Fics by BBF

Beck honestly knew he was not the biggest asshole on the planet because he wasn't on the planet. He hadn't been for some time and he still had a long time before he'd be back on Earth once they rescued Watney. If they could rescue him. If they could get back safely.

He was admittedly the biggest asshole in space though. All because he decided that the best course of action of your life and his life was to end the relationship of two years. He was logical about it. This whole venture was going to be two years now. That would have been two years of the most extreme long distance relationship. It wasn't fair to you. So, with NASA reading his emails, he ended things. The response was the most professional fuck you he had ever read because again, NASA was reading things.

He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know if they could save Watney. He didn't know if they would come home. At least you could get a goodbye this way. But now in the aftermath and the hurt, because it did hurt him, he remembered the lyrics of an old song his parents played.

‘Who will be there to take my place…’ would you move on? Who would be the next guy? Would they be more successful than him? He was a doctor and an astronaut. How do you compete with that? Well, he figured, they wouldn't leave the damn planet. Would you wait for him to come home and rekindle things? Maybe he could find a way to make it back to you someday. Maybe you'd let him be friends and exist in the periphery of your life.

You and Steve were sitting on the couch in the apartment he shared with Bucky. You were gently trying to clean a cut on his jaw, a remnant of his most recent fight for justice. “You really need to stop finding these fights,” you murmured. It seemed Steve was trying to stand up for some other little guy every week.

Steve shrugged. “Those guys need to pick on someone their own size. I was just making it a fair match.” Steve was nowhere near the size of those other guys.

“I'm glad Bucky came along when he did. At least that gave you the advantage.” Bucky had saved Steve's neck once again. It was an uncanny sixth sense he seemed to possess.

Steve scoffed. “He hates fighting like that. He'd rather be in a ring. He says I'm bad at it, both in the ring and on the street.”

“You make bad look so good then,” you said watching as his ears turned pink.

“If you like bad, I'm bad at everything,” Steve teased.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. This was why you enjoyed being around Steve. He made you laugh. Conversing with him came naturally. He even let you look at his sketches. You knew Steve wasn't bad at everything.

“I wouldn't say everything…the couple times we've kissed were nice.”

You weren't sure if his face could go pinker.

“If that was bad then you made bad feel good,” you said and set down the rag you were using to clean his face. “There, the bleeding has stopped. You'll probably have a scar. I'm sorry.”

“It'll just add to my bad boy image is all. That's the thing you go for, right? Bad boys?”

“DADDY! BOOFOG!” The exclamation came loudly from the backseat.

“Buddy, I'm in the same car. You don't have to yell,” Brendon said trying to figure out what ‘boofog’ was.

“Boofog!” He said again, jamming away to some tune in his little head.

Brendon racked his brain as he drove along. Was this a Disney song? “Do you want me to play Disney?”

“NO! Boofog!”

“Baby, I don't know what Boofog is.”

The child proceeded to try and hum the tune to a song Brendon was sure did not exist. “Boofog, Daddy.”

Brendon worked a lot of hours. He knew this. But he didn't think he had worked so much during his son's life that he would need a translator to help with this simple request.

Brendon called you up. “Hey B, how's the errands?”

“Nearly done. What's Boofog?” Brendon asked, trying to say it like your son.

A silence followed. Brendon could almost picture a buffering symbol. “What?”

“Sing the song, Bud,” Brendon requested.

“Der Mi Boofog,” he sang. If there was a tune to the song neither of you knew it.

“I got nothing. Maybe it's something he heard with your parents.”

“NANA BOOFOG!” the little boy exclaimed.

Brendon hung up and called his mom. “Hi sweetheart, the kids are fine.”

“What's Boofog?”

“Come again?”

Brendon went through the same exercise with his son again singing the song.

A laugh came through the phone. “Brendon, that's Joy to the World by Three Dog Night.”

Brendon nearly swore. “What?”

“He's singing ‘Jeremiah was a bullfrog’.”

There's a saying that doctors made the worst patients and you very much believed it. You believed it three weeks ago when you got a phone call from a man from Brendon's gym saying he'd hurt himself and that he'd been taken by ambulance to PTMC. That had definitely woke you up from your half asleep state. Brendon would not have willingly gone by ambulance if he didn't think it was serious. You asked what the injury was and the man said it was probably a torn hamstring, per Brendon, since he couldn't walk or put weight on it. You grimaced.

You thanked the man and said goodbye and raced to get dressed and to the hospital. This was most definitely not good. The drive to the hospital was a blur. You were let back into the ER quick.

You noticed the hesitant and almost fearful expressions on some of the staff’s faces. You knew Brendon had a reputation. You just didn't think it was this bad. Although you were attributing that to his pain.

A nurse stopped you as you headed for Brendon's room. Her badge said her name was Dana and she was the charge nurse. You'd heard about Dana. Brendon liked her. She didn't mince words most of the time. “Are you here to see that patient?” She pointed to the room that the front desk staff had said was Brendon's.

“Brendon Park, yes? He's my husband. Why?” This made you nervous. Has something happened to him between the time you got the call and now?

Dana nodded that Brendon was who she was talking about. “He's been…interesting…this morning. He's not used to being on the patient side of things so he's been a bit of a challenge.”

“Yeah I heard he can be an asshole.”

You could almost see the relief flood Dana’s face. “That is most definitely the case here. He and I have had a little chat about his attitude but I wanted to let you know he's not in the best mood for visitors right now.”

You nodded. “Duly noted. I'll keep it brief.” You then heard rather than saw Brendon.

“I don't need a fucking CT scan, Abbot. I need an MRI. This isn't a damn fracture.” The MRI would show the tear better, you agreed with Brendon there, assuming it was a tear. Brendon had explained the differences a few years ago when you needed an MRI for your shoulder. MRIs showed tissue damage better than a CT scan.

“We're covering all our bases, that's all. You'll still get the MRI.”

You walked in and heard Brendon growl. You could tell he was in a lot of pain and that whatever medicine they had given him hadn't fully kicked in yet. “Hey sweetheart.”

His face relaxed a little bit. “How did you find out?”

“One of your gym bros called.”

He looked momentarily confused. “Oh. I guess I did tell him to call.”

Abbot looked between the two of you. “Still ordering the CT.”

“It's a tear. CT won't be much help.”

Abbot sighed. “We don't know that.”

“I'm in Ortho. I see three of these a month. It's a tear if the knot on the back of my leg is any indication.”

Abbot just put his hands up and walked out.

“You should be nicer. They are doing their best.”

He scoffed but waved for you to move closer. Once you were close he opened up, quietly. “It feels awful. I can't even put it into words. I can't walk on it. I know it's a tear though.”

You hugged him and nodded. “I don't doubt your expertise.”

Brendon had been both right and wrong. It was a tear but it wasn't muscle like he thought. It had been a tendon and that would set him back more than he'd liked. He had surgery a week later, trusting his office partner to do the job. The surgery was a success but there was only so much they could do.

He was now going stir crazy. Is this what he did to his patients? He was non-weight bearing for the next 6 weeks. His leg was in a brace and he hobbled around on crutches.

“This is ridiculous,” he said.

You sighed. This conversation happened at least once a week. “I know, but you're the doctor. You know why you're supposed to be this way.”

“It's bullshit. I need to research ways to avoid this ‘can’t do shit’ period.”

“You've got 6 more weeks minimum.” The reality was he had more than that to research. While he might be able to see patients in office in a couple more months, it would still be a while before he could operate.

He sighed. “This sucks,” he said pathetically.

You sat next to him on the sofa. “I know. But you know these precautions are so you heal correctly. If your patients can do this, so can you. And it just gives more encouragement to your patients because you've been through it. You aren't just talking out your Ortho ass.”

He gave a half hearted glare. “You're so kind. What would I do without such words?”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank me when I haven't taken a pillow to you in a few more months.”

"…what are you doing?"

The question caused Brendon to jump in his spot in front of the bathroom mirror. "Uh…"

"Did you straighten your hair?"

"What? No."

You had gone looking for Brendon after he got home from the hospital. He had a regular routine once he came home but you hadn't heard the usual noises so a part of you wondered if he had fallen asleep. He had done so a few times since starting his intern year at PTMC; what he had told himself was a quick sit-down on the bed before a shower ended up with you waking him up twenty minutes later.

This time you found him in the bathroom - he rarely shut the door anymore - combing back his hair.

"I'm trying something new with my hair. It keeps poking out from under my scrub cap and irritates my forehead so I figured maybe gelling it will help. Keep it off my face."

You scrunched up your face at the combed back hair. You loved his curls. You loved running your hands through his soft hair. "It looks awful."

He glowered at you.

"It's not going to be an all the time thing is it?"

"No, I'll just do it when I know I have surgeries."

"Good."

"I thought you were supposed to encourage my decisions and all that with the vows."

"I encourage your good decisions and maybe talk you down from bad ones."

"This is a bad decision?"

"This is…just not you. Makes you look sharper. It makes your resting bitch face worse."

"Hmm…" That didn't necessarily sound awful to him. He wasn't a ray of sunshine resident like some were but he was proficient and his patients loved him. He didn't care what others thought, truth be told. Well. Except maybe the one judging him now.

"That wasn't a compliment, Brendon."

"It'll be just at the hospital. Or if you annoy me too much here," he gently teased.

"Please don't weaponize your curls," you said as you walked over to him and put your arms around him from behind, head resting on his back.

"Does it really make me look mean?"

"Eh…kind of. Just very no nonsense. Definitely not the type of guy who would put car keys in jello for April fools."

Brendon chuckled. "Good."

"Don't make your reputation worse."

"My reputation as a doctor is pristine."

"And your personality?"

"Those who need to know me, know me. Everyone in the OR knows I'd help them in a heartbeat if I could."

"It's just the rest of the hospital that gets your worst side?"

"Not the rest…"

"You were a student not too long ago. Be kind. You've got a lot to share in that big brain of yours."

"They've got a lot of ego for being students."

You snorted.

"I'm good at what I do."

"You definitely had ego as a student. Something about doctors that birth ego very early."

Brendon tsked. "Want to hop in the shower with me to get rid of the gel?"

Brendon was lying on his stomach on the floor watching his baby make a scrunchy face while she tried to maneuver a toy. He had to resist the urge to just jump in and help her; he'd wait until she attempted to get his attention for help or get frustrated and cry. Sometimes that happened simultaneously.

“I wonder why she makes that face,” Brendon said. 

You looked down to him from your spot on the couch, putting down a book. “Really?”

Brendon turned his gaze to you. “Really what?”

You let out a small laugh. “It's so obvious, Bren.”

“Apparently not.”

“It's you. You make that face.”

Brendon was quiet for a moment. “I do not. My face doesn't get all scrunchy like that.”

You laughed a bit more. “You do. Maybe her face is a bit softer than yours but you get that same look when you're focused and you get all frowny. I bet if I sent a picture to your team they'd agree.”

“Don't.”

“It's an adorable expression on her, they'd love it. But that child is all you. I see a lot of your expressions on that little squishy face.”

Brendon thought about that. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He knew already she had a somber resting face like himself. He didn't care if she was like him and had a serious personality when working as long as she knew how to relax and have fun outside of that. That was years down the road though and right now all he wanted was for her childhood to be a happy one. 

Your mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that this was the man that seemed to terrify other departments at the hospital. Maybe terrify was too strong of a word but he certainly caused a reaction when called down to the ER. He was The Shark. He was called mean. He didn't tolerate half assed behavior. And maybe that was all true but he did have very high patient satisfaction ratings. He wasn't about to put his patients at risk because someone - either his department or another - did something completely stupid. He worked at a teaching hospital. He was going to teach someone to be the best they could be.

The complaints he received came from other departments, usually. They didn't like how brash he was. They didn't like how he talked down to other employees. He wasn't there to coddle. He was there to help patients and teach his students. He was damn good at what he did. If other departments needed to hold the hands of their students that was their problem. He made sure his students didn't drown; he figured out how they learned best and tried to work that into his methodology. Sure, he received a complaint from the OR occasionally but it was because he finally snapped at them after correcting them numerous times. He couldn't risk errors when someone is open on the operating table.

But that man was not this man. This man was currently participating in a dance party with his kids. This man wasn't afraid to break out such classic moves as the Sprinkler and the Lawnmower if it made his kids laugh more.

Even before the kids came along, Brendon had been silly and goofy. You could think back over the entirety of your relationship and all the selfies he had left when he'd steal your phone. After a while, he started referring to his selfies as ‘thirst traps’.

He'd come walking into the room, handing your phone back to you. “I left you some thirst traps in there.” (Sometimes he didn't tell you, he'd just change your background to a selfie he had just taken).

You'd roll your eyes. “That's not what that means, babe.” But you weren't complaining about the photos as you scrolled through them. Some were just him smiling, others were him making a funny face, some involved The Smolder™, some you had to move to a private file.

At home, Brendon was able to be himself; to be relaxed.

One evening, he came home to you painting your toenails. “You should paint mine so we match,” he said as he passed you headed for the bathroom to wash off the hospital.

You shook your head. “This color wouldn't favor you. You can pick out another color if you want. If you do want this color I won't say any more.”

He paused mid-step., “I'll take you up on that when I'm done.”

Sure enough after his shower he went through the colors you had and kept to his original thought of matching with you. Brendon didn't care. Who was going to see it? Even if someone did see it, he didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to make a comment about it.

A deep voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Where's your head at, baby?” Brendon was now sitting next to you.

You just grinned. “Thinking about you; thinking about how you're this bad ass mean doctor at work and then you come home and suddenly you're back to being you. Mostly happy, kinda silly.”

“That's because I don't have to deal with idiots here like I do there.”

“Daddy!” Your daughter called out. “Can we get a trampoline?”

“After I die you can get one,” he said quite matter of fact. So maybe some of that hard nosed Ortho doctor made an appearance at home occasionally. No trampolines.

“When will that be?”

“60 years from now.”

The family vacation had been going swimmingly. You couldn't see all of California in just two weeks so the focus had been more on the northern half, kinda. You wouldn't be able to go all the way up to Redwood National Park, but you had seen some on your way to Mendocino. There had been a comment or two made to Brendon about how he was more Sequoia rather than Redwood but he countered saying he thought he was a good mixture of both. Thankfully his parents were out of earshot with the kids.

But now as the trip was winding down, you and Brendon found yourself dissociating in front of a shark tank at the Monterey Bay Aquarium while your in-laws followed your children around like the great grandparents that they were. Movement in the corner of the tank drew your attention and you moved your head off of Brendon's shoulder to watch. One of the Leopard sharks was biting and tugging on the fin of another Leopard shark.

“Don't be worried that there's any bullying happening here folks,” an aquarist said via a microphone. “This is one of the ways that Leopard sharks flirt with each other!” That was the PG version as to what was happening.

You side eyed Brendon and put your head back on his shoulder.

“Don't do it,” Brendon warned quietly.

“It's flirting,” you whispered back.

“We're already married.”

“Married people can flirt with their spouse.”

“Those sharks are about to mate. That's not flirting.”

You rolled your eyes but placed a kiss on his bicep. “No bite. Yet.”

“The male is biting, sweetheart. If you want a shark bite, I'll give you one.” There were times Brendon hated that stupid nickname from work but there were also times when it amused him to no end, like now.

Brendon wouldn't say he was 'jamming out' during the surgery but he was enjoying the music playing overhead while he worked. This was not a routine scheduled knee or hip replacement; this was an unfortunate individual who had been trying to get home when someone else decided to drive recklessly and caused a massive accident. Brendon didn't worry about the clock but he knew he'd be here another hour at least.

A voice interrupted Brendon's focus, "Dr. Park, your wife is calling," the circulating nurse, Emily, called to him.

He had texted you before the surgery not to expect him home anytime soon. "Go ahead and answer it," he responded, looking over to the nurse for her nod that he could speak. "Hey sweetheart, you're on speaker phone."

His family was no secret to the staff of the OR. He had photos in his office of his family. The only ones that were ever surprised were the new students or anyone from another department that happened to come into his office.

"Sorry to interrupt but uh … it's time for Goodnight Moon," you said hesitantly.

Brendon paused his movements before letting out a small sigh. "No reasoning with the enemy?"

"I tried, baby. I knew you were tied up. But he's three."

Brendon nodded despite you not being able to see it. Three year olds didn't see reasoning or logic at times. He knew you would have done anything else to have avoided calling while he was working. Texting was different; he'd respond when he could. "Alright, let's go."

As you switched to speaker phone on your end, he heard you say, "Daddy's on the phone. He'll read the story."

Brendon chose to ignore the looks exchanged between the staff. He had read Goodnight Moon every night for a solid year. Other books were often in addition to Goodnight Moon, but it was a mandatory read. He could recite it in his sleep.

"HI DADDY!" a loud voice exclaimed.

"Shh," you said. "Daddy can hear you without yelling."

"Hi, buddy. You got your book?"

"Yeah and Bunny," he said referring to the bunny plush that came with the book.

"Good. In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon, and a picture of -"

"Cow jump over the moon!" His son said happily. Brendon wasn't the only one who had this book memorized.

"Hey, who's reading this story? Me or you?"

"Daddy!"

"That's right," Brendon said. "And there were three little bears sitting on chairs, and two little kittens-"

"And a pair of mittens," the little voice wasn't quite so loud now as he listened to his dad's voice.

Brendon continued on. "And a little toy house, and a young mouse. And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush." Brendon paused to see if there would be an interruption. "And a quiet old lady whispering 'hush'," he said the last word in a loud whisper.

"Goodnight room, goodnight moon…" Brendon recited even though the other side of the phone had gone very quiet. Finally he finished and he listened for any stirring.

"He didn't make it past 'goodnight bears'" your whispered voice came over the line. "I'll see you when you get home. I love you."