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Park didn’t think twice when the sanitiser spat into the central part of his palm, because it had been drilled into every medical professional to make use of the dispensers located throughout the different zones to prevent unintentional spreading of infections. Plus, it had just become habitual at this point. 

So, when the inky blue smear from a ballpoint pen slathers up to his wrists; it was safe to say the realisation seeped into his bones almost instantaneously from his grave mistake. 

(Being stoic enough, none of the fellow Ortho doctors took note of the miniature change of expression.) 

Brendon Park had just rubbed your phone number off in one swipe. Your cute hand-writing turning to a streak of diluted blue, dissipating with his palms rubbed together. Part of him chastises the other half of him that had dipped into the deep waters of the Emergency Department with a poor execution of flirtations and—what he classed as—an impressively old school way of getting a woman’s phone number. 

It made sense why it hadn’t gained further traction in the more modern era of exchanging numbers. 

In spite of the minor blunder, Park continues his day throughout the OR which includes, repairs for traumatic fractures, the odd joint replacement and Laminectomy to relieve some poor patients pressure that had been pressing on their spinal cord. 

He has every intentions when a vacant space in his schedule becomes apparent to march back down to the ED, and catch you for your number again. This time; with his phone in hand. 

Unfortunately, that plan goes haywire when a patient was wheeled in with an infected prosthetic joint. Park proceeds to make his soured mood from the increasingly complicated surgery, everyone’s problem in the Orthopaedics department. 

Park kept it in his best interests to prevent you from receiving the same fate as his fellow co-workers after a tricky surgery that could’ve been prevented if the prior surgeon hadn’t butchered the prosthetic, and left his emotions to stew into a simmer before he finds you again.

It doesn’t take more than twelve hours before he’s swimming about the ED with an unrelenting facial expression of disconcert. The two nurses, Perlah and Princess, huddle together to whisper in Tagalog as he passes, his head giving them a subtle nod to acknowledge their presence as he walks by them. 

The same isn’t said for when Dennis Whitaker catches his eye, in that mouse-like wonder he carried.

“You need something?” Whitaker asks, unsure of what waters he’s treading in.

Park slows, low-browed as he bestows a judgemental gaze upon the resident, “Not you.”

“O-kay.” Whitaker murmurs, returning back to his charting without further elaboration needed. 

The Orthopaedics doctor rounds the hub, head on a swivel to catch a glimpse of floral pattern beneath dark scrubs with the occasional acknowledgement to the peers that he was more lenient on the patience side with. Sets of eyes follow him with the question in repetition: Who called for Shark? 

Dr. Robby shares the same sentiment when he saw the infamous sharp features peer into the trauma room he was currently in with a handful of residents. He had been sporting a teaching cap to the younger generation of doctors whilst walking them through a nasty head-on car collision with collateral damage following behind in gurneys. 

It was your reaction that had Robby’s brown eyes drift from Park the Shark toward you, where you openly stared with the body language that only furthered Dr. Robby’s suspicions of the happenings between the mean-mugging Ortho doctor and his cup always half full rather than half empty, resident. 

You perk and then smother your joy by clearing your throat, gloved hands clasped together with your eyes narrowed at the open gash on the patient’s chest. 

“Anybody know why Park the Shark is stalking Trauma Two?” Santos says flippantly, suited in a white gown and blue gloves.

You press your lips together. 

Robby—however—does not. He looks directly at you with a tilt of his head, “I have a few guesses.” 

It makes your skin prickle with embarrassment that your Chief Attending continued to prove the reason as to why he was top of the food chain in the ED of the PTMC. Aside from Dana Evans, the geriatric male—not even close to that title, but it had made him laugh dryly when you had said it to him—was the eyes and the ears of the whole operation down in the Pitt. Observation was key to run an Emergency Department; and it seemed as if Michael Robinavitch was in abundance of it.

He doesn’t dismiss you, nor does he attend to your affairs with Park the Shark; who remained stood outside of Trauma Two like a bodyguard and not a highly sought after doctor a few floors up. 

Seems like he had all the time in the world when it came to you. 

Once the patient had been overseen by Dr. Garcia, the group of residents are prompted to move onto other ailments dotted on the board overhead. You move behind Dr. Robby, who flashes you a knowing look over the rim of his glasses and you dip beneath the arm he was using to hold the door open for you. 

Park walks in formation with you. Prompt and ever so casual. (Definitely not a man on the edge of begging over some digits.)

“You are starting to stick out like a sore thumb down here,” you point out, knowing his growing attendance in the Pitt was catching unwanted attention. You rub your hands together with sanitiser between them, “There’s a joke going around that you’re the shark in shallow waters, that’s gotten a taste for human blood.”

“Does that make you the human I tasted?” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Don’t be crass.” you make a beeline for a free computer, sitting down with Park leering over you as you work. “What can I do you for, Sharky?”

Park has a hand against the back of the desk chair you’re sat on, his head lowers as if he’s checking over some notes that are none of his business; on the monitor in front of you.

The closeness draws out a smile from your lips.

“I sanitised your phone number off yesterday.” Park mutters, eyes darting across a blank document. He points to it for theatrics, “I brought my phone down this time, so you can just input it there.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” you croon. 

“You don’t want to?” 

You shrug as Park turns his sharp eyes to you, “I don’t know…it didn’t seem that important if you just—” you wave your hand about as you playfully speak, “—lost it.” 

“It was an accident.” Park says in a softer tone because it’s you he’s speaking to. 

“Intentional dressed up as an accident.” you retort and begin typing a string of random letters into the document you had opened, feeling amused by the upper hand you’ve been gifted. “My number is a privilege to have. Seems like you lost that privilege, Sharky.” 

Oh good, Park thinks, you’re going to make him beg. 

He shifts beside you, throat bobbing as he conjures up a lighthearted apology. Despite the softening of edges that you had done in the time that Brendon Park got to know you, he was still a brash, direct man with little room for humour. So—ironically—the bone doctor was losing in his attempt to find his funny bone in this sudden back and forth you had created. 

Instead, you answer for him. 

“It can be undone. You seem like a man who thrives in harsh working conditions, and I can provide you with harsh, Park.” you goad him cruelly, “I have expectations when it comes to grovelling, and usually they come in a more physical form than verbal.” 

Park blinks. Were you asking for a sexual favour? 

Evidently, you saw the same thought cross his blank expression and jump to mend that idea, “No, you do not need to whore yourself out for my number. However, let me know your schedule, and you can prove your worthiness for my digits again through hard labour.” 

There wasn’t even a beat of hesitation, no argument that came to the forefront of Park’s mind as you ordered him about like a dog in training. You yanked his leash, and he came bounding after you—didn’t mean he didn’t slightly curse your defiance in his mind. Either way, he silently fished his phone out from his pocket and opened up his schedule for you to take a look at. 

Each minute you two spent in each other’s company added more curiosity to everyone’s lips. (They were just ensuring you were okay, for the most part.) 

Neither of you cared to notice as you opened up your calendar to mirror Shark’s schedule for Orthopaedics. 

You reach for his phone, “Do you mind?” you ask politely with those sort of twinkly eyes that makes Park’s knees go a bit soft. You smile up at him when he willingly hands it over, “Thank you.” 

You soon find out that Park the Shark’s calendar is nothing but a strict regime. Work, run, work, therapy at 5PM, food shop and more work. So the rumours were true: he was a lone shark. 

What better way than to brighten that loneliness up with some decoration? 

Satisfied, you hand Park back his phone, noting how he had spent the time you had been punching information into the empty dates on his calendar; by making the surrounding doctors and nurses scarce with a mean look to make them back off. 

“You can come do these things with me.” you say happily when you lock the computer screen, “Fun things.” you add. 

Park scrolls through his calendar with one finger. His brows pinch, “…Pilates?” 

“Yes!” you clap your hands together, “Ooh! You’ll love it.” (He wouldn’t.) When Park gives you a disapproving look at the list of things you added to his week, you dramatically deflate on the spot, “Come on, Park. You know it’s okay to be multifaceted? It isn’t a crime. You Ortho Bros are such meatheads.” 

(Risqué insult, but it paid off.) 

“Do I look like I go to Pilates?” 

You give him a slow look up and down, “…Do you need me to answer honestly?” 

Park could’ve kissed your smart mouth. He went for the latter of a short huff that could’ve been mistaken for a snippet of laughter. 

Your own face cracks with a big grin, “These are my expectations, big guy. If you don’t want to do these things with me, well, my number just wasn’t meant to be. Was it?” 

“It was. You’re just playing a mean game.” Park states as he tilts his chin upward, staring down the slope of his nose at you.

It was incredibly attractive, to be honest.

Even with the little resistance, Park was prepared to play the long game with you at the core of it. If he had to attend a Pilates class everyday at the crack of dawn, then so be it. It would also mean he’d catch a glimpse of you out of scrubs, and greedily take up your spare time with his brooding presence; not that, that phased you. 

He slots his phone back into his pocket, “I’ll see you tomorrow for…Pilates, then.” 

“Okie-dokie!” you pat his broad back as he turns to take leave. You speak lowly, “I can’t wait to see you in your Pilates get-up.” 

SET AFTER:

Rockstar - Brendon Park meets his match against PTMC's fiery new attending.

Pussy Wagon - A spilled drink leads you to see a different side of your nemesis Park The Shark.

The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.

A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...

This Is Not A Love Story - Brandon tries to set a rule after a 'sticky' situation.

The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.

Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.

Is He Prettier Than Me? - Brandon gets curious when he learns you have other plans.

The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.

Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.

Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.

An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.

THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.

Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...

Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.

Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.

A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.

The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.

The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.

The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.

Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.

His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.

The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.

A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.

The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.

Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.

Baby Shark - Once a year Brendon always ends up back at the aquarium.

Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.

The Call Out - Brendon's focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he's called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.

Good Hands - Abbot reminds Brendon you're in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.

Flayed - Brendon's world crashes down as he learns the truth about the accident.

Ten Things I Love About You - Brendon discovers a pink envelope in the pocket of the jacket you were wearing at the time of the accident.

The Parent Trap - Brendon faces your parents, leading to a surprise revelation.

Sledgehammer - Brendon struggles to cope in the aftermath of everything that's happened.

Et Tu Marianne? - Your mother throws Brendon under the bus after you wake up from surgery.

The Fucking Patient - Abbot has some harsh words for Brendon regarding your care.

Chemistry - You and Brendon finally have a moment alone to talk.

A Serial Absconder - Your habit of disappearing leads to a healing journey Brendon doesn't expect.

Home - Brendon introduces you to your new home after the accident.

It’s your first day in the house and reacclimating is a problem, a big one.

You love the house. You love all the work Brendon, and your father have put into adapting it. The fact it already feels like home despite the fact you’ve only just rolled through the door.

So, the real problem, you realise. The real problem is you.

You don’t seem to fit.

Literally.

That side of the couch you always sit on when you’re catching a Raven’s game, you can’t get comfortable because it seems too low for your leg and if you tuck a cushion underneath it puts strain on your hip.

When you wheel yourself into the kitchen to make a cup of tea you realise the kettle is unobtainable, pushed back against the backsplash in its usual place. Any attempt to lean over in your chair results in you almost tipping it over and falling out.

It’s the same with the bookcase, there’s only one bookshelf you can comfortably reach and it’s the one directly in front of you with the framed pictures of you and your parents, you and Bren. The books are either too high or too low to grasp.

“I need a grabber.” You say glumly as you sit in your wheelchair alongside the couch, your chin on your hand as you watch the Bengals get slaughtered by the Steelers. Even your archenemies bitter defeat isn’t doing much to improve your mood.

“We can get you one.” Brendon says from his position on the couch as he twists his head, his full attention coming to rest on you. “But what you really need is a change up.”

“What does that even mean?” You ask, scowling as you attempt to decipher his words.

His gaze slips to your stump, his dark eyebrows furrowing as if he’s doing math. You can see the cogs slowly turning and it pisses you off even more than you aren’t part of whatever conversion he’s doing in his head.

“Alright…” He says finally, rising to his feet. “We’re four weeks post op so I think I should be able to get away with doing this.”

“What are you– ummphhh.” Your question is drowned out when he literally picks you up from the wheelchair and tosses you over his shoulder.

“Does this hurt?” He asks, adjusting his grip because you’re now about five pounds lighter and your weight disruption is a little uneven.

“No you neanderthal, it doesn’t.” You land a smack right on his ass from your new vantage point. The sound vibrates through the room and you can feel his smile against your hip as he playfully bites your ass through your shorts, making you yelp.

“Good.” He says taking you with him on his journey into the open plan kitchen. “Because we’re going to fix some shit.”

He sets you down on the worksurface carefully, adjusting your hips with his palms so that your stump isn’t hanging over the edge of the counter. “What about the kitchen isn’t working for you?”

You run your hand through your hair, shoving it away from your features as you gesture at the kettle, the biggest offender in this space. “Everything is too far away when I’m in my chair. The appliances, the teabags, the mugs. I almost fall out of it, trying to reach them.”

“Shit.” He states his eyes sweeping over your form before assessing his own. “I forgot you’re almost a foot shorter than me so when I was testing out what you could reach with a dining chair...”

“Oh.” You say, because that is incredibly romantic in its own special little way. “You actually did that?”

“Yeah.” He says scrubbing his palm over the back of his neck as he pulls a face at his own mistake. “I thought I was being helpful, but I guess there were some factors I should have taken into consideration.”

“You were helpful.” You assure him as he drifts towards the opposite side of the kitchen and begins to adjust the location of the appliances you like to use. “You just forgot I’m a shortass.”

The edges of his mouth tip up as he shifts the kettle into a more manoeuvrable space, the tea station comes next, along with the mug you like to use. “Alright then shortass, you can do the things on your side of the counter and I’ll do mine.”

It takes a couple of minutes for the two of you to reorganise the kitchen but in the aftermath, you feel better already, seeing everything you need within arm’s reach. It’s a good step towards your independence, especially when Brendon returns to work in a few days.

“Ok passenger princess.” Brendon parks himself between your thighs, his palms coming to rest on the counter alongside your hips as he steals a kiss. “What’s next on our agenda?”

“The bookshelf.” You tell him, your fingers running his hair making him arch like a cat against you. It’s getting a little long these days, just enough for you to grab in your fists if you were that way inclined, and you do feel inclined, very inclined. You’re just scared of how different things are going to be when you do eventually decide to get back on that horse. “I can only reach the shelf I’m eye level with, so we need to move the pictures to a higher one and those ones down…and they’re in the wrong order.”

That kind of thing, it drives you absolutely fucking crazy. You can’t wait to pull them all off the shelf and reorganise them.

“So, the problem is you can’t reach your billionaire romances or your murder mysteries. We can fix that… hold on.”

His hands slide under your ass, grasping it so your core is snug against his cock. Your fingers lace at the back of his neck as he lifts you again, holding on for dear life as he manhandles you.

Christ you’ve missed his, having his hands on you. There’s no tentativeness, no unsurety, just the skilled dexterity of the man you love as he carries you back towards the couch.

“Oh, what are you…” He sets you down on his side of the sofa, the one that hasn’t been indented with years of you sitting there.

“I’m putting you down in my seat.” He explains, rearranging the cushions behind you. “You have a different shape now, so you need something a little more firmer, that’s more supportive of your leg. How does that feel?”

“Better actually. A lot better.” You admit, testing the flexibility of the cushion. It’s unrelenting under your weight, keeping your thigh situated without putting additional pressure on your hip.

“Good.” He says, moving away to procure your books but you catch his hand, tugging him back to you.

“Bren.” You say softly, the anxiety filtering into your voice. “I want to talk about sex.”

“OK.” He says dropping down into the seat alongside you. His arm rests on the back of the sofa, his fingertips stroking gently through your hair, soothing you as you try to find the words.

“You know things are going to be different right?” You blurt out and his eyes narrow as he tries to understand your concerns. “I’m not the same person I was before, my body is… it’s not that I don’t feel sexy, which is weird because I lost a leg and that makes most people feel incredibly unsexy. It’s just when we do get to do that again… I’m going to need help, our go to positions, the kinky shit we did… I’m not sure of how much of that we’ll be able to do anymore. We’ll have to make adjustments, it’s probably going to be a little weird...”

“You mean we’ll get to explore lots of new and interesting things together.” Brendon breaks into the conversation, his fingers trailing along your jaw, tipping up your chin so he can look into your eyes. “I think, when you are ready to dip your toes back into the pool the two of you are going to have a lot of fun figuring out what works for us.”

“Yeah?” You say almost shyly as his thumb traces over the shape of your lips, dragging the lower one down just enough to make sparks shoot through your body. “You really think that?”

“I know that Rae.” He says softly, leaning over to capture your mouth. That kiss, it’s filthy. It makes your heart race, your blood pumping through veins as his tongue swipes along the seam of your mouth. “You and me, we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

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