Fics by BBF

After a day out with friends, you weren't quite sure what to expect when you got home. Oh, you didn't expect the house to be a mess or anything, no, you trusted Brendon in regards to that. You just didn't know what he and the one-year-old had gotten up to that day. One day you had come home to the two of them sitting in a blanket fort watching Finding Nemo and…eating goldfish crackers? That didn't quite track for “fish are friends, not food” but whatever. You snapped a photo for posterity.

The house was mostly quiet when you got inside. You heard faint music in the distance and figured Brendon was working out while your daughter napped. A peek into the baby's room said that was not the case. That meant the baby was in her play area in the home gym Brendon had set up.

Yet again, you were wrong as you stepped into the gym. Instead of her dancing to the late 90s music Brendon usually listened to, you found Brendon sitting on the floor at the head of his bench, one leg on either side with the baby laying on the bench holding a “barbell”, laughing at her father who was making silly faces. Brendon smiled wide as you walked in. “We went shopping,” he said cheerily.

You furrowed your brow. “I see. What led to all this?”

Brendon moved back from the bench and sat the baby in his lap before he handed the barbell to you. It was a thin PVC pipe with two slices from a pool noodle on either end. “I tried to work out this morning and she wasn't having it. She wanted to be involved. Obviously I wasn't going to let her play with even my small weights. So we went shopping and got creative. She has a barbell and two dumbbells.” Brendon reached for his phone nearby to show you the picture of her trying to gnaw on a dumbbell. “There's still progress to be made.”

You sent the photo to yourself. “I see that, so you two were working on her chest press?”

Brendon nodded. “Want to see?”

“Of course.”

Brendon put the baby back on the bench. “She's gonna be the strongest kid at pre-school one day.”

You rolled your eyes. “Let's not rush things,” you told him and handed him the barbell. Brendon laid the baby down and she laughed looking at him upside down. He placed one of her tiny hands on the bar and put one of his own fingers over her hand to help her hold it before doing the same with the other hand. He then moved it up and down like she was lifting the bar. “See, just like Daddy does it.”

You took a picture of their set up. “Very cute. What else have you done?”

“She was the weight for weighted squats. She had more fun than I did,” he explained, taking the bar from the baby and helping her sit up.

“I'm sure, she's a solid little roly poly,” you said and took your baby from the bench. “Maybe we can workout by going on walks and strengthening these little legs,” you said, squishing her thighs.

“Cardio is very important. We can do cardio at the park and then get ice cream,” Brendon said nodding to the baby. She nodded back not knowing what she was agreeing with. “It's two against one. We have to now.”

Brendon Park was a certified doctor. He made it through med school, residency, and now was an attending doctor. The hospital decided he was good enough to be given responsibilities. He was responsible for med students and residents. He was capable. He was also an absolute dumbass outside the four walls of the hospital, at least in some areas. Romantically he was not very capable. Oh, he knew what to do. He could be romantic. He'd had partners in the past but when he was single there was always someone in the periphery of his life that he wanted but didn't have the balls to ask out: you.

You'd been friends for years. You'd met while in undergrad via mutual friends and you'd cross paths every now and then; as the years had gone on it would be at the weddings of friends. Every few months you'd send a text to Brendon and ask if he'd like to go see a movie you thought you'd both like or check out a new exhibit. He'd agree and you'd both have a good time and you'd have proof of life that being a doctor hadn't killed him yet. It was nice.

Most of the time your friendship existed on social media. One of you would post on Instagram and the other would like it…most of the time.

—

Brendon was having lunch with a friend, Joel. Another long time friend; a frat buddy from college.

“So,” Joel brought up your name, “how's that going?”

Brendon gave a small shrug, “I see her every now and then. Probably as often as I see you.”

Joel just stared at him, “you ever going to ask her out?”

Again, Brendon shrugged. He hated when the conversation turned this way. It happened every time. “Eventually.”

“Waiting until you're 40 or something? Get with it. You like her. She seems into you. Just ask.”

“It's more complicated than that. Besides, I have a plan.” It was a stupid plan.

“Oh? Why didn't you say so? What has that doctor's brain cooked up?”

Brendon huffed. “I…I'm posting on Instagram and seeing if she likes the photos.”

“And?” Joel asked, wondering where the fuck Brendon was going with this.

“And what?”

“You said you have a plan. That's not a plan. That's just… knowing you… posting thirst traps,” Joel muttered, looking around as if it was something scandalous. It was more embarrassing than anything.

“They aren't thirst traps…” they were but Brendon wasn't going to admit that.

Joel scoffed. “Now I know they are.” He followed Brendon on Instagram but didn't actually see what the man had posted.

Brendon rolled his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Call her up. Ask her out. It's simple. How did you pass med school if you're so dumb?” Joel shook his head.

“This is different.”

“Maybe you should ask out a nurse you work with.”

Brendon shook his head. “No, not dating a coworker.”

Joel nodded, “that's probably a smart idea.”

“Half the hospital thinks I'm an asshole so they'd probably say no anyways.”

Joel laughed, “why?”

Brendon shrugged, trying to look innocent. “I don't know.”

“Park, are you an asshole at work?”

“I'm a healthy dose of reality. That's all.”

Joel laughed again.

“The OR knows I'm not bad. It's the other departments…”

“That sounds like college all over again. The other frats thought the same way. Maybe you should smile more.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “You want to pay for your own meal? Keep talking.”

“Ah yes, there's the warm and fuzzy Brendon we know. But to circle back. Ask her out. And not over a damn text message.”

“My plan will work.”

“Your plan is awful…it's not even a plan, it's just a dumb idea. Oh! Why don't you post hobbies or something?” Joel asked. He couldn't believe he was entertaining this stupid plan.

“What?”

“Instead of your thirst traps - we both know they are - post your hobbies or how useful you are.” Stupid is contagious and Joel caught it.

Brendon thought about it. It might work. The conversation then switched to a new topic.

–

Brendon listened to Joel. Joel was married, how could he be wrong? So in addition to the definitely-not-thirst-traps-just-gym-progress-photos Brendon normally posted, he added in different things. There was a short video clip he posted helping his sister with a small home renovation project. Maybe it was also a thirst trap but it was hot out. That actually got a like from you.

Once the weather cooled down, Brendon switched tactics. He'd still post the occasional project he had done or a book he had read but then he started posting pictures of a meal he had made. The thirst traps slowly went away when Brendon noticed you didn't ‘like’ those particular posts.

Brendon unlocked his phone one afternoon to see a text from you: ‘will you please share that soup recipe? 🥺’. That surprised him, he hadn't heard from you in months aside from brief social media interaction. He had wondered if you had gotten involved with someone. He was more surprised that a soup picture was what broke your silence.

‘Sure, want to come over and try it first?’ was the response. He grimaced into the emptiness of his house after he sent it. Maybe he shouldn't have asked.

He quickly sent a second message ‘You don't have to. I'll still send the recipe.’ and followed up with said recipe. Well fuck, there went the opportunity. Maybe it was for the best. Brendon groaned because how was he fucking this up so badly?

‘Thanks. Are you doing okay?’

‘Yeah. Work keeps me busy. The people of Pittsburgh love to break bones. You?’

‘I’m good.’

Brendon sighed reading the response. That was hard to follow up with. You didn't give details. He set his phone down next to him trying to figure out the next move. He could bring you some soup. He knew where you lived. But what if you had someone over? If you had questions about the recipe you'd ask. He'd spare himself the embarrassment of showing up uninvited. He'd wait.

-

‘Does a potential broken bone absolutely require a visit to the ER?’ was what the text said at 9 in the morning. Good morning to Brendon.

‘Did you break a bone?’ That got his heart beating a little faster. He wasn't going to wait for an answer. He called you.

“Hey Brendon,” you answered with a cheerful tone.

“Did you break something?”

“Oh no, not me. A friend I'm out with tripped and fell. Her wrist hurts but we’re trying to decide if she really needs to go to the ER.”

Brendon heard a voice further away say “I'd prefer not to go to the ER. I think it's just a sprain.”

“Did you get that?” You asked Brendon.

He sighed. “Yeah. I heard. She really needs to get it looked at. Urgent care should have an x-ray. If it needs to be set you don't want to delay care.”

“Yeah but what if it doesn't need to be set?” The voice from the background said.

“Can you move it?”

“I don't want to.”

“Go to urgent care. Get it looked at.”

“He sounds grumpy,” your friend said and you laughed.

“We probably woke him up,” you replied. “Thanks Brendon.”

“Do we have to go?” Your friend asked as you ended the call.

Brendon knew how that would end up and sent you a message hours later. ‘Did your friend go to urgent care?’

‘No, but she said it was feeling better. It didn't look swollen.’

‘And where did you get your medical license from?’

‘Be nice. She said she'd go tomorrow if it still hurt or was swollen’

Brendon responded with an eye roll emoji. ‘I’m trying a new stew recipe and it needs tweaking. Want to come by?’ He added a photo of the stew…and accidentally added his latest gym selfie. If she liked it, Brendon would consider it a win.

‘Sure. Looks beefy,’ Your reply had Brendon's head spinning a little bit. Were you trying to flirt with him? Was it a comment about the stew? Well, two could play that game.

‘Looks better in person.’

–

Once you had arrived at Brendon's house, he had let you in and told you about the recipe he was working on that he had found in a cookbook from his grandparents. He said he didn't think the stew tasted right and it needed something, but he didn't know what. You were agreeable to trying it out.

Brendon watched as you leaned against the counter while he finished with the stew. Finally, he grabbed a spoon from a drawer and dipped it into the stew. “Alright, moment of truth,” Brendon said, holding the spoon near your mouth.

He carefully studied your expression while tasting it, just in case it wasn't actually good.

“It tastes good to me,” you told him. “I don't think it needs anything.”

“Hmmm, must be me then,” Brendon said knowing good and well his stew didn't need anything. He just wanted to see you after entirely too long. “Oh…you've got a little something…” he trailed off moving his hand to wipe off the spot of gravy from near your lip.

At the same time he did that, you stuck your tongue out and ended up catching his thumb in the process.

Brendon didn't know what to do, so he brought his hand back towards him and tried to ignore the little groan that had escaped him. Maybe you didn't notice it.

“So…how's whoever you're seeing?” you asked him, trying to change the atmosphere of the room.

Brendon broke out of his little daze, giving you a confused look. “I'm not seeing anyone. I'm pretty sure I'm terminally single at this point.”

“Oh,” you said. “I thought you might be. Your Instagram changed again. Usually that happens when you're with someone.” So you did pay attention to his gym photos? That little bit of information was stored away for the future. At least he knew he didn't blunder by sending that earlier selfie.

“Changed? Oh. The gym pics…or lack thereof?”

You just nodded.

“That…was something different,” he said quietly. But hey, his plan worked, kinda. You noticed either way. “Can you grab bowls from the cupboard? I think this is ready.”

While you reached for the bowls, Brendon passed behind you, his hand lightly touching your lower back as he reached for a cutting board, “scuse me” he muttered. Did he need to be that close? No, not at all. But it was fun.

Within five minutes you were seated at the table, eating slowly. Both of you were struggling for what to say that wouldn't feel stunted and like you hadn't known each other for years.

Brendon broke the silence first. “Would you ever want to go out with me on a date, if you aren't seeing someone right now?” Joel would be so proud. Brendon had actually said the words.

You nearly choked on the food. That question came out of nowhere. To save yourself the trouble of figuring out how to breathe and talk at the same time, you nodded before finally being able to get out “for real?”

“Yeah, I…uh, wanted to ask you for a while. I just kind of…chickened out,” Brendon said, staring into his bowl.

“Oh. I've been kinda doing the same thing.”

Brendon looked up quickly. “Really?”

Your face warmed. “Yeah, but I thought you were seeing someone else so… I just didn't.”

“I thought you were seeing someone because you didn't talk to me for a while.”

You shook your head. “I haven't seen anyone in a year or so.”

“So you would go out with me? Something…not as friends?”

You placed your hand over one of his. “Brendon, I would love to go out with you. Just say when and where.”

Vacations were always so nice. There was no work. No coworkers to pester you. Sometimes you even get to go away from home instead of a staycation. You and Brendon had opted for a long cruise. Neither of you had been on one before so it was a small risk. So far, it had been smooth sailing. The food was good, both in restaurants and at the buffet. The pools and hot tubs were relaxing. The excursions at various ports were fun. You enjoyed the live music performed in different parts of the ship and in the evenings you and he both enjoyed the varying shows put on. 

Tonight's show was one of those gimmicky things similar to The Newlywed Game. Three couples were chosen for questions. Around the vast auditorium there were people asking to be chosen and people doing their best to not get picked. You and Brendon were with hundreds of others in the middle of that scale. You were neither asking nor hiding. Perhaps in the end, it was your fault. You had wanted to sit closer to the front and had chosen the fifth row. Apparently that put you within eyesight of the host. 

“You two. Yeah. You two. You're married? Why don't you come up here with the others?” the host promoted with a glamorous smile. 

You looked at Brendon and he shrugged. Despite his chronic resting bitch face he was very much a go-with-the-flow person unless someone in the emergency room was being an absolute fucking moron. Which was daily according to Brendon. 

Brendon led the way up on stage and once seated, the host took introductions. Names. Where they're from. How long they've been married. Being on stage surprised you. You knew there were hundreds of people in the audience; you could hear them, but due to the lights you couldn't really see them. 

Brendon introduced the two of you since that seemed to be the way things were going. He said you were from Pittsburgh and married 19 years. One of the other couples had been married 5 years (two 70-somethings having fun) and the other couple had been married 1 year. This was their anniversary trip. 

The host explained the game. Currently one partner was seated in one row on stage, the others were seated in a raised row behind them. The top row had boards and markers on their laps. When the question was asked, the top row would write out their answer while the bottom row thought about the answer. The host would then ask each person on the bottom row individually for their answer to see if they could match their partner. After three questions the partners would switch places. If there was a tie a seventh question would be asked. Questions were five points a piece. 

“Alright folks, first question. A simple one to ease into the game. What is on your partner's lock screen?”

Brendon was thankful he was last this time around. You changed your lock screen photo all the time. 

Contestant One, the 70something, answered it was their cat, Moose. A match. 

Contestant Two said it was a photo from their wedding day. Close enough. Match.

Brendon hesitated. He hated the optics. He knew he looked like a gym bro (because he was) and he didn't want to push any stereotypes of a husband who didn't know anything about their spouse. “I'm pretty sure it's a selfie of us from sunset last night.” He thought that's what he caught a glimpse of at lunch that day. 

“It is!” You exclaimed and flipped over the board that had “selfie (from last night)” written on it. 

Brendon let out a sigh of relief. 

“Fantastic! Five points for each couple!” The host said as the audience applauded. “Question two. If we offered your partner $1,000, could they go 24 hours without kissing you?”

Contestant Two answered first this time. For $1,000, they were certain there could be no kissing. Match. 

Brendon's turn. “No. She wouldn't want to. It's…” Brendon rarely was at a loss for words. “We kiss so frequently it would be weird not to. I don't think either of us would for any amount of money.” The audience aww’d and you hid your face behind your card that read “No.”

Contestant One shrugged. “Why not? $1,000 is a hefty amount.” No match. 

“Alright, that's ten points for Contestants Two and Three, and five for Contestant One. Let's move on to question three. Would you let your partner win an argument? Brendon, you're first,” the host said. 

Brendon scowled. What an awful question. “No. She doesn't need me to let her win an argument.”

You looked appalled. “You wouldn't let me win an argument?” Your card said ‘Yes’.

“You make valid points! You don't need help when it comes to winning arguments,” he said, turning around to look at you. 

You narrowed your eyes. “What about my argument about 207 bones in the adult body.”

Brendon groaned, “babe, no…”

The host jumped in. “I'd certainly like to hear this argument.” The audience cheered. 

You had smug confidence happening. You knew that the human adult body had 206 bones. You weren't stupid. You just loved aggravating Brendon. “I am adamant that an adult has 207 bones in their body. Brendon, who happens to be an orthopedic surgeon and claims to be an expert on bones, disagrees.”

Brendon had his face in his hands. This was it. This was how he died. On stage on a cruise. Goodbye cruel world. He thought dying of embarrassment only happened in the Sims. 

You continued speaking. “I have to remind him that I'm pretty sure I had 207 bones in my body just last night.”

Brendon let out a quiet and weak, “it's not a bone…”

The room went quiet for several seconds before laughter exploded and the host had to step away for several minutes. The host would have had the intermission at that point but he still had the other two contestants that had to answer. 

It took nearly ten minutes, but finally the host was able to regain control. “I am so thankful this is the adults only show. I didn't need those complaints afterwards. Alright, Contestant One. Would you let your partner win an argument?” 

“Yes. If only to avoid what he went through,” Contestant One said, pointing to Brendon. Match. 

Contestant Two looked scared. “Yes?” 

“You don't think I can win an argument on my own?”

Contestant Two groaned and begged the host to go to intermission. 

The host took pity on them and announced an intermission. “

Brendon stood up and shook his head at you. “I can't believe you said that.”

You just shrugged and hugged him. “Are you really that surprised?” 

“No,” he said and kissed you. He wasn't lying. You kissed numerous times a day and when opportunity presented itself, he went for it. 

You stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around your body, with no comment being made by Brendon, which surprised you. It looked like he was deeply engrossed with staring in the mirror to realize you were out of the shower.

You stepped up next to him, “what are you doing?” You eyed him carefully, trying to see what he was looking at. “You nick your face or something?”

Brendon jumped, “no, just…observing,” he said and started his regular morning routine.

That gave you pause. He wasn't usually vague like that. “Alright,” you murmured and dropped the subject for now. You knew he'd tell you when he was ready.

The next morning was more like usual. You stepped out of the shower and put the towel around you and were met with “you shouldn't bother with the towel; it just hinders my staring” to which you rolled your eyes and stepped up to the sink as he stepped away from it.

Something in the mirror caught your attention and you quickly turned to Brendon, eyes narrowed, “what did you do?” You wanted a confession. You could see what had been done.

Brendon shrugged, “haven't done anything,” he said and headed for his closet.

“Brendon.”

He let out a little sigh, “I just colored my sideburns a bit.”

You gasped, “but why?” You didn't know why he would do such a thing. He never seemed bothered by some small things before. However his confession annoyed you more than anything. You liked his grays. They weren't his to cover up.

He gave a very undignified crinkle of his nose, “because they're going gray.”

You just gaped at him. “Yeah, and it's sexy.”

He almost gave you a double take. “It's not. It means I'm getting old. And I'm not old. I'm only 41.”

You felt your annoyance melt away. You didn't realize this was such a sensitive spot for him. He always carried himself with such confidence at the hospital and at home. You figured he was taking changes with himself in stride as well. “It is. I love your grays. It adds to your handsome features. I like getting older with you. If I didn't, I'd just drop your ass and find someone else younger with a dark head of hair,” you told him, maybe you were looking to rile him up a little.

He gave you a dirty look. “You had me up to that last part.”

“I'm serious though. I do love getting older with you. We're not 20 anymore. We're changing. It's horrible to expect to be with someone for so long and not have changes. This is part of it. I've loved watching your sideburns change. It does add a certain…something to you. I don't want a young 20-something anymore. I just want the man I fell in love with years ago,” you said with a small shrug. “You gonna think I'm old when my hair starts going gray?”

“Never,” Brendon said, but he was thinking about what you had said.

“You don't want a newer model?” You teased.

He snorted. “Too many differences.”

“Truly though, I love your gray hairs. You're going to be my silver fox before too long. I don't want you to change them.”

“Alright, I won't dye them anymore. I still don't like it.”

“No one does. You can dislike it all you want. It's not going to stop me from ogling you. Just wait until your chest hair starts changing.”

You were not sunshine personified. You were not happy all the time and you did not light up rooms when you walked in, at least you didn't think so. When you died, Brendon would probably say that, although you'd say the same thing about him because you were both crazy about the other. You had your good days and bad days, and today was leaning towards being a not-so-good day.

You had had a new coworker for a couple months and as long as you didn't have to interact with him, you didn't mind him. But sadly, you had to interact with him and today was the breaking point. He was constantly dismissing your thoughts on patient care, taking an x-ray machine when there was another available but yours “was closer”, and a myriad of smaller, trivial things that over time built up. But today, today this audacious mother fucker decided to interrupt patient care.

He wasn't even assigned this case - an x-ray - but he had finished up his assignment and was passing by the trauma room in the ER. He overheard you explain to the patient what you were going to do and decided to open his mouth. “How come the doctor didn't order a CT scan? This X-ray isn't going to do anything.”

Neither of you were doctors; that was absolutely not his place to try and correct what a doctor had ordered. After assuaging the patient that the doctor had ordered the X-ray first to try and rule out other things, you ushered your coworker out into the hallway and into an out of the way, although still public, area.

“What the hell is your problem?! You're not a doctor! You're not even a radiologist! For fuck sake you're not even ten years into this. You have absolutely no right to tell the patient the doctor ordered the wrong thing. Who the fuck do you think you are?!” You didn't realize it but you were turning a few heads from the central ER hub. “We're supposed to be kind, compassionate, and intelligent and yet you don't have any of that. A three-in-one failure. Repeatedly. That behavior is inexcusable. That wasn't even your order. Fucking ridiculous.” Your face was warm from anger and you knew your blood pressure was sky high. The absolute fucking audacity.

Unbeknownst to you, Dennis Whitaker was watching and listening with a new student. There was a phrase you used -three-in-one failure- that reminded him of something Brendon Park had said maybe last week. He had to use one of the printers at the hub and it was not cooperating. “You are a three-in-one printer and yet you can't do any of it. A three-in-one failure,” was the quote he had used. The irritated expression on your face also resembled the look of disdain that Park would use when someone said something out of turn.

“Huh, I see it now,” Dennis muttered.

“See what?” The student asked, now watching as your coworker high tailed it out of the area you pulled out your phone to call your boss and tell him what happened.

“That tech is married to Park the Shark.” So Park wasn't just a former boyfriend. He was the one you were constantly talking about. That explained why Park treated you differently.

“No way!”

Dennis nodded. “The verbal dressing down. A phrase that Park used recently. That expression? Definitely Shark exposure.”

The student shuddered. They had once said the wrong thing to Park. “Poor unfortunate soul.”

The day had started off like any other; Brendon walked through the halls of the hospital occasionally acknowledging people in passing. It wasn't until he got to the operating suite after he changed into his scrubs did anyone have an actual conversation with him and the two that did speak with him gave him slightly funny looks. He ignored it. He was used to the vast array of expressions people gave him depending on his mood. He was in a good mood right now, so any funny looks were on them.

Dr. Garcia was the one to shed light on the mystery. “You having a magical day or something?”

Brendon furrowed his brow. “What?” It's not like he could have had a Lucky Charms marshmallow stuck to him.

Garcia nodded towards his badge and it took less than a second for Brendon to realize what was going on. A slightly crooked sticker was placed on his badge. It was the cutest and fattest little unicorn sitting on a pink cloud. It even had pink hearts around it. That explained the looks. At least the sticker was in an empty area and didn't cover words or his own picture.

“There's a sticker obsession at home.”

“Clearly,” said Garcia, nodding. “Does she want more for her birthday?”

“She'd say yes, we’d say no.”

She laughed. “More stickers it is.”

Brendon sighed as Garcia walked off and Brendon walked to his office. He could rip off the sticker and clean up the badge if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. His daughter put it there for a reason and he liked having a little memento of her with him, even if just for the day. So he kept it. It didn't stop him from sending an email to security for a new badge because unicorns aren't exactly Joint Commission compatible but for the time being the fat little unicorn would go with him on rounds and any consults.

A med student nearly lost their life when he went to say something about the unicorn but was stopped both by the expression on Brendon's face which dared him to say more and a resident who just shook her head. The student quietly slid into the background afterwards. Brendon's patients, for the most part, loved the sticker. His older patients thought it was so cute that he wore it and he realized it made him more relatable. His younger male patients were a bit confused why he didn't remove it. Brendon figured they'd learn why later in life. Maybe.

The unicorn wasn't a problem in surgery since he didn't wear that badge once he was scrubbed in. He had a separate one on his hat instead. The unicorn would not learn about joint replacements today, sadly.

A few of his closer co-workers made comments about the decoration but it was all in good humor and Brendon brushed it off. He was waiting to go home and find out the reason why it had been put on.

Eventually, Brendon got his answer. Once he was home and his badge now kept in the console of his car where hopefully it remained free of stickers, Brendon found the resident artist coloring in a coloring book on the floor of the living room.

“Hi Sweetheart, where's Mommy?”

“Giving the baby a bath,” she said, not looking up at him.

Brendon got down on the floor and groaned a bit. He didn't care how much someone exercised, getting on the floor and back up was still noise worthy. He stretched out next to her and propped his head on a hand. He was promptly handed a crayon to join in on the fun.

“I saw the sticker you put on my badge,” he began.

His girl beamed proudly. “Did you like it?”

“I did. Ms. Yolanda is the one who pointed it out to me. I didn't see it right away,” Brendon said. There had been much debate as to what his kids would call his co-workers. He had wanted proper titles as he knew they had worked just as hard as him to earn them. Yolanda Garcia said calling her doctor, in a personal setting like that, made her sound old and stuffy and not at all fun. “Why did you put a sticker on my badge?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Daddy, your badge is ugly. It's boring. I made it better. Color here please.”

Brendon followed his daughter's direction and colored in the spot she pointed to. “You can't put anything else on my badge, okay? The rules I have to follow, which keeps people safe, says I can't have that on there.”

“But I picked that one because it's on a bed and you help people on beds. Did you get rid of it?” She asked, tearing up a little.

Brendon shook his head. “I put the badge with the sticker on my desk at work, or I will. I had to get a new one.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“No, everyone liked the sticker, but I can't wear it just in case the people who made the rules show up.”

“Am I in trouble?”

She really should be, but Brendon had never told her not to put stickers on his badge. She had never shown interest before. “Not this time. If you decorate the next one you will be. Stickers stay-”

“In sticker books,” she quoted. That had been the big rule and one that was obeyed most of the time. She loved stickers too much to lose them.

“You didn't think Daddy was handsome enough to make the badge look nice?”

“No. Use this color now,” she said and gave him a new crayon.

The morning was moving slow. You slept in a bit and woke up to an empty bed; not very surprising. Brendon had his routine. As you wandered into the kitchen you heard Brendon's voice through the open kitchen window.

“Come on now, don't be difficult. I promise you'll like this move. You'll have plenty of room to stretch out those roots and grow nice and tall. You'll be blooming in no time.” He was talking to his flowers. You peeked out and saw his broad back but not the itty bitty flowers he was holding. 

Brendon had a green thumb. He learned this only a few years ago when one of his nurses had given him an aloe plant. That aloe plant was still alive and thriving and threatening to take over everything. Now the backyard was full of vegetation. The deck had a variety of flowers which was where Brendon was currently working. He started the flowers because he knew the love of his life needed something pretty to look at on the daily. Throughout the backyard were various bushes and he had raised beds for vegetables. He enjoyed working with the flowers the most. 

He always said working out helped relieve him of the stress from work but so did gardening. He didn't mind talking with the plants because he knew it did help them grow. Brendon often worked through things related to work or even personally by talking to the plants. It was cathartic. 

You loved watching him garden because of the stark contrast from the hospital. At the hospital there were times he had to use brute strength to get the job done but here he was so gentle. He would tenderly hold the plants as he transferred them to a new pot. Hands that could cause a lot of pain could also tend to little lives here in the garden. 

It was nothing for Brendon to come home and jump in to help prep dinner. If you needed something sliced or diced or minced, that task went to him. The same focus he gave his surgeries he gave the tomatoes and peppers that needed chopping. They would always be so neat and done precisely. He gave everything his best. 

You also loved watching him because you knew those tender hands with small sprouts were the same gentle hands that held you and loved you. Those hands made you feel safe and secure. Those hands made you feel pleasure.  “Daisies giving you fits this morning?” You asked, joining him outside. 

“Apparently it's not in the mood for moving this morning. Eventually it gave in,” he said, glancing your way and giving a lingering look. 

“Well, you know what's best for it, hopefully it'll realize that when it's full grown.”

And it would to some degree. The daisies sat tall and full in the sun. They did thrive in their new box. Your relationship with Brendon continued to thrive as well. Both of you poured into the other despite awful schedules some days. The sour days from work would dissipate once you were both home. The growliness he carried in the OR would be long gone once he could wrap his arms around you. 

It was July Fourth weekend at Raccoon Creek State Park. It felt like the crowds were already at max capacity. It would be a busy day for sure, lifeguard Michael “Robby” Robinavitch thought.

Robby would be right to a degree. Most of the day was spent giving directions to the bathrooms - a large building that sat off to the side of the parking lot. A cry for help caught his ears and he turned towards the lake, seeing a beachgoer waving their arms trying to get the attention of the lifeguards. Robby raced towards the lake.

Fellow lifeguard Dana Evans met him at the struggling person, “what's happened?” She asked.

The swimmer, who was standing in waist deep water, was nearly doubled over. “It's a… a… leg cramp!”

Robby tsked and shook his head. This was why you always waited after eating to go into the water. Robby grabbed the waterproof two way radio he had clipped to his whistle, “Jack! Need your assistance, stat!” He proceeded to give coordinates.

Time seemed to slow down and Jack bounded out of the lifeguard shack and ran down the beach. Each step caused his pectoral muscles to bounce in a hypnotizing pattern. Music from a nearby boombox thudded out a tune that Jack couldn't quite place as he moved to the water. The run seemed to stretch on. The shore wasn't really that wide. Jack was a trained lifeguard. He had studied for years on proper life saving tactics for the water.

Robby and Dana stood with the patient as they watched Jack come at them. Dana glanced around. “Oh, look Park the Shark is in the water,” she gestured. He truly had an unfortunate nickname that almost always caused additional chaos. This was a body of fresh water. There wouldn't be actual sharks here. This wasn't some low budget sci-fi movie.

“How does his pecs do that?” Robby asked, still watching Jack run. He checked his watch. Jack had been running for five minutes.

After what felt like 30 minutes of Jack running to help his coworker and a person in peril, he splashed his way into the water. “Whatcha got?”

“Leg cramp,” Robby said.

“Damnit,” Jack hissed and got on one side of the person while Robby was on the other as they assisted the person out of the water. Dana cleared the way of other swimmers and then found a clear spot to put the person.

“Just lay back, we'll handle it from here.”

The patient honestly had felt better by the time they got to the shore but went along with them anyway. Maybe they could get Jack to run and get them a drink. Would time slow down again?

After 10 minutes the patient was on their way with a slight limp and the guards stood by the shack with arms crossed, just waiting for the next time help called for them. They'll be ready.

This was Brendon's 9th father's day and he had never known his children to be able to keep a secret for very long. Once the kids had learned to talk, that was it. Game over. Nothing was sacred anymore. Even with several “this is a surprise for Daddy. We can't tell him.” Or “this is for Mommy's birthday. We can't tell her until tomorrow.” Secrets meant nothing unless someone did something they weren't supposed to and suddenly it was Fort Knox in the Park house.

Brendon had an idea how father's day would go. He'd be tackled awake as early as the kids possibly could, if he was lucky it would be 7 in the morning but most likely it would be even earlier. They'd push and pull him down to breakfast (as if he would ever fight against that) because he wasn't moving fast enough (“daddy really doesn't want to take himself or any of you out falling down the stairs”). He's not sure what breakfast would actually be. That was one thing that changed over the years. After breakfast would be the gifts he had known about for either a week or 10 minutes depending on when the kids learned about it. The rest of the day would be anyone's guess.

So imagine his surprise when he heard the giggles at his bedroom door and soon felt three little bodies hitting him and no one told him anything. Not a single one mentioned anything about gifts. Not one word. Surely, these couldn't be his children. He knew his three year old couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

“What's Mommy doing?” Brendon asked the youngest, Truist.

“Eating,” he said.

“No she's not! She's putting stuff on plates!” The six-year-old, also known as Fenway, chimed in.

That made a little more sense.

“You've got to get up!” His oldest, Candlestick, told him. She was the one who made him a father. She was all of one month old on his first father's day and she spit up all over him before the day had even begun. He thought it was wonderful because she was there. He wouldn't have traded that moment for the world even if it was a common occurrence.

“Fine, fine,” Brendon said and put the two younger ones over his shoulders as he got up and left the bedroom, his daughter following behind.

Once in the kitchen, he set the boys down and kissed you on the cheek, “good morning, my love.”

“Happy father's day,” you said, turning your head for a proper kiss.

After breakfast, Brendon had yet to be spoiled on gifts. He figured there was something going on. You had done something to avoid secrets being spilled.

He watched as you gave a little bag to your three-year-old. “Go give this to Daddy,” you whispered.

“What is it?” He tried to whisper back.

“A surprise.”

And what a surprise it was. It was a little velvet bag full of different colored rocks. Your son's eyes lit up because he had picked these out for Brendon but at the time you had told him no. “Daddy they're pretty!” He exclaimed, looking up at Brendon.

“They are! Did you get this for me? Thank you.”

Truist just nodded, turning one over and over in his hands, taking in the shininess and color.

“My turn!” said Fenway, taking a bag from his mom. He didn't know what he had given his dad either. That was your secret. They couldn't spoil what they didn't know.

“Oh! A new baseball! We did need a new one, didn't we?” Brendon turned the ball over and looked at the design. It had “best dad ever” written in script. The boy had seen it at the store some weeks ago and KNEW Brendon had to have it. “We'll have to try this out later. Thank you so much.”

His daughter shyly stepped up next. “I know we're going to Grandma and Grandpa's later but I want you to look nice for it. I want to paint your nails.”

Brendon should have been expecting this. This had been a major interest for her for the last six months or so. “I'd love for you to make me look nice for the barbecue. But I've got to remove it tonight. I'm not allowed to do surgery with nail polish, even though I wear gloves.”

“Why?”

“When I scrub in, the nail polish could chip and if something cut my gloves, chipped nail polish could end up in the patient and hurt them.”

She nodded. “But I can still do it today?”

Brendon nodded. “And then it has to come off tonight.”

“Can I paint them again on vacation when you don't have to do surgery?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I get to pick the colors on vacation though.”

“You have one last gift,” you said, holding up one more bag. “This is more for your office than here.”

Brendon gave you a questioning look and pulled out a book. It was one of the albums you could put together on a photo website. The cover said “we love dad” artwork clearly from your daughter. The whole book was artwork from the kids interspersed with photos of the family. It would look amazing in his office.

Brendon Park is cautious. He's particular about his children's privacy. While he will brag about their accomplishments to trusted co-workers, there are things he keeps to himself when there are people around he doesn't know or trust. He won't share their names or birthdays if he doesn't know someone well. He is adamantly opposed to his children being on social media, which is something you agree with as well, thankfully. 

When someone new found out he had children and asked about names and ages, Brendon always replied that their names were “Candlestick, Fenway, and Truist” with a deadpan expression before moving the conversation to something else. The crazy looks he received were well worth it. 

Once he had someone ask “not PNC?” which was home to their very own Pittsburgh Pirates. 

Brendon scoffed and said that “you don't name a child PNC.”

This habit of Brendon's came back to haunt him when his five-year-old son fell off the monkey bars at a playground and hurt his wrist. 

You, Brendon, and your son had been waiting for the doctor to come in when he finally walked in. The doctor in question introduced himself to you and your son, and reintroduced himself to Brendon. 

“So, this is Fenway, eh?” the doctor asked Brendon, teasingly

You had never seen Brendon turn so red. 

“I'm not Fenway…” the little boy on the bed said, slightly offended.

“What?” You questioned. You had never heard this before. 

The doctor let out a small laugh. “When I was doing my rotation in the OR, I asked Dr. Park about his children. He said their names were Candlestick and Fenway. I assumed this was Fenway if the names were in age order.”

“Daddy, I'm not Fenway,” he said slightly louder to Brendon.

Brendon cleared his throat. “There's a Truist now,” he said, trying to regain his dignity. 

The doctor laughed again and went to examine your son, who was adamantly denying the alias. 

You stared at Brendon trying to figure out his line of thinking. “I know what Fenway is…”

Brendon grinned. “They're all baseball parks. Truist Park, Candlestick Park…Fenway…”

You rolled your eyes, “Brendon you're awful.”

“I wasn't about to tell strangers their names. Nobody ever asked any follow-up questions about them. I did get a lot of conversations about baseball though…” he muttered before he turned his full attention to your son. 

“DAD. I don't even like the Red Sox!” He exclaimed despite the doctor poking and prodding his hurt arm. 

Brendon sighed, “I know, but I had to think fast. And there weren't many options. You were a baby. You didn't have opinions.”

The conversation between you and Brendon had been brief. A simple reminder of something that was coming up. It was everyday stuff; stuff you didn't give two thoughts about afterward because it was just common. It was in your calendar and you'd get the reminder from it as a back up. The entire encounter took just a few minutes before he was going back to the operating suite. That didn't stop chatter from people who were newer.

Both of you were common faces in the ER. You felt like you were there more often than not. You were in radiology, licensed for MRI and CT but you often found yourself with the portable x-ray around the ER. You were checking open orders when one of the younger doctors, Whitaker, approached you. “So you're friends with Dr. Park?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” you responded, not quite looking up yet. “Why do you ask?”

“He just didn't look…angry while he was talking with you. He actually showed you something on his phone.”

The observation skills of some of the doctors was astounding. You honestly hadn't given the exchange much thought; apparently he had. You gave a little shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I wish you guys would realize he is human. He's not always intense.”

“Are you close then?”

You could have ended the conversation then and there and say you two were married and he was reminding you of a dinner with some of his college friends that coming weekend. But that wouldn't be fun now would it? “I'd say we are. You know, he’s my ex-boyfriend, but we’ve made it work since we're colleagues,” you casually dropped while looking at Dennis. You then checked your tablet. “I've gotta go, new order.”

His mouth dropped at such news. You had dated Park. You just put that out into the universe and walked off like it wasn't something.

Whitaker found you later in the day. “Did you really date Park?”

“I did,” you told him. “We grew up in roughly the same neighborhood.” More lore for the gossip later.

“How long did you date?”

“About…9 years,” you said thinking it through. You did have to refresh yourself on the timeline. “We started dating in high school and stopped when he was in med school.”

Park the Shark in high school. While Dennis knew that everyone goes through school it was just hard to fathom Park as a teenager. “Was he mean back then?”

You laughed, “no. I wouldn't have dated him if he was. I mean he could have his moments of being a jerk, but he was never rude to me. I mean we had arguments but it wasn't vicious.”

“Who ended things?” He asked.

You opened this door so you had to follow through. “He did.”

“Why?” Dennis normally minded his own business, at least he thought so. He tried not to be so nosy. He fully believed Trinity was rubbing off on him.

“He felt things couldn't go on as they were.”

“I'm so sorry,” he said, even though it was numerous years ago. “But you're married now?”

You nodded. “I am. I married a teddy bear of a man who I love more than anything.”

“Well I'm glad you got a happily ever after. I can't believe you dated Park though,” Dennis said, shaking his head.

You didn't drop the knowledge that you took the infamous Park's virginity. That would be crossing boundaries. “Even now he's not some awful person, truly. He's just…a surgeon.”

“He's not exactly warm and friendly,” Whitaker said before being called away.

You thought Brendon was very warm and friendly. And cuddly.

Dana walked up to you. “You gonna put him out of his misery someday?”

“No,” you said, with a grin. At least not intentionally.

---

Later that evening, Brendon was waiting next to his car for you. “I heard you were being a bit of an asshole today,” he murmured, giving you a kiss once you were close enough.

“That sounds like slander, Dr. Park. Who told you?” You asked, returning his kiss.

“Garcia. Ex-boyfriend? Is that my title nowadays?”

You just got an impish grin. “You aren't technically my boyfriend now. I didn't even see Garcia.”

“Word gets around fast apparently.”

“I did say I was married now. Happily. I just didn't specify who it was.”

He shook his head but then opened your door. “And people talk shit about me being mean.”

You and Brendon had been in bed for about 15 minutes just casually chatting when a thought crossed your mind suddenly. “Oh! So the ladies at work and I were chatting today…”

“This never leads to good things,” Brendon said with a small chuckle, moving closer to you as you spoke.

“There were no performance reviews of significant others, don't worry. You'd pass with flying colors even if we did. But anyway, we got to talking jewelry,” you adjusted as he moved trying to find a spot to accommodate you both comfortably. If only some of the staff at his hospital knew what a snuggler he truly was; his reputation would be ruined.

You continued speaking. “I showed them the ring you gave me back when we were dating. First anniversary?” You suggested trying to get a response.

“Mm-hmm. The one you wear on your right hand. I don't think you've willingly taken that one off since.”

You nodded and he felt the movement. “That's the one. So I was talking about it and one of them asked if it was an acrostic ring. I had no idea what she meant by that and she talked about how it was a 19th century, maybe earlier, thing where the first letter of the stones used spell out a word. She said back then it could be like, “adore” or lovey words like that.”

Brendon stopped his movements as you spoke and a small flag, not necessarily red, popped up in your mind. You went on speaking, “So she looked at my ring and I told her you had been adamant that that one stone be to the left when looking at it. We had to do a bit of searching as to what the gems were. I had always just thought they were pretty stones and that you had found the ring somewhere…”

“Mm-hmm,” was all Brendon responded with as he hid his face in the curve of your neck.

“Brendon,” you whispered, “did you really get me a ring that spelled out ‘PARK’ years before we ever got married and had even discussed marriage?”

“I'm shocked it took you 20 years to learn that. I knew I was a goner pretty early on. I didn't want to scare you away. I felt that was the best way to do it.”

“That has got to be one of the sweetest gestures I've heard of. What if I didn't want to take your name when we got married?”

You felt him shrug one shoulder, “I knew you'd wear it at the very least.”

“You know it's probably my favorite piece you've ever given me.”

Lee was nervous. This was his first dance since he got home from the Army. The last time was right after he graduated high school; right before he left for boot camp. It felt like decades ago even though it was only a couple years. 

He didn't opt for a tie, just a nice button up shirt and slacks. Being back in his own home town  had already led to a few open and easy conversations. 

Tell you a story

Happened long time ago

Little bitty pretty one

I've been watching you grow

Lee watched a young woman across the room trying to work up the nerve to ask her for a dance.  They'd gone to school together since first grade. He felt inexplicably shy. 

He'd probably had a crush on her since the 7th grade. Instead of gathering his courage back then, he’d dated other girls. But now he had the opportunity. 

She smiled when she saw him. “Hi Lee, I'm glad to see you're back.”

Lee gave a small grin, “Thanks, glad to be back. You, uh, wanna dance?”

“I'd love to,” she said, her face lighting up even more. 

Little bitty pretty one

Come on talk to me

The night flew by so fast. She must have danced nearly every dance with him and the conversation flowed the whole time. Lee felt more head over heels with her than when he was in school. 

“Let me drive you home?” He asked hopefully. 

She nodded, “please.”

The drive was a comfortable silence. Lee was wondering if she'd let him kiss her, if that was something she did when it wasn't even a date. 

Brendon had had an earworm all day. He woke up with it in his head, it haunted him during surgery, he hummed it between consults of 80 year old people with 80 year old knees. It wouldn't leave. 

And he one hundred percent blamed you. He wouldn't have gone out of his way for this song. Pink Pony Club. You're the one who liked it. Not him. (Yes, he was in denial, thank you very much.)

Which is why you walked into the bathroom after he came home from work to find the big, scary surgeon singing the very song he claimed he didn't like. There was no music. It was just him.

“Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club”

The shower turned off and you tried your best to stifle the laugh that so badly wanted to break forth. He stepped out after grabbing his towel off the hook and the startled little scream that came out of him upon seeing you just made things worse. 

You couldn't help it. The giggles started immediately after that. 

Brendon gave a small sneer in annoyance, “The best way to get rid of a song that's stuck in your head is to sing it.”

“I just want to know if you've got dance moves for it and if you'd show me later. You weren't awful.”

“I don't dance in the shower. It's not safe.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“...maybe… this is your fault, by the way.”

You turned on the radio.

“Now you're just somebody that I used to know”

You turned the radio back off. This would be a silent drive then.

Your thoughts drifted back to Frank. You thought you knew him. You had spent two years with him before…everything and had even talked about spending the rest of your lives together. Did he mean it?

You were technically still together. Things weren't officially over but they felt over.

He was two weeks into a 30 day inpatient rehab. You hadn't talked to him yet. At least not seriously sit down and talk. Maybe when he got out you would. You had spent time trying to figure out where the anger and hurt were coming from. You didn't think it was the addiction itself. Yes, he could have fucked up numerous lives and to your knowledge he hadn't. You thought it was the secretive behavior that bothered you the most. Why didn't he say he was hurting so bad?

In another part of the city, Frank attempted to listen to the radio. He was switching stations trying to find something he liked. He paused on a station

“But you didn’t have to cut me off

Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing

And I don’t even need your love”

He kept twisting the dial. He didn't need that right now. He didn't want to think of you.

You had called a few times to check on him. All surface level. He wanted more but knew it wasn't the time. He didn't think his situation was that bad. Yes, he knew he had fucked up badly but comparatively…