he stood from the chair. Satisfied, Caleb excused himself, wheeling out of the room as Whitaker stepped aside. Bracing himself to finish the shift with the little strength he had, he followed behind Whitaker as he debriefed him. Passing by the north rooms, particularly the one you were occupying, he couldn't help but look in.
The curtain was still pulled closed, providing little view of how you were doing, but Robby imagined this was the biggest inconvenience. His head continued to play the conversation between him and Caleb. A former surgical resident, dedicating herself to Psychiatry, enough so to agree to a fellowship in an emergency room setting.
It did intrigue him. Enough so, he might note Caleb’s observance.
It wasn’t news to anyone that the ED staff loved to decompress with alcohol and camaraderie. With winter rolling in with lower temperatures at night, they traded in the outdoor park benches for an indoor, rugged bar. The lights were severely dimmed compared to the fluorescence of the hospital. The antiseptics sticking to their clothes were succumbing to the stench of beer and fried food.
The group that decided to stop by after their shift collectively sat around a booth. Their laughs may have been the loudest in the establishment, tucked away in a corner, but no one made any complaints.
Robby felt the weight of the shift leaving his shoulders. It was rare nowadays that he didn’t take the baggage of his job back home. Lying under the covers, staring at some rerun playing on T.V. had become his way of forgetting. He was trying to convince himself that it was working.
While in the presence of his staff off-duty, he leaned back in the padded bench, listening to Santos and Javadi lead the conversation. It ranged from reality television to the weird patients they had that day. While Princess was talking about the third patient with a foreign object found inside them, Robby heard the wind come in from the front door.
Sitting at the corner of the booth, he noticed a patron come in, hugging a black wool coat. You had made your way over to the bar, slumping into a stool. The bartender came up to you, taking your order, and when he left, you exhaled the deepest sigh.
From the side profile, he could see you wince as you removed your coat. You were internally intact after the CT. No concussions or breaks in your nose or cheekbone. Simple fractures and soreness that would have to heal on their own. It didn’t mean the exciting shift didn’t leave you wiped.
He wasn’t able to check in with you during handoff since he didn’t see you leave. Once Dr. Jefferson finished the evaluation for you, resulting in the detainee transferring to a state psychiatric hospital, you had disappeared since then. Mohan had been the one to clear you, and when he came around North 5 for the last time, the bed was empty and cleaned.
Robby didn’t realize he had been staring until Donnie called out his name. Focusing back on the group, they all stared at him, expectantly waiting for a reply. He hummed, raised eyebrows, before his eyes turned back to you.
Most of the group in a position to look in the direction of the bar craned their necks. Their advantage gave them a view of your back, but it was like they all shared the knowing feeling.
“Do you think that was her first time?” Javadi asked, readjusting in her seat beside Whitaker and Perlah.
“Something tells me this isn’t her first rodeo,” Whitaker mumbled beside Javadi, eyeing you carefully.
You were nursing some dark liquor, taking careful sips while scrolling on your phone. Robby gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Despite the occasional shifting in your seat, you seemed perfectly fine as you could be. The bartender had given you a look when he noticed the bruise, and a few others around the bar had done double takes.
Robby wasn’t sure what his intention was when he excused himself from the group, wandering to the empty seat at the bar beside you. When you turned your head at the sound of the glass bottle hitting the wooden counter, he re-imagined his approach.
He said your professional title politely, while he sat down carefully. His pace allowed a moment for you to object or ask him to leave; yet, when he looked up from the ground, he saw the hint of a smirk. A name came out of your mouth, which wasn’t your surname. He stopped, curiously looking at you.
“I don’t like being called by my professional title outside of work.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink.
Robby chuckled, letting the name sit comfortably in his tongue. It rolled out with a smoothness he didn’t expect. Baby steps. “Maybe you should call me what everyone else calls me. ‘Robinavitch’ is a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?”
You shrugged, turning halfway to face him. Your knees brush his, and he couldn’t help the reflex to flinch away. “I don’t like to get too comfortable with colleagues.”
“You seem not to like a lot of things.” Robby pointed out, resting his arms on the bar. The reverb of his chuckle extended to his arms, which jumped with him.
“I have a system,” Your eyes darted around the bar methodically, while thinking to yourself. “I don’t like straying away from that.”
“And that means not making any friends?” Robby dragged out his words. While his head was slightly bowed, he looked up at you through his eyelashes.
Your shirt was different, some grey cable-knit sweater. Surely you had changed after the last blouse was ruined with your blood. Apart from the bruising around your eye, you were still as cleanly maintained as usual. Maybe it was the lighting that hid the dark undereyes they all had from work exhaustion and lack of sleep; but he found it hard to notice a fault in your appearance.
He wouldn’t say he was a lightweight—far from it, actually. After an hour of hanging around at the bar and sipping on beer, he didn’t feel as uptight when he left the PTMC, that was certain. You had looked down at him, the same hooded eyes that had reminded him how to do his job properly when you first met. Even when he felt there could be a turning of a new leaf, you were strict in your program of self-development.
“I prefer to see it as prioritizing the patient’s needs first. I shouldn’t have to make friends to do that properly,” You deadpanned. This hadn’t been the first time you explained yourself, and Robby wandered back to the conversation he had with Caleb.
Your defensive and offensive style of communicating did resemble the type of banter he and Garcia had, except you pushed further than you pulled. A former surgical resident must have been an offensive strike on your record. Especially if the reason was humiliating enough for you to want to hide it.
“There have to be some exceptions.” Robby probed, leaning back into the chair, “How about Shem? I’ve heard you two are pretty friendly.”
The blank expression on your face gave him little notion of what to think. You weren’t visibly taken back from the question, but you didn’t think he had noticed enough to ask. Your eyes then narrowed; more displeased, he had voiced the observation as if there was something more to it.
Lying on the side of your head on a curled fist, you stared at Robby. “I met Shen when he was in med school at UCSF. He did a few rotations while I was a resident.”
“In psychiatry?” Robby followed up easily, now facing you. One elbow propped on the back of the chair, while the other rested on the counter.
You furrowed your brows, eyes hardening to something like a glare. You were skeptical. Robby wasn’t exactly discreet with his line of questioning, and his expectant body language gave away exactly what he was asking for.
“Did Caleb tell you?”
Your voice sounded strained, and one could’ve assumed it was from the exhaustion. What Robby saw as he examined your face was displeasure. Maybe you were angry with Caleb for sharing your information or Robby for faking pleasantries to dig into your life. Regardless, your tense muscles told him he was entering territory you had marked away as ‘dangerous.’
“He may have mentioned that psychiatry wasn’t your plan A.” Robby’s voice softened, and he almost sensed your disgust from the change of tone. He should've known that you hated pity or anything remotely sympathetic.
The way you reacted when he and Dana were attempting to examine you made it clear. You were protecting yourself, the way an injured animal may act defensively in the presence of something more intimidating. Robby understood the instinct.
You dryly chuckled, shaking your head. Apart from that, you crossed your arms. When Robby noticed the grinding of your jaw, he had prepared to excuse himself from the conversation. The tension was palpable, and the stakes were too high to bet. Caleb failed once more on changing Robby’s mind, and he should’ve heeded his own words before tempting fate.
“I was a surgical resident.” You calmly spoke, and Robby felt a shiver from the shift. You had managed to relax the contorted muscles in your shoulder, slumping in the seat once more. “After my third year, I withdrew and joined Psychiatry.”
Robby, who was stunned silent, nodded aimlessly. He offered a tight-lipped smile, “Caleb didn’t mention anything more than that.”
The slow nod brought Robby an odd relief. He finally figured it wouldn’t be the brightest idea to push his luck. Your shaky sigh released the icy resolve you had before this moment. Your eyes shifted quicker, and your foot had started thumping up and down. “It’s not exactly his place to.”
When you turned your face away, the discoloration looked brighter under the overhead lamp. He was forced to look into your glassy eyes. “He seems to think we are more alike than we think.”
“So he thinks we can be friends? He is a sucker for lost causes.” You stated, reaching for your coat hanging on the back of your chair.
Robby's mouth fell agape. Lost causes? His patience was withering, and that might’ve been the last straw. He wanted to give Caleb the benefit of the doubt. He was actively finding reasons to change his point of view about his life, his work, and his relationships. He didn’t need to get along with you, nor did he want it, but he attempted to desire it.
Lost causes, right?
“So, that’s it?” Robby said with disdain. He noticed the same disinterest in your face from the time you two spoke in front of the elevator. His reflection from that moment came up in his mind, and he wondered why he bothered with all of it in the first place.
You didn’t bother to look up as you pulled your wallet out of your coat. Slipping cash out of one of the pockets, you drop it on the counter. A twenty. “What more do you want, Dr. Robinavitch?”
Chugging down the rest of your drink, you stepped down from the stool, shrugging on your coat. “You’ve made it pretty clear to me and my superior of your indifference towards me. How can we ever be friends after that?”
“Well, I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“Except, you think you aren’t.” You quickly retorted, giving him a sideways glance while you fixed your coat. You eventually shoved your hands into your pockets, “I don’t mind that whatsoever, but I don’t need you to befriend me to make up for it.”
Despite preparing yourself to leave, you were rooted in your position. He didnt know what you wanted, and he was left with no cards to play with. Pretending to be nice didnt work, nor did actually showing a sincere interest in getting to know you. With the jarring agitation, he was comfortable in believing you were the lost cause. Maybe the universe was fated to make the professional relationship challenging for as long as you were at the PTMC.
“You may think no one notices your devolving behavior, but you’re not doing as good a job as you think you are at hiding it.”
Robby’s body stiffened. You barely flinched from how stone-cold his face became. Chin raised, and eyes narrowed on him, you were sniffing him out like a dog. He had tried to gracefully push you to open up, even if it meant disclosing he had some insider information. The impression he got was that you made sure to puncture the wound with your words, leaving no confusion.
“You’re not my fucking shrink,” Robby warned, shaking his head as he stood from the bar. In any other scenario, it would be alarming to see a tall man like him go toe-to-toe with a woman at a bar. Especially one already sporting a bruise.
“And we’re not friends.” You retorted back, head cocking to one side. “Remember that.”
You took a measured step back, letting yourself breathe away from Robby’s frustrations against you. “I’ll let Dr. Jefferson believe that, though–to get off both our backs. But, there’s nothing more you and I need to be doing outside of treating patients.”
Turning away, Robby was forced to stare at your back, once again awarding you the rights of having the last words. It was like every time he was ready to take steps forward, he was pushed back several hundred feet. You were certainly making it impossible for him to make some sort of personal development, if that was in the cards for him at his age.
Time was escaping him, and his hope of turning things around was diminishing with it as well. Caleb had him believing there was a chance to fix something in both of you by mending the tense atmosphere that lived with you both in the same room.
Robby didn’t need a shrink to fix his problems, and he didn’t need to waste his time fixing whatever was wrong with you, too. So, he’d agree to work in whatever conditions you’d want to live in. So long as you didn’t pretend to know what was wrong with him, and he wouldn’t naively assume anyone could be friends with you.
Summary: Cassie McKay recognizes your voice long before she recognizes your face, and once she does? It’s all over for her. You’re just along for the ride.
CW: fluff, mutual pining, workplace romance, canon-compliant medical event descriptions, takes place before S1 so no Pittlings, Cassie’s ankle monitor is mentioned but we’re ignoring its use, addiction very briefly mentioned, confident!reader, flustered!Cassie, reader is so down bad for Cassie, smut, service top!reader, bottom!Cassie, cunnilingus and fingering (c!receiving), strap sex (c!receiving), strap referred to as a cock a couple of times, aftercare.
WC: 11.6k
A/N: Breaking my hiatus to bring you this Cassie McKay fic. Huge thanks to @rozmrazaradelfinow for the request and for being insanely patient and gracious about waiting for it. I don’t know very much about medics or emergency services so my assumption that flight medics can be EMTs who are cross-trained might be wrong. This fic also reminded me that I can’t spell “restaurant” to save my life and I rely heavily on autocorrect.
For anyone interested, I wrote the entire smut sequence listening to Do It For Me by Rosenfeld and Apartment by BOBI ANDONOV over and over.
For some reason, Tumblr refuses to allow me to add a screenshot of the request, so it’s based on this request:
“Hi!
Your fics are amazing, especially the Mel ones. I would like to please request any lady from The Pitt (but specifically Cassie McKay if that's okay with you) with a paramedic! reader or where reader is one of those chopper medics (don't really know what they're called). But basically the reader is new and sees Cassie (or any other lady) and starts to seek them out any chance they get.
From there - whatever you want. Could include smut if you feel like it (with reader being a top if that's alright)
Thanks!”
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Cassie McKay learned a long time ago that voices matter more than faces.
Faces blur for a multitude of reasons: behind masks, with time, behind shields, they change with exhaustion and lighting and haircuts and weight loss, with grief and with sleep deprivation. Faces lie and change under the weight of so many different things.
Not voices.
A voice will come stripped of everything except the truth: lie about smoking for twenty years? Your voice will tell on you. You can hear urgency, confidence, fear, things a good poker face can hide but a voice cannot.
A voice can become familiar long before you ever meet the person attached to it. Some you would recognize anywhere, and some live in your head long after they’re gone for good.
The bay doors slide open before the wheels of the ambulance have even fully stopped.
“GSW, left chest,” you’re calling as the stretcher pushes into the emergency room. “Twenty-eight year old male, found conscious but deteriorated en route.”
Hands reach towards you, or probably towards the patient or the stretcher, you aren’t really sure which. But someone grabs the gurney frame and someone else is attaching monitor leads, so maybe it’s both. The lights in the ER are too bright in your eyes after the lower lighting of the rig, and they bleach everything white in a way that hurts to look at.
“Single penetrating wound, I couldn’t find an exit. Breath sounds diminished on the left. We needle-decompressed at the five-minute mark. There was brief improvement, then his pressure started tanking again.”
The receiving team falls into formation around the stretcher as your partner guides it into place.
A man with silver at his temples meets you at the head of the bed, already gloved. You know him, Dr. Robby, you’ve seen him a hundred times, though never without the visor of your helmet before. He looks more weary under the harsh light.
“BP?”
“Eighty systolic, last manual. Heart rate is one-forty and climbing.”
“Fluids?”
“Two large-bore IV’s, a liter of saline in. We started blood ten minutes out.”
Dr. Robby nods his head in approval. “Good call.”
That’s when you notice her.
She’s stepping in on the patient’s left side, hair pulled back into a ponytail though her bangs fall into her face. She’s younger than Dr. Robby, but she doesn’t look nervous at all, she looks focused. Her hands are steady as she takes up the trauma shears. You recognize her, not only physically, but by the feeling in your chest and the heat in your cheeks that always accompanies her arrival.
You know her too: Dr. McKay.
She’s already looking at you when you notice her, but it’s quick, her eyes drop back down to the patient the moment you catch her staring.
You assume she’s evaluating your report, or maybe she needs more information, so you add: “Patient was GCS fourteen on pickup, dropped to twelve about seven minutes ago. He’s still protecting his airway but tiring. We held off on intubation to keep scene time down.”
You look at her expectantly to find her looking at you, again.
She isn’t saying anything, and now that the patient’s clothes are cut off, she isn’t really moving anymore, either. She’s just looking at you with a strange expression, almost confused. You stand there, waiting to see if she needs clarification.
But it’s Dr. Robby who fills the silence. “Prep for a chest tube.”
The sound of her Attending’s voice seems to snap her back into focus. “Breath sounds diminished,” she reports, turning to the instrument tray beside her.
You step in with them as they transfer the patient to the hospital bed, automatically shifting to the position that keeps the lines untangled. You’ve done this dance too many times to count.
Dr. McKay reaches for an IV line at the exact same moment you adjust the pump and your hands touch. She seems to startle, but it’s not dramatic, just a tiny jerk of her hands back toward her body.
It’s weird. She’s usually more steady than that.
Dr. Robby is already gloving up. “Pressure?”
“Seventy-eight,” someone - the Charge Nurse, you can never remember her name, you don’t work with her enough - announces. “…and dropping.”
“More blood, let’s go.”
Dr. McKay’s focus is clear now, hesitation and weird disposition about you both gone. She anticipates Dr. Robby’s demands before he voices them, from the scalpel he asks for down to suction ready.
This is the Dr. McKay you’re familiar with.
You ease up, giving them space to work while staying close enough to answer any more questions they might have. It isn’t often you have the leisure of following a patient through more than dropping them off at the ED, especially when you’re working on the CCT. You’re ready to jump back in if you’re needed.
“Anything else from the field?” Dr. Robby asks without looking at you.
You run through your mental checklist. “Negative, Dr. Robby.”
He nods, and your handoff is officially complete.
From the other side of the table, Dr. McKay looks up again, her eyes settling on you. There’s nothing soft about the way she’s looking at you, she doesn’t even look relaxed; very un-Mckay, compared to the way she’s treated you in the past. She looks like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
You give her a small smile, as reassuring as you can make it without flushing under the weight of her gaze, and she blinks, as if thrown off.
“Doctor?” Nurse Dana prompts gently as she passes McKay an instrument.
Dr. McKay looks down like she’s forgotten what she was doing, and then resumes with renewed focus.
Okay…that’s new.
You strip off your gloves, chucking them into the biohazard bin.
“Good hands,” you say quietly as you take another step back. It’s not a compliment so much as professional acknowledgement, you’ve said versions of it to her (and every other doctor in this Emergency Room) before. Usually through a visor or over rotor wash, sometimes already halfway back to the aircraft.
Her head snaps up like you’ve said something shocking.
You’re already turned toward the doors. Behind you, your partner is resetting the stretcher, the sound of metal clanking following you. The trauma bay swallows the sound as the doors close behind you.
You take a single glance back and find Dr. McKay outright staring now. She’s looking at you, her eyebrows drawn together with confusion, eyes narrowed like she’s looking at some sort of stran–
Oh.
It dawns on you.
Oh, that’s rich.
◆ ───────── ◆ ───────── ◆
Cassie is having a weird day.
It started before she even opened her eyes, with an alarm she slept through on accident. By the time she woke and found her phone to shut off the second - or was it the third? - alarm, she felt like she missed something important.
Which she did, because she overslept.
There was no time to shower, which would have been fine because she took one last night, except that her hair was still damp from that one. She’d twisted it into a knot on top of her head that never fully dried while she slept.
And when she finally raced down the hall, Harrison was sitting on the edge of his bed, awake but somehow not dressed, staring into space.
His backpack was missing. His homework was only half-finished the night before. He didn’t want the granola bar she practically threw at him, but when he (begrudgingly) ate it, crumbs rolled down his shirt, sticking as they go. When she finally got him to the bus, her coffee had already gone cold on the kitchen counter, but she was too far behind to drink it at that point anyway.
Traffic was worse than usual, and by the time she pulled up to the hospital, she had a headache and she hadn’t had a second to breathe.
Weird day.
Dana had called her out the moment she walked through the door with a loud, “You’re late.”
And just when she’d finally been settling into her routine in the hospital, finally feeling like she was back on track, her ankle monitor went off. It’s not bad enough that they watch her everywhere she goes, but the shrill alarm caused heads to turn and conversations to stop.
Later, after the chest tube is in and the blood is hanging and surgery has taken the GSW patient up to the surgical floor, Cassie finds herself standing in the aftermath with her hands finally clean and a moment to rack her brain.
She knows she knows you.
She’s worked with you before, your voice is familiar to her, she just can’t figure out why. Robby had greeted you, and you’d used his name. You seemed comfortable enough in the ER, you knew where you were going as you came in, you’ve obviously been here before.
And then there was “good hands.”
She’s heard that before, she’s definitely heard that before.
Cassie stands near the nurse’s station, watching where you’d disappeared out into the ambulance bay.
“Who was that?” she asks, turning toward Dana.
Dana pauses what she’s currently doing, throwing her a confused look. “Who was who?”
“That medic,” Cassie says impatiently. “The one who brought him in, I haven’t seen her before.”
Across the station, Collins also stops what she’s doing except for her head turning in Cassie’s direction. Langdon, who’d been lingering, tries to hide his laugh behind a cough and his hand.
“What?” Cassie asks, looking around.
“Are you serious?” Collins asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
Langdon turns away, pressing a fist to his mouth, silently laughing hard enough that his shoulders are shaking.
“Frank,” Cassie snaps, “if you laugh -”
“I’m not -” he chokes. “I’m not laughing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“It’s just -” He lets out a hard breath, running a hand over his face. “Wow.”
Cassie looks between Langdon and Collins, and Dana, who’s still staring her down with eyebrows raised.
Dana’s arms cross slowly. “You’re telling me you have no idea who that was?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking!”
“I had no idea you were so oblivious, Cassie,” Collins says casually, but with a small smirk. “You can’t even tell when people are flirting with you.”
Cassie blinks in surprise. “What? No she wasn’t.”
There’s a shared look among the three.
“Maybe not this time,” Langdon says with a roll of his eyes.
“She wasn’t.”
“Baby,” Dana says with a scoff, “that woman has been making eyes at you for months.”
“That is not true.” Cassie stares at her incredulously. “I’ve never even seen her before.”
Langdon fully loses it, turning away to hide his laughter.
“It is true,” Heather insists. “Honestly impressive considering she had to do it through a visor.”
Cassie’s brain stalls out. The lights are on but nobody’s home, even as she racks her brain. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she says slowly. “I would’ve noticed someone looking at me.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Clearly not.”
Dana and Heather exchange a look.
Cassie sighs, frustrated. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“That,” she says, gesturing wildly with her hands. “That thing where you know something and you’re not telling me.”
Langdon is fully here just for the hilarity of it all, existing only to laugh at her dismay.
She whips around to look at him warningly. “Frank.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, very much not sorry at all. “It’s just…you’re usually so observant.”
“I am observant.”
“Mhm.”
“I am!”
“Cassie,” Heather says, leaning back against the counter as she folds her arms across her chest, “you’ve never noticed the paramedic who’s been staring at you like she forgets how to act every time she rolls in?”
Cassie opens her mouth to argue and then promptly shuts it. Because no, of course she hasn’t, she’s certain you’ve never brought a patient in before. She has to know you from somewhere else, you’re not even -
“She’s not one of ours,” Cassie voices the thought out loud. “She’s county, I saw the rig, it says Allegheny County Emergency Services. I would remember if someone external was -”
“Flirting with you?” Langdon offers when she cuts herself off.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But it’s true.”
Dana cuts in before Cassie can argue with him again, using the tone typically reserved for her own children when she’s guiding them toward an answer. “Robby trusts her.”
That gets Cassie to switch her focus off Frank. “What?”
“He didn’t ask a single follow-up question during that handoff,” Dana says. “Not one. When does he ever do that?”
Cassie frowns, missing her point. “When the report is good?”
Dana nods, making a sound of confirmation. “And when he knows the person giving it.”
Replaying the scene in her mind, Cassie tries to focus. The way you moved, the way you spoke, the way you said -
“Good hands.”
That causes her pause.
She hears Collins speak distantly. “There it is.”
She knows those words.
“I’ve heard that before,” Cassie says slowly. “Why have I heard that before?”
Dana has an all-knowing smirk on her face as she tilts her head at Cassie. “You’ll figure it out.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
Cassie groans, exasperated. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
In an infuriating way that’s definitely meant to piss her off, Dana just smiles. “Because I’m gonna enjoy it more this way.”
Across the counter, Langdon mutters, “This is the best day ever.”
Cassie ignores him, snatching the patient clipboard from Dana’s hands.
She’s furious. Recognition has taken root in her mind, but it’s just out of reach, like she’s barely grasping at it with the tips of her fingers. She’s angry at herself, she knows she knows you. She even looks back toward the doors to the bay like she’s willing you to walk back in.
You don’t, of course, because you’re probably on your way back to your dispatch station, or out on another call already.
◆ ───────── ◆ ───────── ◆
It’s two whole days before she sees you again.
It’s ridiculous that she knows that, really, she’s aware of it. She’s worked back-to-back shifts, managing full patient loads both days, she’s discharged more people than she can remember, and still…you linger in her mind.
It’s not constant, there’s no way she could do her job if she couldn’t think properly. But you’re there, especially in the quiet moments. She can’t sleep, because when she closes her eyes, there you are. But never all of you. It’s mostly your voice, and your eyes. You’re bright, and focused, and younger than she expected, somehow.
This is stupid.
She doesn’t fixate on people like this. But she can’t get the way you look at her out of her mind. She knows that Heather and Dana are right, she can see your eyes looking at her the way they’ve described, but again, it’s ridiculous because she can’t even remember where she’s seen you before.
It’s been a weird two days.
“Dr. McKay!”
Cassie looks up.
Robby is already halfway across the ER, calling back to her as he goes. “There’s an incoming trauma, MVC, two minutes out,” he says. “I need you to help unload, then you can get back to your patients, you’re maxed out right now.”
“You got it,” she says, following him. She snaps on gloves, yanks a gown from where they hang. “You ever going to take a day off?” she asks, throwing a look back at the coffee cup Robby left on the counter at his workstation.
He snorts. “Bold coming from you.”
“I took one,” Cassie protests as he helps her tie the gown around her back.
“When?”
“…recently.”
“Uh-huh.”
The doors to the ambulance bay slide open and they’re greeted with the cool air that comes with late fall in Pittsburgh. They’re shielded from the light rain that falls from grey clouds overhead by the roof over the bay.
“You look like shit,” she adds, though it’s good-natured.
“Thank you,” Robby throws back. “That’s actually very grounding.”
Cassie chuckles, adjusting her gloves under the sleeves of the gown. “Just saying.”
They take their usual positions near the doors, waiting for the sirens they can hear in the distance to arrive.
Robby glances sideways at her. “Harrison good?”
She flexes her fingers, though the tightness of her jaw is noticeable. “Yeah. He’s good.”
“You seen him?”
“A couple of days ago,” Cassie nods. “Before my shift.”
Robby nods along. “…and Chloe?” he carefully prods. He’s pushing it.
Her tongue prods the inside of her cheek. “Still exists.”
“That bad, huh?”
“She filed another complaint last week,” Cassie says. “Nothing came of it.”
His mouth flattens into a line. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
That’s his cue not to push any further.
Breaking the tension, Langdon’s voice carries through the doors. “If this patient dies because you two are bonding over personal stuff, I’m not filling out the paperwork.”
Cassie doesn’t turn to look at him. “You don’t fill out paperwork anyway.”
“I delegate to my interns.”
“You avoid responsibility.”
“Same thing.”
Robby chuckles and shakes his head. The R3 and R2 are known to bicker constantly - scratch that, Frank tends to bicker with everyone he sees, Cassie is just no exception.
An engine roars through the conversation as the ambulance turns into the bay, breaks squealing a little as it comes to a harsh halt in front of them. The words Allegheny County Medical Services are printed in bold letters across the side.
Cassie’s stomach flips.
The back doors of the ambulance fly open and you jump down from the back of the rig, reaching for the stretcher before the doors have fully cleared.
“On my count,” you’re saying, breathless with urgency. “One, two -”
The stretcher yanks out fast as your partner joins from the front of the rig. The second the wheels hit the ground, you’re climbing. You grab the side rail and plant one foot on the lower bar, hauling your body up to align yourself over the patient in a motion that’s so smooth it’s almost like gravity doesn’t apply to you. Your shoulders stack over your hands, your elbows lock, and you begin to push.
Cassie is watching you do something she’s seen literally everyone else around her do at some point or another, something she herself has done a thousand times. Compressions. But holy shit, for some reason when you do it, it’s hot.
“Get out of the way!” you demand loudly, not even looking up at her.
She’s so entranced by you that she doesn’t even realize she’s standing in the way of the stretcher.
“Move!” your partner yells, nearly shoving the stretcher into her.
Cassie shakes her head as she snaps back into motion, grabbing the side to help guide the stretcher. Robby is at the head, Langdon at the other side, and your partner takes the other end to pull.
“Status?” Robby asks.
“Cardiac arrest, likely secondary to blunt trauma,” your partner answers him. “She lost a pulse two minutes out.”
“Do I have an airway?”
“Supraglottic in place,” you confirm from atop the stretcher.
The doors slide open to let you into the ER, and you distinctly hear one of the doctors yelling “Clear!”
Dr. McKay shoves one of the doors to a trauma room open, keeping it in place as the stretcher rolls into the bay. You don’t stop your compressions.
“Switch on my count,” you say, glancing up at Dr. Robby as he takes stance across from you. Your eyes slide over everyone, making sure they’re all in place, and they finally land on her. Where they stay. “One, two, three. Switch!”
You step back just long enough to help with the transfer, and then Robby has taken over compressions on the table.
“Run me through it,” Robby says, his eyes still on the patient but his ears on you.
You nod. “High-speed MVC, this is our driver,” you start. “Found unresponsive on the scene with agonal respirations. Lost both pulses shortly after extraction.”
Cassie pauses with lines still in her hands as you present. The familiarity of your voice, even just the cadence of the way you speak, she knows it, she knows you, if she could just place it.
“CPR ongoing from the lose of pulse, total downtime approximately six minutes prior to arrival.”
“Obvious injuries?”
“Chest trauma,” you confirm. “Steering wheel deformity with severe bruising.”
You step out of the way to give Dr. Collins room without needing to be told as she enters the trauma room. She doesn’t even look up when she takes your place at the side, like she trusts you to be where you’re supposed to.
Like she knows you.
Cassie is going to scream.
You glance up at her again, and hold her gaze when you catch her already looking at you. Then there’s the tiniest lift of one corner of your mouth. Smirking, you’re smirking. Somehow, you know, you know she can’t figure out who you are, and Cassie is horrified at the realization that you seem to think it’s funny.
“Got it,” Robby nods at the end of your presentation. And then he adds an afterthought: “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you without the flight helmet.”
Cassie freezes.
Flight helmet.
The words settle in her brain slowly and take too long to register as understanding dawns on her. The first thing that comes to her is the sound of rotor wash, hearing your voice through the noise without ever seeing you clearly. Your voice is familiar because she has heard it so many times before, but never without the sound of helicopter blades accompanying it. And then there’s your eyes, the only other part of you that’s familiar to her, because you’re always wearing a full-face helmet with your visor down and your voice filtering through comms. She remembers a single moment when you lifted your visor just enough during a handoff, just barely high enough that she could catch your eyes before you turned back toward the patient and finished offloading. And then the final nail in the coffin, the one that settles in place like the very last piece of a million piece puzzle:
“Good hands.”
Not once, but every time you offloaded a patient on the roof. The same words in the same tone, said at the same point during every single handoff you ever did. Words of trust that the Emergency Department would take care of the patient that belonged to you long before they got their hands on them.
And Cassie understands that she had not been meeting you for the first time two days ago. She has been recognizing you in pieces for months without ever having the full picture.
“Oh,” she says out loud, though it’s quiet and nobody pays it any attention.
But when she turns her head, she finds you already looking at her, that same smile on your face, though she can see certainty on your face now and has no doubt you’ve just watched her realization in real-time. Cassie can’t help the heat in her cheeks, and she’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or shame. Maybe it’s both.
When the trauma bay finally begins to settle into a more controlled version of an emergency, when the worst has passed and the patient begins to stabilize, everyone seems to sigh in relief at the same time.
“Alright,” Robby says finally as he steps back from the table. “I think Dr. Langdon and I have this. Doctors Collins and McKay, you’re both dismissed, thank you for your assistance, go reset.”
Cassie doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s already leaving the room, desperate to get away from her own embarrassment.
Your partner and yourself step out of the trauma bay a moment later, stretching your shoulders and trying to rid them of the stiffness that always comes with compressions lasting more than two minutes.
Your partner is already walking back toward the rig, checking his phone. “Meet you back in the truck?” he calls over his shoulder with a knowing look past you.
“Yeah,” you confirm without even looking at him.
Cassie doesn’t even see you approaching her in the central ED. You slow when you catch up and do your best not to surprise her. “Hey.”
She jumps and turns quickly, which proves to be a mistake because she’s now looking at you directly and suddenly remembering things she doesn’t want to be remembering quite this vividly. Like your voice and your face, in her head, in the bay. Even worse, in her bed, every time she tries to close her eyes.
“Hi.” She almost chokes on the word.
You tilt your head and your lips curve up into a smile. “I wanted to apologize,” you say. “For earlier. You know, in the bay.”
Cassie blinks, obviously confused.
“I…yelled at you?”
Oh yeah. Right.
She clears her throat. “No, um…I was in your way. Sorry for that.”
She hopes that’s the end of it. But it isn’t, of course not. You’re still staring at her, looking amused at the way she seems to struggle with words.
Cassie shifts her weight on her feet almost absently. It’s kind of cute. “I um…also didn’t realize it was you.”
There it is, out in the open. She immediately regrets it.
Your eyebrows lift and your smirk widens. You didn’t expect her to actually say it out loud.
She can feel the tips of her ears turning red. “I mean,” she says quickly, “you were wearing the helmet. And the - everything -”
“The everything?” you repeat, amused.
Mocking her, you’re making fun of her and Cassie is horrified. She shuts her eyes tight for just a moment before opening them, hopefully with some composure this time. “You know what I mean.”
You laugh then, and it’s genuine and filled with warmth, all traces of your former smirk gone. “I do,” you say. “And I find it kind of flattering.”
“Flattering,” Cassie deadpans.
“You didn’t recognize me,” you say, completely unbothered with that giant grin on your face as you look her in the eye. “And now you’re embarrassed about it. It’s kinda cute.”
Cassie’s mind grinds to a halt at that. “I’m not -” she starts defensively.
Your smile just widens. It’s like you’ve decided for her that she’s not actually mad about any of this. “I’m not judging you, promise. I think it’s funny.”
“You think it’s funny,” she repeats, her face falling and her eyebrows furrowing.
“I sure do,” you say. “I’ve been making eye contact with you through my visor for months. I’m kind of offended it took you this long to look at me too.”
Cassie sputters for a moment. “I - you…you think I’m looking at you?”
Leaning in, your voice drops to spare both of you from the prying ears you know are everywhere in this hospital. “I know you’re looking at me.”
You stare her down, and to Cassie’s credit, she holds your gaze without backing down. Then she lets out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s not a no,” you shrug.
She laughs again, and this time it doesn’t sound upset in the slightest. She shakes her head, and when she looks back at you again, she’s not flustered in the defensive way anymore. She’s flustered in the interested way.
There’s a little pause where neither of you speak, and the silence makes you very aware of your partner waiting for you back in the rig.
“Give me your phone.” You hold your hand out toward her expectantly.
This time, Cassie doesn’t hesitate. “Bold.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling when she pulls it out of her back pocket and hands it to you, unlocked.
You take it, typing your number in quickly and adding yourself as a contact to her phone before handing it back to her. On the screen, just above your number where your name should be, sits The Cute Paramedic.
“Are you always this confident?” she asks, looking up from the phone to your face.
“Only when I know what I want,” you say, turning toward the sliding doors.
“See you around, flight crew,” Cassie says, testing out the sound.
You spare her one last look over your shoulder. “I hope so.”
She watches you go with her phone still in her hand. She looks far more pleased than embarrassed now.
Behind her, Dana’s voice rings out. “Well that was quite a show.”
She turns and Dana is standing there with her arms crossed and a smug smile on her face.
Cassie puffs out her cheeks, turning back toward the doors where she can still see you as you climb back into your ambulance. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Dana replies defensively.
◆ ───────── ◆ ───────── ◆
Cassie McKay is not going to text you.
Not in general, just not that same day. She can’t. That’s desperate. And she will not look desperate, even if she is.
She gets home and immediately changes out of her scrubs before making dinner. She answers texts that actually matter, like the one she got from Harrison on her drive home. He’s just gotten his first phone and is already using way too many emojis in every single text.
She’s tired. It’s been a long day, it was a long shift at work. She’s not thinking about anything in particular. Especially not you.
She does other things instead. She takes a shower, turns on a documentary she doesn’t pay a lick of attention to, she absentmindedly scrolls through TikTok on her phone.
But at some point she can’t hold herself back any longer and she opens her messages. There’s your contact, The Cute Paramedic, even though she knows your name. She types up a message, something neutral even though her thoughts are anything but, and then deletes it. She should play it cool, Cassie wants to be cool.
so do you always flirt with doctors or am I special?
She sends it before she can overthink it. She immediately locks her phone like that’ll spare her from having to think about it. Which it doesn’t, of course. But it helps.
After that night, it stops being coincidence every time she sees you in the ER.
You texted her back right away, almost as if you were waiting next to your phone for her (which, let’s be honest, you were). You were just as flirty over text as you were in person, and Cassie is immensely grateful that you weren’t there in person to witness just how red she can turn. In her defense, she’s pathetically out of practice with flirting.
She learns that you’d requested less time with the CCT because flight hours were unpredictable, and even though you earned more money as a flight medic, your desire for a healthier work-life balance demanded the more favorable EMT schedules.
You appear more in the ER as weeks pass by. You’re at the hospital more often than coincidence would reasonably explain, though neither of you directly acknowledge it. Like saying MacBeth in a theatre, if you say it out loud, something will inevitably happen and you’ll be called away.
When you’re there, Cassie seeks you out without doing it on purpose. She drifts towards the central ED, spending more time there than she usually does, just hoping you’ll walk through the doors. Sometimes during a trauma intake, she’ll hear you before she sees you; sometimes she catches sight of you near the nurse’s station, talking to Dana or gossiping with Princess.
When you notice her, you never hesitate or pretend not to. You’re already beelining to her half the time she spots you. And when she sees you first, she does the same without even meaning to.
It entertains everyone you both work with. The gossip train has left the station and Cassie is pretty sure there’s a secret betting board on the two of you underneath all the papers in Ahmed’s office.
The day you finally make a move is the day a patient assaults you.
Cassie arrives late to the trauma.
She was caught up with a talkative elderly patient and missed Robby calling for her. It wasn’t until Dana popped her head into the patient bay and told her she was needed that she was able to make her getaway.
When Cassie enters the trauma room, it feels uncomfortably charged. It’s not loud in the way it usually is when a patient is combative, but it feels tense. That kind of post-incident silence where everyone is still ready for a fight.
On the bed, the patient is restrained and sedated, his chest rising and falling evenly underneath monitoring leads.
Dr. Robby is at the foot of the bed giving instructions to nursing staff. “His vitals are stable now, but keep him monitored at all time.”
Cassie grabs a pair of gloves from the wall, snapping them on her hands. She’s ready to ask if she’s even still needed here when she sees you.
You’re sitting flat on the floor behind the head of the patient’s bed with your back against the wall and one hand braced on your propped-up knee. Your left eyebrow is split open, blood leaking down onto your eyelid. But aside from the obvious injury, you don’t look like someone who’s hurt, but rather just annoyed.
Dr. Collins is crouched in front of you. “Hold still,” she says, holding gauze to the cut. “Unless you want me to make it worse.”
“I’d prefer you don’t,” you reply curtly.
Cassie pauses just inside the room, realizing she’s missed more than just a patient intake.
Robby glances up and notices her. “You’re late,” he says simply.
Cassie takes a deep breath. “I was with a patient.”
“We’ve got it handled,” he cuts in, already dismissing her.
Dr. Collins nods toward you. “She decided to test a combative patient’s right hook.”
“I didn’t decide anything,” you argue. “It happened very fast.”
“That’s what they all say,” Collins replies with a roll of her eyes, but there’s no bite to it and you can tell she’s just giving you shit.
Robby sighs. “She needs a workup.”
“I do not need a workup.”
“Hospital policy,” he says, raising his hands in self-defense. “It’s a head injury, even if it’s minor. A split eyebrow counts.”
Heather looks up at Cassie. “Why don’t you take her?” There’s something to the tone of her voice and the look on her face as she says it, something that even gives Robby pause, and Cassie throws her a warning look.
Cassie nudges your foot with her shoe. “C’mon, I’ll get you a chart started.”
“The paperwork is gonna fucking suck,” you grumble as you stagger to your feet. You’re a little wobbly and Cassie immediately moves to steady you, her hands hovering at your arms.
She leads you out of the trauma bay and to a chair in an open bay. “What happened?” she asks as you take a seat.
You look up at her from the chair. “He came in drunk and combative,” you say. “He got worse during the transfer and I got in the way of a swing. He grabbed for a nurse first.”
Cassie moves closer to you, professional instinct taking over as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm. She does a quick visual, checking your pupils and taking your other vitals.
“Are you always this reckless?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“I try not to make it a habit.”
She finishes her assessment quickly, and you’re relieved when you hear your eyebrow won’t need stitches. It’s as she’s bandaging the cut that you speak again.
“Would this be a bad time to ask you to go to dinner with me?”
You can feel her fingertips pause at your forehead. Her eyes trail slowly down the short distance from your eyebrow to your eyes. “…are you seriously hitting on me right now?”
You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Cassie chuckles, shaking her head. “You just got punched in the face.”
“You seem like you like the rugged type.”
She stares at you with narrowed eyes, like she’s trying to figure out if you’re messing with her. “This is not normal behavior,” she says slowly. “You know that, right?”
“Does that mean no?” you ask innocently.
◆ ───────── ◆ ───────── ◆
As it turns out, that does not mean no.
You and Cassie don’t go out to dinner that night. Or the next, or the one after that.
That first night is professional. Cassie insists on finishing your workup properly, and while your “injury” (if you could even call it that) is minor, she makes it very clear that it’s non-negotiable. Something something something “not rewarding reckless behavior with immediate gratification.”
You don’t argue. You could, but you don’t. Because she’s not rejecting you, she’s just postponing.
After that first day, it becomes about logistics. Your schedules don’t line up, her shifts run long, your calls run long. You pass each other in the Emergency Department, not bothering to hide the eyes you’re both now throwing at each other very publicly.
You talk when you can. You text even more.
It’s just enough that when a night finally opens up, a shared gap in your schedules that isn’t filled with personal lives, it happens.
And when it does happen a little more than a week later, you plan for it obsessively.
This is the first time Cassie is going to see you outside of the contexts that she already knows: you’re not in a flight suit, not in an ambulance, not with blood on your clothes or your hands or your face.
You take your time getting ready. You change your clothes no less than four times, trying on everything in the mirror in your tiny, one-bedroom apartment, doing multiple 360’s to make sure whatever you choose looks good from every possible angle.
You even make a reservation at the restaurant. She left it up to you, so you chose somewhere cozy that’s quiet enough to talk, but not quiet enough to leave room for awkward silence. A high-rise restaurant in an expensive part of town that leaves no question about whether or not you think she’s worth it.
When Cassie arrives, she says it almost immediately like she needs to get it out of the way before it’s said under pressure: “I don’t drink.”
Your face scrunches up with a small smile, like you don’t understand why she felt the need to say it. Or why she looks so anxious saying it. “Okay.”
“You can, though. I don’t mind if you do.”
There are lots of different reasons people don’t drink. Bad experiences, sobriety from other substances, medical conditions. And you know she has an ankle monitor, so you do your best not to make assumptions. It’s not exactly uncommon, and you suspect she’s had bad experiences, either with peer pressure or people thinking it’s weird.
You consider her offer for a moment and then shake your head. “I’m good,” you say.
She’s silent while she looks at you with narrowed eyes like she’s trying to figure out if your response was automatic or intentional.
It was intentional, but you don’t tell her that.
There’s only a brief glance at the reservation list when you give the hostess your name before she leads you to your designated table.
You let Cassie follow first, oblivious to the shiver that runs up her spine when your hand ghosts over her lower back as you let her pass in front of you. You follow close behind, weaving through the restaurant until you reach a booth that’s only available upon special request (and an even more special credit card).
Tucked away in the back to give the illusion of privacy, it sits in the corner next to the windows. The city is spread out 30 stories beneath you, looking down out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the skyline of soft golds and moving headlights in the dark.
“Here you are.”
You thank her, sliding into the booth across from Cassie.
As the hostess leaves you alone, you take a moment to really look at your date. This is the first time you’ve seen her in something other than scrubs, too, and you’re relieved as you realize that probably isn’t a one-sided worry. But Cassie seems to be looking anywhere but you; her eyes are traveling around the low-lighted restaurant, over the bar, over the other patrons, over the skyline. And she looks…almost worried?
“…this is nice,” she finally says quietly.
Your face falls. “Is it too much?”
She shakes her head quickly like she’s worried she’s offended you. “No, not at all, it’s just -” She takes a deep breath and then leans in over the table. “I’ve never actually been somewhere like this,” she admits. “Like…ever.”
You can’t tell if it’s embarrassment in her tone or if it’s just awareness. Of a space like this, if she’s feeling some type of way about being in a high-end restaurant, if she feels like she doesn’t quite fit.
You don’t make it a thing, instead choosing to nod along. “Okay.” You’re careful about keeping surprise out of your voice.
“I feel a little underdressed,” she adds with an awkward little laugh.
You don’t hesitate. “You look beautiful,” you say.
She looks from the table back up to you, like she’s looking for any exaggeration or dishonesty, but there isn’t any to find.
“You’re -” she starts, then she stops. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
You shrug, reaching for your glass of water. “I know what I want.”
Cassie’s lips press together in a vain attempt to conceal a smile.
The server approaches your table and it eases the moment.
You’ve barely had a second to look at the menu, but you don’t mind. “I’ll have a mocktail.” There’s a small pause before you add, “I’m driving.”
The server nods and turns to Cassie.
“I’ll do the same,” she says.
The server nods and disappears back toward the rest of the restaurant.
Minutes pass while you both look at the menu in silence before you flip yours closed, mind made up.
Drinks arrive and the conversation keeps moving. It starts light with work stories, the kind you only tell to people who can actually understand. Which, admittedly, has not been any of the dates you’ve been on in the last few years. It’s nice, being able to relate to someone for once. But it doesn’t stay light banter for long. Cassie talks about Harrison, and though it’s not the first time you’ve heard about her son, it is the first time she tells you anything of substance. She talks about med school, about how hard of a transition it was after getting clean (which she pauses after mentioning to see if and how you’ll react - you keep your face neutral, putting the puzzle pieces of her response to alcohol together).
She’s not the only one who talks. You talk about your family, your lackluster dates prior to meeting her. You talk about how you got into the CCT, about how you’d been training for your Solo Pilots License before the process stalled out due to complications with your medical clearance.
Cassie doesn’t push, just like you didn’t push with her addiction.
Because this isn’t about learning every last bit about each other tonight. That would be a little too heavy for a first date. No, this is about how familiar the feeling is, sitting across from someone who understands what it feels like to be looked at through the lense of risk before being seen as anything else.
Dinner winds down and the conversation dwindles. When the check arrives, Cassie reaches for it but you’re quick to snatch the booklet, card in hand before she can argue. You’ve already angled the check and card back toward the passing server as subtly as you can manage, handing it off efficiently.
When you escort her down the elevator and outside the restaurant, the air is cold and you linger as Cassie calls her uber. Her ride is close, only two minutes away.
You’re standing close together, partially for warmth but mostly because the vibes have been just right. She’s watching you almost expectantly, like she knows what you’re thinking but isn’t willing to make the first move. And just when you think you see her uber rounding the corner ahead, you cross your fingers that you haven’t read the situation wrong as you reach for her.
Your hand comes up to her face, angling her toward you the way you’ve been thinking about all night as she sat across from you, guiding her lips to yours. She’s warm and soft and her arms wrap around your body, holding you close as her mouth moves against yours. There’s a second where you pull apart and scan her face for any sign of regret. When you don’t find any, you lean in to kiss her again.
The second kiss is more desperate, her fingers gripping the back of your shirt like she doesn’t want to let you go. She tilts her head to fit better against you and your mouth opens for her tongue to slide inside.
When you break away from her a second time, you’re still lingering, wanting more. And it doesn’t take a genius to see that she does too.
“Cancel your ride.”
The words don’t sound like a demand when you say them. It instead sounds like you’re trying very hard not to plead them, and you’re not doing a very good job.
“Let me take you home.”
The uber idles at the curb behind her, patient in a way that you are not.
Cassie isn’t dumb, you’re not just offering to drive her home. She knows what you’re really asking. But you’re giving her both an exit and an invitation. She nods, pulling her phone out and hitting the black Cancel button, and you both watch as the car pulls away from the sidewalk and disappears into traffic.
The decision is made to go to your apartment instead of hers. She doesn’t work tomorrow and neither do you; and privately, she isn’t ready to let someone new into the home she shares with her son every other weekend. The drive back to your apartment is both fast and quiet. She sits in the passenger’s seat of your car with the seat warmers on, her knees drawn up and her body angled toward you, and though you keep your eyes on the road, you can feel hers on you the entire way.
By the time you’ve parked and you reach your front door, your restraint is frayed. You’re fumbling with your keys because Cassie’s lips on the back of your neck feel too good and you feel like you’re melting. But when you get it open, you nearly fall through the doorway, pulling Cassie with you.
She kicks the door shut hard behind her and is reaching for you again in an instant, pulling you against her and kissing you with almost bruising force. Your arms wrap around her shoulders and you sigh against her mouth, content to follow her lead for now.
You do pull away from her long enough to mumble a quick “not here” against her mouth, pulling her toward your bedroom.
Cassie follows, her hand in yours as you guide her down the short hall, and only then does something dawn on her.
“Hey, um,” she falters a bit in her step and you stop to look at her. The lack of confidence that’s suddenly graced her voice gives you pause, and you wonder for a moment if she’s changed her mind. But instead she says, “I haven’t done this in a while.”
“A while?” you repeat. You’re unsure what this means for her, or for you, if she wants to continue or if you should stop.
“I haven’t been with anyone since my ex-husband,” Cassie admits.
That has you worried. You knew Cassie had an ex-husband, she has a kid, this isn’t a surprise to you. But to be a first after someone she’s bound to for the rest of her life? Tough act to follow.
“D-d’you want to stop?”
“Oh god, no,” Cassie laughs nervously, pressing a hand to her chest. “I just…don’t want you to be disappointed. In me.”
Disappointed in her? The thought is so ridiculous that you have to prevent yourself from laughing. Laughing right now would be disastrous, even if you don’t mean it that way. She’s shy, maybe even a little insecure. She doesn’t need humor, she needs you to lead.
So instead, you use your hand, which is still wrapped around hers, to pull her close until she’s flush against you. She stumbles and nearly falls against you, trapping you between her body and the wall next to your door.
“How could I be disappointed?” you mumble, hands finding her waist. Your fingers dig into her sides, her back, her ass, anything you can reach from this angle. “Have you seen yourself?”
Your lips find hers again and you blindly push open your bedroom door, pulling her inside with you.
You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed about your unmade bed, mostly not having planned for the evening to end up this way. You definitely didn’t think Cassie would be seeing your messy comforter haphazardly tossed sideways and a little rumpled like you’d jumped out of bed without worrying about it. Because you had.
But Cassie doesn’t seem to mind, if the groan that’s torn from her throat as you tug at her hair is any indication. Her head tilts back with the pull and your lips trail down her throat. You shove at the hem of the pretty blouse she’d worn to dinner until she takes pity on you and pulls it over her head, mussing her hair as it goes.
Your own shirt follows suit, and then your bra, as you chuck both haphazardly somewhere in the vicinity of your laundry basket.
She seems just as eager, already kicking her pants down her legs, revealing to you her matching underwear. The full curve of her breasts straining against the fabric, waistband of her panties tight against soft skin. Black lace, the kind that’s not meant to be worn all day. Or be comfortable at all.
Oh. She was prepared for this too.
You waste no time reaching for Cassie, your hands begging to feel the lace on your skin; and you indulge, dragging her to you by the hips. You pull her in for another desperate kiss, wasting no time running your tongue along her lips, moaning when she opens up for you.
Backing up toward your bed, Cassie follows, desperate to not lose the feeling of your mouth against hers. Your hands run along her figure, dancing lazily over the lace cups of her bra.
When your fingers ghost over her nipples, hardened beneath the fabric, you let out a groan of your own. “Wore this just for me?” you mumble against her lips.
“I didn’t want to assume,” she chuckles back.
You turn the two of you around so that Cassie’s knees hit the bed and she stumbles for a moment, having to sit to avoid falling. She reaches for you, her knees parting to make space for you to stand, and her hands trail up your bare sides. She leans in, capturing your left nipple and tugging it into her mouth, tongue laving expertly over the bud and you arch into her, your hand wrapping around the back of her head. She kneads your other tit in the palm of her hand, and your imagination runs wild with the thought of her touching herself the same way.
Physically shaking your head of the thought, you gently push her away, down onto the mattress, and she comes off your breast with a soft pop. But she lets you guide her down. You climb over her, a knee between her thighs to steady yourself.
She looks almost surprised as you lean down to kiss her again, and you’d imagine that someone like her - both a doctor and a parent - is used to always being in charge, either because she wants to or has to.
You focus on the task at hand, unclasping her bra, before trying to gather words to address her shock. Thankfully it clasps in the front, and you’re quick to twist and unhook the clasp between her breasts, allowing her to shrug free of the straps.
“Wanna have you tonight,” you breathe against her skin as you start to trail kisses down her neck and over her collarbones. “Been thinkin’ about it forever, please let me just have you.”
You hear her gasp just as you latch onto a nipple, at the exact same moment her hips wiggle looking for some sort of friction, and her center finds your thigh. She’s soaked through those little black lace panties, immediately smearing her arousal onto your pants, so wet you can feel it spa through to your skin. She shudders against you and it’s exhilarating, having this woman you’ve pined after for so long practically begging for you.
Her hands fumble at the waistband of your pants and you huff a laugh out through your nose, taking pity and helping her shove them down and off, along with your underwear. You break from her chest and kiss her once, swiftly, before kneeling on the floor in front of her and hooking your fingers into the sides of her panties.
Your eyes flick up to her face. Her eyes are half-lidded as she looks down at you, her breath just the tiniest bit labored, pupils dilated with lust.
Everything about Cassie McKay is enticing. And it isn’t just the way she looks. Her drive and resilience, the compassion that seems to flow from her without end. This feeling bubbling inside you is more than just liking her, it’s more than just want. You want her wrapped around you, to sink your teeth into the softness of her flesh, to hear her screaming your name. You want to lead her.
She lifts her hips in permission and you slide the lace off of her. Her pussy is exposed and slick, evidence of what you felt earlier now staring you in the face. She’s dripping with want, want for you, and you can’t indulge fast enough.
Your face buries between her thighs so fast it makes her head spin. You drag your tongue in a broad stripe from her soaked entrance up to her clit, sealing your lips around the swollen nub. Cassie cries out, her hands darting to your head, fisting your hair like she thinks you’ll disappear if she doesn’t.
“Fuck, baby,” she whines, and you peer up to find her head tilted to the side, eyes screwed shut in concentration. “Just like that, don’t stop, please don’t stop -”
You won’t, you swear you won’t. Your arms wrap underneath her thighs and around to her hips, holding her tight against your face as your tongue moves between her clit and her hole, lapping up her essence like it’s nectar from the gods. Your own eyes are practically rolling to the back of your head, and if you were any louder, Cassie would be able to hear the quiet whimpers coming from your throat.
She’s close. You can feel it as your tongue spears inside of her, the way she clenches and the way she’s writhing above you, the way her thighs are unconsciously tightening around your head. She’s letting out a slew of curses above you and her hips roll against your face, unsatisfied to just receive, trying to take. You’re desperate for it, you need her to cum against your face, to see what she looks like when she lets go completely. Your competent and beautiful doctor, composure lost to you, and only you.
You need to be inside her.
One arm releases her hips and she whines above you at the loss of the grounding feeling. But the whine ends in a choked sound when your fingers prod at her entrance, sliding inside her and immediately curling up into the spongey spot inside of her.
“Ngh!”
Oh, you need that sound again. It’s made of desperation, torn from her vocal cords in a way that’s uncontrolled. You devour her like your life depends on it, your tongue circling her clit fast while your fingers curl, barely moving in and out of her at all.
“Fuck yes, just like that, don’t you dare stop.”
Then she’s cumming hard against your face, riding your fingers as her orgasm peaks. You fuck her through, drinking up her arousal like you’ll never get enough. Sweat is dripping down her forehead as she comes down from her high.
You pull away from her core, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You move to leave the bed, but her hand darts out, catching you by the wrist and pulling you back to her. She pulls your lips to her own harshly, still panting into your mouth as she tastes herself on your tongue.
You smirk against her mouth. “Greedy,” you chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ve got more for you.” Pulling away again, you don’t go far, reaching for the drawer of your nightstand.
Cassie sits up on her elbows to watch as you pull out a sleek black box, popping the edges of the plastic wrapping on it.
“Is that new?”
You pause the opening of the box, turning to look at her. “I don’t re-use sex toys,” you say simply, even though it feels like you’re breaking the moment. “Not with different partners.”
The medical professional in both of you appreciates it.
You slide the toy out of the box, purple silicone gleaming in your hand, and pull the harness out of your drawer next. It slides over your legs with familiarity, your confidence shooting through the roof when you look up to find Cassie watching your every move with wide eyes. The strap slides into place, hanging heavy between your legs. You pick up the bottle of lube, smirking more to yourself than her before holding it up for her to see.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing this, do you?”
Her eyes narrow and you swear you see the faintest blush on her cheeks, even in the dim light of the room. You toss the bottle back into the drawer and nudge it shut with your thigh.
Returning to the bed, you find Cassie with her arm thrown over her eyes, hair disheveled and frizzy from where it’s rubbed against your comforter. You pull her arm from her face, pinning it to the bed beside her head.
“Don’t hide from me,” you hiss, leaning close to her ear. You settle between her legs, rubbing the strap between her folds until you’re satisfied with the schlick sound it makes. “You hear that?”
Your name escapes her lips via whine in response as she lifts her hips to meet yours, nudging the tip of the dildo against her clit. Her hands latch onto the bulge of your arms where they hold you above her, blunt nails digging in hard enough to scratch.
“Please.”
It’s quiet. So quiet you barely hear it, maybe you’ve imagined it. You would think you imagined it if it wasn’t for the tightening of her hands on your arms, a frustrated little pull at them to move you where she wants you. Cassie’s legs widen, demanding you to fill the space, to fill her.
“Please?” you echo, trying to contain the smirk that threatens your face.
Her brow furrows and she huffs, unamused.
Your hips fit between her thighs perfectly, the tip of the strap notching at her entrance. You pause and open your mouth to ask for permission, but before you can get a word out, her legs wrap around your waist and pull, trying to force you in.
“Okay, okay,” you soothe, appeasing her as you finally slide inside.
The resistance backs up her earlier claim: she hasn’t been with anyone since her ex-husband. She’s tight around your cock, her walls protesting the intrusion as you’re slow to push in, not wanting to hurt her. She gasps, mouth open and expression slack. She’s so full, she can feel every ridge and vein of the silicone as your hips meet hers, the tip nudging her cervix.
You stop there, letting her acclimate to the fullness. She’s panting when you lean down to kiss her again, tilting your head to slot your mouths together. Her breath is hot against your skin, eyes still screwed shut in either concentration or satisfaction, you aren’t really sure which and aren’t willing to push it. You’ll wait as long as she needs.
When Cassie’s brow relaxes and she opens her eyes to look up at you, you don’t need her to say it. Move. You’re slow to pull out, and slow to push back in, silently watching for any signs of discomfort. She seems to be watching you in return, the intensity of her eyes on you almost too much to bear, like you’re on top but she’s still somehow in charge. You’d bend over backwards for this, for her.
She sighs against your mouth, her hold on your arms relaxing. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
Cassie’s pleasure is quiet, it requires your focus and observation, searching her face and body for telltale signs: the stuttering sighs, the tightening of her abdominal muscles, the parting of her lips and occasional words when you nudge her g-spot just right. Yours, however, is not. You whine when you bottom out and the base of the dildo rubs against your clit, moan when you catch sight of the way her cunt grips you every time you pull out, and when you angle her hips upward and lean over her to bury your face against her neck -
“Holy shit, oh my god!” you whimper into her shoulder, grinding both the tip into her g-spot and your clit against the silicone simultaneously. The overwhelming fire building in your belly brings heat to your face and tears threaten to fall from your eyes.
A chuckle sounds out from underneath you, and you lift your head enough to look Cassie in the eyes. Cassie, who looks way too composed, like she’s not the one getting fucked right now. “You’re a mess, baby,” she murmurs, wiping sweat from your temples.
You’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the way you’re holding her body against yours, the plushness of her thighs around your hips as you thrust into her at a steady pace, your strap pressed so deep inside of her. “You feel so good,” you moan, rolling your hips faster. “Taking me so good.”
And Cassie isn’t unaffected, you can tell by the way her fingertips dig into your back, nails leaving little crescent marks, not long enough to break the skin but enough that you can feel them. And it feels good, the littlest bit of pain mixed with the pleasure as you focus on driving both of you to the edge. Your arms wrap underneath and around her shoulderblades, using the leverage to fuck her harder.
You need to cum, you need to cum, but you desperately need her to cum first. And your prayers are answered when she speaks next, the sound a choked-out groan.
“Don’t stop ~!”
“Never wanna stop,” you whine in response. You slide a hand between your bodies, lifting away from her just enough to get your fingers on her clit, drawing a low moan from her. “Wanted you for so long.”
Your lips press against her jaw and she tilts her head, eyes closing again. “Want-fuck!-wanted you too.”
You press harder on her clit, circling heavily around it. “Only since you saw my face,” you whisper against her cheek. Your hips piston into her harder and she cries out, clenching around your strap, your pace turning brutal. “Wanted you from the moment I first saw you.”
She doesn’t respond, or maybe she just can’t, not with the way you’re fucking into her with a desperation that she can taste. But you can’t seem to stop babbling, the words flowing from you shamelessly.
“You feel so fucking good.”
“So tight around my cock.”
“Wish you could see yourself, Cass, you’re so hot.”
But you’re gone when she starts talking back. She’s so close to the edge when she lifts her hips to meet your thrusts, forcing you into the perfect angle to ram that spongey spot inside of her, huffing words back at you. “Oh my god, baby, faster, please, faster.”
You can’t help but oblige, the slap of skin on skin sounding downright sinful, watching her breasts bounce in time with your thrusts, your hips fast and rough and your fingers on her clit making her brain go fuzzy with the pleasure.
You can feel it before she says anything: the way her body tightens under you and the hitch in her breath. Like she’s right there. And you slow.
Cassie groans beneath you, rolling her hips to try and pull you back into that same rhythm. “Don’t - don’t stop, please -”
You lean in close again, steady as you whisper, “I’ve got you,” and then you’re giving it back to her all at once, pace picking back up.
Sweet moans fill the room, both yours and Cassie’s, as you push both of you towards the edge. Your breath is hot and heavy on her shoulder as you try to stave off your own orgasm, you won’t cum, not until she -
“Fuck, I’m cumming!”
Swear to god you can feel her tighten around your strap as she cums, her eyes shut and head thrown back against the pillows, you’ve never seen a prettier sight in your life. You fuck her through it, pace never relenting even as she grabs your wrist to stop your fingers at her clit. You continue to drive into her, overstimulating her as the strap shoves into her g-spot repeatedly, and her pitch jumps up an octave with the sensation.
“Just -” you pant heavily, grinding your own clit into the silicone, desperate for your own release, “just wait a second, baby, I’m - fuck, I’m almost there -”
Cassie’s voice is calm through the deep breaths as she responds, “Take what you need.”
“Fuck!” You’re practically humping the blunt end of the strap, you wish you’d had the sense of mind to add a bumpher or buy something double-ended, but maybe another time. You grind against the flat surface, digging your own nails into the fat of Cassie’s hips as you finally, finally, feel your own orgasm wash over you. You rut into her through the waves of pleasure, stilling as the aftershocks subside, before collapsing beside her on the bed.
The bedroom is quiet in the aftermath. You drape yourself over Cassie, pressing your forehead into her arm just below her shoulder. There’s sweat cooling on your skin and the air smells like sex and skin. It’s not subtle, but neither of you care.
“Are you…are you okay?” you manage to breathe out.
Cassie lets out a little hum. “I’m really good,” she says with a small smile.
You push up onto your elbows to press a lingering kiss to her mouth and she meets you easily, her hands taking place on either side of your jaw as she tilts her head to deepen it, her tongue sliding into your mouth.
Groaning, you separate from her, standing up off the bed to shove the harness down off your hips. “I’ll be right back,” you mumble, heading for the master bath.
You return a minute later with a washcloth, warm and damp, and climb back over her. Cassie parts her legs for you, and you’re gentle about cleaning her.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
You smile down at her as you chuck the washcloth over your head toward your laundry hamper. “It’s part of the deal.”
Settling back against her on the bed, Cassie turns toward you and hooks a leg between your own and an arm over your waist as you both settle deeper into the mattress.
◆ ───────── ◆ ───────── ◆
The elevator doors burst open before the ding has even sounded.
“Clear, let’s go!”
You’re already in motion, heavy boots hitting tile hard as the stretcher rolls forward. Your partner is at the foot, Dr. Robby is on one side and Nurse Kim on the other, all of you moving as a single unit. The patient is strapped down tight, oxygen mask tight in place on her face, the iron smell of blood trailing behind you as you rush the central ED.
Now that you’re out of the sound of rotor wash, you begin filling the receiving team in.
“Single vehicle rollover down into a ravine,” you call, voice muffled behind your helmet. “Prolonged extraction, found unresponsive, intubated in the field -”
Heads turn in your direction. They always do.
The ER parts for the flight team like it knows better than to get in your way, because it does. Eyes track the movement of the team, non-urgent cases stopping to stare at the weight the flight team always carries. CCT means emergency in the way most things in the Emergency Room do not.
And across the floor, Cassie recognizes you.
She knows it’s you instantly now, no question in her mind even beneath your visor and helmet. It’s not just your voice anymore, it’s you.
“BP’s holding for now, but she’s circling,” you continue. “Possible internal bleed, her abdomen’s rigid.”
The team rolls into Trauma 1, Robbie counting for the transfer. It’s smooth, you’ve all done it a thousand times.
You step back as the room fills around the patient, no longer your patient as other hands take over.
You don’t hang around, you rarely do when you’re in full gear. Your gloves come off, snapping free and nearly ripping as you strip them from your hands and toss them cleanly into the bin by the door.
“Good hands,” you call back as you exit the trauma room.
Cassie hasn’t moved from the workstation she was at, her eyes lingering on the doorway you’ve just come out of. They follow you as you and your partner step back into the elevator with the stretcher, and even though she can’t see your eyes beneath your visor, she can feel you looking back at her. She doesn’t need to see your face to be able to tell.
Langdon bumps her shoulder lightly as he saddles up next to her, grinning like he’s been waiting for this. “There’s your girl,” he says jokingly.
Cassie doesn’t look away right away, keeping her eyes on you until the elevator doors shut and she doesn’t have a choice anymore. But even as she watches the elevator doors long after you’re gone, she smiles.
❥ No case in BAU history had ever felt as complex or baffling as the one Morgan suddenly overheard developing behind the closed doors of the conference room. Now, finding out what is happening inside between Reid and you —and, more importantly, figuring out how much money the team is about to lose in the betting pool—becomes a matter of national security.
❥ fluff, workplace romance
A blessed silence filled the BAU bullpen—the kind that only happens after a grueling case is finally closed. Half the team had already retreated to their offices to tackle the mountains of paperwork, while Derek Morgan, lazily swirling a coffee mug in his hand, headed toward the conference room to grab his tablet.
He already had his hand on the doorknob when a soft, ragged gasp drifted through the half-drawn blinds.
"Oh god, Spence, be gentle, that’s a sensitive spot!"
The voice was undeniably yours, a breathless, strained whisper with a distinct edge of tension.
"I'm...I`m trying!" Reid’s panicked falsetto rang out. His own breathing sounded quick and uneven, as if he’d just run a marathon. "But if you don't stop squirming, I'm only going to make it worse. Please, just relax."
"How am I supposed to relax when your hands are shaking so badly? You’re the genius, find the right angle."
"The angle has nothing to do with this! Statistically speaking, pain tolerance decreases when—"
"Not now, Spence! If anyone walks in here because Dr. Reid can’t find the right position, I am replacing all your coffee with decaf!"
Morgan pressed his palm to his face, feeling his professional profiler brain wage war with his inner loyal friend. His imagination, unprompted, immediately conjured up pictures completely inappropriate for the FBI headquarters.
At that moment, soft footsteps approached from behind. Emily stepped off the elevator, looking at Morgan with a mix of amusement and skepticism as he practically glued his ear to the conference room door.
"Derek? What are you doing?"
Morgan whipped around, slamming a finger against his lips, and urgently gestured for her to come over. Intrigued, Prentiss stepped closer.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of tearing fabric echoed from inside, followed by your highly expressive, drawn-out groan.
"Oh my god, not so hard, you’re going to rip my shirt! That hurts like hell!"
Something clattered to the floor, and the table creaked loudly, as if someone had heavily leaned their weight against it. Then, Reid let out a heavy sigh and started rambling nervously.
"Okay, okay, I get it. Take off your jacket. Now hold on to me. Like this..."
Emily’s eyes widened to an almost comical size. In a matter of seconds, she went from the shocked “Oh my god, they’re finally doing it!” stage to the sudden realization of “Oh my god, they’re doing it on Hotch’s table!”.
Morgan and Prentiss leaned into the door in perfect synchronization, so utterly consumed by trying to reconstruct the scene inside that they completely missed the significant cough behind them.
"May I ask, ladies and gentlemen, whose profile you are currently analyzing through a keyhole?"
Rossi stood a few paces away, holding a cup of espresso. But before he could even form a guess, Prentiss grabbed the sleeve of his expensive jacket and pulled him into the huddle.
"Spence, wait, you’re squeezing too tight." Your voice broke, followed by a wet sniffle. "Your hands are freezing! Take it out!"
"If we stop right now, it’ll be unhygienic and counterproductive," Reid replied stubbornly. "Please, just trust me. I know what I'm doing."
Rossi froze. A whole spectrum of emotions flashed across his face—from sheer shock to a deep, paternal satisfaction, which he immediately masked with his signature nonchalance.
"Wow," he murmured softly. "And here I thought we’d have to wait until next Christmas for this."
"What’s going on?" Penelope practically sprinted up to the group, her sparkly pen in hand, the moment she caught wind of their frantic whispering. "You guys look like you just caught the Replicator."
"Worse, baby girl," Morgan whispered, nodding toward the door. "Looks like our genius finally moved from theory to practice."
"Oh my goodness!" Garcia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She almost shrieked, but Morgan clamped his hand over her lips just in time.
Within a minute, the door had gathered a full-blown strategy meeting. JJ appeared around the corner with a case file, only to be yanked into the pile by Morgan. And as the final touch, Hotch stepped out of his office. Seeing half of his elite unit huddled outside the conference room with dead-serious expressions, he frowned and walked over with heavy, commanding strides.
"What is this unauthorized gathering about?" Hotchner eyed the team suspiciously.
Morgan silently pointed to the crack in the door. From inside came a final, overwhelmingly loud cry.
"Yes! Yes, Spence... oh god, finally."
Hotch didn’t hesitate. With the face of a man ready to storm a terrorist bunker, he decisively threw his shoulder into the door and stepped inside. Behind him, holding their breath, the rest of the team clustered together, expecting to witness the most scandalous and long-awaited sight in FBI history.
But reality proved to be much more literal.
You were sitting on the edge of the conference table, your blouse unbuttoned at the top and draped loosely over one shoulder. Spencer was stepped deep between your knees, his torso pressed flush against yours to get a closer look.
One of his thighs was wedged snugly between yours for balance, pinning you lightly against the table. His hands were braced firmly on your bare collarbone and shoulder, while you were clinging to the lapels of his jacket like a lifeline, your fingers wrinkling the fabric.
Surrounding the two of you were rolls of gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and medical tape. Reid looked completely disheveled, mostly because you had been tugging at his clothes while he tried to treat a nasty gash on your shoulder.
Reid blinked in utter confusion at the frozen team in the doorway. He opened his mouth, likely to spout some scientific justification for administering first aid, but you cut him off.
"What’s the matter, guys? Judging by your faces, you were expecting at least a ritual sacrifice."
You shifted your bandaged shoulder and defiantly tilted your chin up, even though your cheeks flushed a faint pink.
Morgan recovered first, letting out a booming laugh as he slid down the wall. Rossi just shook his head, while Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose.
"False alarm, Reid’s still a saint," Emily smirked, gently nudging a giggling JJ and a deeply disappointed Penelope back out the door.
----------------
When the door clicked shut, leaving only the two of you in the room, Reid slowly turned his head back to you, his cheeks flaring a bright, furious crimson.
"They... they thought we were..." he stammered, his brain finally processing the double entendres of your conversation. His voice dropping an octave. "Mathematically speaking, the probability of them misinterpreting a basic wound treatment shouldn't have been that high, considering they are trained profilers."
You couldn't help but chuckle, wincing slightly as you pulled your blouse back up. "Spence, we were screaming about 'angles,' and 'fingers,' Honestly, I'm just glad Hotch didn't tackle you to the ground."
Reid looked down at the medical tape in his hands, a shy, surprisingly soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well... for the record," he murmured, looking up at you through his eyelashes, "if I were to ever... do that... I wouldn't need a statistical breakdown to find the right angle."
summary: soonami studios forces you and keys mckey into a shared apartment as a temporary housing arrangement. at first, it’s just surviving each other — the arguments, the competition, the constant tension of being around someone who gets under your skin too easily. but the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to ignore how naturally your lives start folding into each other. and once someone becomes part of your everyday life, losing them starts feeling a lot more dangerous.
warnings: slow burn, forced proximity, enemy coworkers/roommates, workplace rivalry, arguments, profanity, smoking, mutual pining, jealousy, emotional conflict, domestic tension, suggestive touching, smut (will be warned), emotionally repressed people pretending they don’t care about each other when they very obviously do..
an: helloo, i’m so excited for you all to read this keys series i have planned. i’ve been so keyspilled recently so this has just been so easy to write. updates might be a little chaotic depending on my schedule, but i’m genuinely so excited for this story and all the little moments i have planned for them. arguments, tension, domestic stuff, yearning, emotional damage.
a very special thank you to juls, sierra, and ani for genuinely being the sweetest people ever throughout all of this. ani is literally the reason this story even exists because she brought me the original idea and somehow altered my brain chemistry with it. thank you for giving me suggestions, helping me figure things out, and always being people i can run to whenever inspiration hits. i genuinely don’t think this story would feel the same without all of your excitement and support behind it <3
Pairing: Dr. Dennis 'Huckleberry' Whitaker x Fem!Resident!Reader
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Distress, Angst, Medical Content, Exhaustion, Burnout, Mild Language, not very good communication, trying to be better, start of a new relationship, Doctors in love with each other, angst/fluff, trinity santos saving the day. Trinity helps you two figure out your shit. Mentions of Perlah, Dana Evans, and Dr. Abbot.
Summary: Dr. Whitaker is a quiet man when it comes to showing someone that he loves them. He acts rather than speaks, but some people need both to understand.
A/n- @ Firefly-graphics for the dividers.
WC- 3.8k
The Pitt Master List
The hospital glows with unnatural fluorescent lights, and it’s far too bright for just how late the clock on the wall, and at the bottom of the monitor says. The ED is mostly calm, most of your patients for the night have fallen asleep or are doing just fine. There you sit at the nurses station, your attention divided between the half finished chart on the screen and just staring at the blinking cursor on your screen.
Your shift still isn’t over for at least another hour, so time just drags on and on. It’s Perlah that is dragging you out of your stupor, “You okay?” She asks you with a certain kind of concern etched into her tired features. “Huh” is the first word that leaves your mouth. She gives you a shake of her head, and repeats her questions. A small laugh gets pushed out, “I’m all good, Perlah don’t worry.” You unfortunately don’t sound very convincing.
She gives you a look that you’re certain she’s learned by the charge nurse on the day shift. You hesitate, and then far too tired and worn out to properly sensor yourself, the truth comes mumbling out of your mouth. “I don’t really think… I don’t think he cares.” It takes Perlah a moment to understand what and who you’re referring to, she takes a glance down the half empty hallway. “You mean Whitaker?”
You give her a small shrug of your shoulders as if the words that are now floating around in the air have no real meaning at all. “He’s just so… clinical. He likes that with everyone and that somehow also includes me.” You reach up dragging your tired hands over your temples to ease the small headache that is starting to grow due to the ED lights. “I really do try, you know? I make sure he’s got his coffee at the start of the shift, I make sure to stay late whenever he does, and he just doesn’t seem to notice. He just…” You give Perlah a vague little nod. “Nods at me.”
Perlah brows furrow as she looks down at you, “He can be emotionally guarded if that’s what you’re referring to.” Perlah offers, “I know.” Your voice cracks as you try to hold yourself together and steady yourself at the same time. “Whitaker is a good kid, he’s a great doctor too.” Perlah adds, “I just feel so… so stupid like I've made everything out to be way bigger than it actually is.” The sound of echoing footsteps doesn't alert you to anything as the ED is always bustling.
You and Perlah may not notice, but Dennis does. The R1 had been making his way back from radiology when hears you. You sound tired, and worn out to the very edge of morning. He takes a quick glance down at his wrist watch and sees that the night shift is almost over. He hasn’t stopped moving until the words hit him like a punch to the gut.
“I don’t think he cares.” Dennis nearly ends up flat on his face when the sheer force that over takes his body. His boots squeak against the tile flooring. He takes a moment. His heart is beating so fast in his chest that he thinks he might be going a bit tachycardic. It’s absolutely ludicrous how much your words seem to hurt Dennis.
But he doesn’t dare show it, he takes a second to collect himself and continues on his way. Finding his way into a consulting room that is empty and shutting the door as quietly as he can. His hands shook as he pressed his weight into the counter. Letting his mind replay every single word that he had heard.
As if he’s watching a vhs tape being rewinded on the tv. He sees how he rearranged his schedule for you, so you won’t be alone on the night shifts or the day shifts. The simple way he has gotten all your patients memorized before the wellness checks come in from the nursing homes, so he can ease the work load without making it way too obvious to you. Or the way he watches his wrist watch like a hawk making sure that you’re ushering yourself off the floor and into the locker room when you’re supposed to be off.
Yet somehow here you are, talking without anyone thinking that he doesn’t care about you at all.
The clock moves inch by inch as you sit down in the break room. It smells like burnt coffee, and stale danishes. You had gotten a bottle of water from the back of the fridge before taking a seat down at the table, you picked at the label aggressively as if the label had personally accused you of some wrong doing. You don’t hear anyone else enter as you continue to pick away at the sticky label.
The R2 doesn’t give you more than forty seconds before she’s clearing her throat and scaring you so much that you drop the plastic water bottle down to the tile. “What’s got you spiraling alone in the break room, Crush?” She asks, her arms folded and crossed over her chest. “I’m not… I’m not spiraling.” Trinity rolls her eyes before looking down at your water bottle.
“Is that why you’re destroying that damn water bottle as if you’re taking revenge for something it did to you.” You sigh and shake your head as you reach down to grab the forgotten water bottle off of the tile. “Can you just not, Trinity?” There is no bite behind your words, just a twinge of something sad and dark. Instead Trinity takes that as the right to sit down and lean back into the chair across from you.
“Oh I know what this is about.” Your brows nearly touch as you look up at her quickly. “This is about Whitaker?” You freeze in your spot, your eyes going wide with shock. You’re not exactly surprised that Trinity knows something is going on, she’s very observant and can see tiny details but tends to be blunt about her findings. “No…” You take far too long to answer Trinity just stares at you the same way Perlah had.
“Who are you trying to convince, Crush? Me or you?” She asks, “Cause you’re terrible at it if you’re trying to convince me. Just so you know.” Your shoulder drops along with the water bottle. “I just don’t… I don’t understand him.” Trinity pops a brow up and hums. “That’s real, specific Crush.”
You let out an involuntary groan as you let your head fall back. “He’s just… and he’s so…” You let your arms fly around for a few seconds. “He’s just Dennis.” You mutter. Trinity huffs out a laugh, “So that really narrows it down to Dennis being emotionally constipated but Dennis also being morally sound.”
You laugh regardless, “I do try.” You say with a heavy sigh. “I’m sure you do.” Trinity offers. “I flirt with him, I mean I subtly flirt with him, and all he does is blink at me with his mouth open like a fish out of water.” Trinity shakes her head. “I’ve lived with him long enough to know that Huckleberry does that with everybody.” Your brows shoot up and you lean over the table. “That’s my point, Trinity.”
Trinity leans in, her elbows digging into the table, throwing the table off with a slight wobble. “So then what did he do?” Trinity asks, “It’s what he hasn’t done, and that’s nothing” You mutter softly, “That’s the problem, ya know?” You ask, praying that Trinity understands what you’re saying in just a few words.
“Oh.” Trinity nods as if the R2 has somehow solved some complex diagnosis that only someone of a longer tenure would have been able to solve. “What you’re lookin’ for is some verbal affirmation, and confirmation.” She offers the solution. “I just need something, anything.” You admit with wide eyes. “Literally anything that just tells me that this isn’t just in my head and it’s real, or at least isn’t one-sided.” You let out with a little huff.
Trinity takes a long moment to study you. The frustration is written all over your face, but so is the love and admiration you have for Huckleberry. “Alright, Crush.” Trinity finally says. Reaching across to grab your hands. “How about we examine the evidence.” You groan and go pull your hands back, “Please, Don’t.” You mumble, fearing that she’s just gonna end up teasing you.
“Come on Crush, We’re doing this right now.” She says dropping your hands and starting to count on her fingers. You watch with confusion. “When you needed to switch your shift, who did it for you?” She asks, you stare at her for a moment. “Dennis.” You answer. Remembering that you hadn’t seen Dennis working at all the next time you came into work only to be told by Trinity that he had taken a shift for someone else.
“And who was it that gave you half of their protein bar without making it into a big deal because you hadn’t eaten yet?” Trinity asks. You remember it clearly as day. You hadn’t the chance to eat anything, between a MVC with at least three separate cars involved, and triage being backed up due to the holiday. You’re hesitant to answer, but you do anyway. “Dennis.”
“Who stayed with you on your trauma case even though Dr. Abbot told him that he was reassigned to another case?” The R2 asks with a certain smugness. You just stare at her, going back to the trauma case, it had hit far too close to home for you. Your hands shook as you tried to push through the feelings that were rising quickly through your chest and making it hard to breathe. You remember hearing Dr. Abbot told Dennis that he was reassigned, but he didn’t dare move from your side for the rest of the night. “Did Dennis get in trouble for that?” You ask, finally coming out of your thoughts.
Trinity waves your questions off, “Plus who’s walking you to your car after shift, Crush?” She asks with a raise of her brow. Trinity looks far all too knowing and smug as your blink over at her from across the table. “What?” You ask clearly lost. Trinity just tilts her head to the side, and looks generously surprised. “Huh, you didn’t know.”
You feel your stomach drop into the pit that you wished would just eat your whole and make you disappear. “I didn’t know what, Trinity?” She squints at you “That Huckleberry here times his exits with yours. Every single shift.” You take a huge breath in, and feel your chest tightens as you try to breath out. “No he just… that’s not… he’s probably just…” The entire sentence dies on your tongue.
“Dennis does not just do anything.” Trinity starts to explain interrupting your stammering. “Dennis makes sure to calculate everything he does.” You go quiet in your seat across from Trinity. “Crush, Dennis doesn’t do it out loud.” She continues as she reaches across the table and grabs your hands once more. “Dennis is consistent though, and always will be, so with him that’s fuckin’ everything.”
You stare at the connection of your hands in the middle of the table. “I might have told Perlah earlier that I thought he didn’t care.” You say with a small sniffle. You hear Trinity take a sharp inhale, and wince. “Ohh, that’s ouch.” “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean it…I was just…” You stammer, as your voice softens, “I just… I don’t wanna feel stupid.”
Trinity gives your hands a gentle squeeze pulling you back from your thoughts. “You aren’t stupid, Crush. You love a little differently than Dennis does. You just love out loud.” She says with a small shrug of her shoulders. “Dennis loves through actions.” The huff you let is wrapped in the emotions hanging around in the back of your throat. “But what happens if I’m wrong?” You whisper the fear bubbling up in your chest.
Trinity lets go of your hands and stands up dropping her now empty coffee cup into the trash can. “Then you’ve gotta ask him, Crush.” She says making it sound so simple. You look up at the R2, “You make it sound so easy, and simple.” “It is simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. You’re both great people with very very advanced degrees in something that is far harder than expressing emotions.”
You roll your eyes at her, Trinity throws a smirk over her shoulders. “You could always just keep suffering on the daily.” You chew your lip, “It would be very on brand for this fucking ED.” You sit there a moment, deep in your thoughts. “So you think…” She cuts you off with a quick. “Yes.” She answers before you can finish. “You don’t even know what I was gonna ask?” She rolls her eyes at you, “I always know.” You let out a shaky breath. “Dennis is just so hard to read.”
It causes Trinity to pause at the door. She looks over her shoulder. “Dennis looks at you as if you’re the only thing stable in this entire building, probably the only stable thing in his entire life besides me of course.” She says quietly meaning every single word. “You’ll never see it because he’s very good at being subtle when it comes to you.”
You feel your heart stutter in your chest. “Plus for whatever it’s worth to you.” Trinity tacks on, “That man out there always without a beat misses looks absolutely wrecked when you aren’t here.” Trinity opens the door back up to the loudness of the rest of the ED. “Go talk to him, seriously before one of you ends up combusting with all these festering emotions and feelings.” She says turning on her heels leaving you to sit there in the break room for a moment longer.
The clock on the ED wall tells you that you’ve got just another twenty minutes left in your shift. You finally find Dennis, he looks like he’s been stuck staring at a CT scan. You bite your lip to hold a laugh back when you realize that he’s hadn;t even flipped the image over once.
“Hey, Dennis.” Your words pull the man out of his stupor, making him nearly drop the ipad to the floor. He shakes his head and takes a quick glance up at you, there is a second where you can see his face before the mask of professionalism takes over and you take a step back. Wincing internally. “Do you need something?” He asks coldly.
You swallow and run your hand through your ponytail. “Did I do something to offend you?” You ask. Dennis is quick to answer, a little too quick that it seems rehearsed. “No.” You don’t care anymore, you grab at this bicep and drag him into an empty consult room, shutting the door behind you. “You’ve been avoiding me, Dennis.” You say your voice is wet with emotions. “I’ve been working.” He tries to correct you.
You shake your head and look down at the ipad, “You weren’t even scrolling, you were lost in thought.” You argue. There is a heavy silence that takes over the empty room. You’re staring at Dennis, and he won’t dare look at you, his eyes casted down at the tile. You breathe deeply in and exhale hard. You’re hesitant at first before you ask the question, but push through.
“You heard what I said to Perlah?” There is a solid beat before Dennis is looking up at you, his eyes are sharp, and so clear under the fluorescent lights. “So it was Perlah you were talking to.” You feel your stomach drop and land back in the pit beneath you. “And yes to answer your question.” You cringe at the cold tone that Dennis has with you.
“Dennis I didn’t mean…” He cuts you off. “The thing is you did,” He’s so calm and so controlled that you wince at his tone. You take an experimental step closer to Dennis. “I was tired, Dennis.” You offer him as a flimsy excuse. “I know that.” Dennis says calmly, no matter how calm the man is you can see how his jaw tightens and twitches as he grinds his teeth together.
It’s the only visible crack in his perfect aura. “You seriously think I don’t care… care about you.” Dennis adds quietly. “I can’t see it.” You admit to him honestly, Trinity words echoing through your mind as you push further. “You don’t let me see it, Dennis.” You tell him. Dennis finally, really looks at you. He lets his eyes gaze over your shoulders and then land on your features. “I will stay here until I know that your charts are complete.” He tells you.
“I honestly thought that you were just being nice, and maybe a bit of a perfectionist.” You admit to Dennis. His shoulders drop, “I will always swap your cases if I can see that it’s getting too heavy for you.” Your brows knot together because Trinity hadn’t said anything about that. “And I always make sure to review your labs before you can even come to me and ask.”
Dennis' voice lowers just a little, but it still sends a tingle of warmth down your spine. “I make sure to keep an eye on your vitals. Especially when it’s veen a horrible fucking shift.” His words echo in your mind's eye. ‘Your’ vitals, not your patients but you. Dennis keeps an eye on you. It may be nice to hear from Trinity, but it’s ever better to hear from the source of your affection.
Your chest tightens from the sheer amount of love this man shows just can’t say to you, “And I even make sure to wait up for you. I time my exits with yours so you don’t walk to your car alone.” He adds at the end. “I know…” His brows shoot up, “Trinity told me.” You admit to him. He lets out a slow breath. “So you think I don’t care because what…I don’t touch you in the middle of the hallways. Or because I don’t verbally say it in front of every single person in this ED?” He asks, taking a step closer to you.
There is such little space that stands in between the both of you that you can feel the heat coming off of Dennis. “Here’s the thing, I notice everything.” You hum, nodding your head. His words land so heavy that it has tears brimming at the bottom of your lashes. “I just don’t know…I was never able to be loud about it before.” He admits to you with a sadness in his voice.
“But that doesn't mean that I don’t feel it. I do.” Your eyes tingle, and you feel the first tear roll down your cheek. “Oh Dennis.” You manage to mumble out. “I’ve never made grand gestures.” He says calmly, “But I can surely do it consistently.” He tells you. “So Trinity was right about that.” Dennis lets out a huff of annoyance. The hospital is still humming away on the outside of the door. Waking up and becoming more and more alive by the passing second.
You take the final step into his space, carefully unsure of what steps are the right ones to make. “Can you tell me?” You ask Dennis, the whisper sounds so loud in the empty consulting room. “Even if it’s just once.” You add. You watch Dennis face contort as the man hesitates. He seems to be measuring the moment before even opening his lips to respond, but then the moment is cut off by his voice echoing in the room.
“I care about you.” Dennis says so steadily and calm, so certain of the words that have been put into the air around you now. “I care about you more than is professionally advisable, more than HR would like for me to care about you.” You feel a smile tug at your lips as you let out a broken laugh.
There is a type of relief that comes flooding the room, your knees feeling weak from Dennis admission. It’s no longer one-sided, it's no longer something that is festering in the back of your head every single day of work. “God you’re such an idiot." You whisper out your voice trembling and thick with emotion.
Dennis only tilts his head so far, his brows pinched together. “That was so uncalled for.” He scoffs. “You couldn't have just said that, Den.” The nickname slips through your lips with a familiar ease. “I thought I made it pretty obvious, sweetheart” You roll your eyes, but blush at the sweet nickname. “If it were obvious we would not be having this conversation right now. Instead I would be kissing you.” You say with a pout. Then softener you look up at Dennis.
“I don’t need to be loud, Den.” You say. “I just need to know that this wasn’t some one sided, in my head sort of thing.” Dennis looks at you with a warmness that flows over your entire body. His hand reached for your waist hesitantly. The touch is firm and ground but still careful around the edges. “It isn’t in your head, sweetheart.” He promises. You just rest your forehead against his chest. The material of his scrubs are cool beneath your skin pushing the blush away.
Dennis is still hesitant as he rests his chin on top of your hair. It’s the subtle things that Dennis does, but now knowing you know it’s all intentional. “I’m still learning, so give me some grace.” You hum, “I’m learning too, Den.” You whisper. He presses a hand into your neck and makes you look up at you.
“Can I get that kiss though, before someone comes calling for one of us?” Dennis asks, the blush is back with vengeance on your cheeks, you give a nod and with that your lips are pressed up against his own. They may be a little chapped, but Dennis tastes like coffee, and a half eaten protein bar that you know he’s got in his pocket.
You pull away and blink up at him, the moment is smashed when someone calls for “Dr. Whitaker!” He groans and drops his forehead to meet yours. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He offers. “Please.” You whisper, but he doesn’t let go of you yet. “I’ll be right there!” He shouts to the voice on the other side of the closed door. That’s how you know Trinity was right.
