Just a cute little fluffy fic with my husband and son before bed. Not proofread 🩵🩵
“Thank you.” You whisper to your husband while you cuddle in bed late one evening. You having been up late learning high Valyrian with Daeron, the boy getting better at it.
“I know I’m incredible but what exactly are you thanking me for?” He asks voice quiet, not wanting to disturb the peace. It having been a chaotic day, the children trying to help in the kitchens. “My good looks?”
“Well that obviously.” You tease before growing serious. “But also giving me Daeron.” You say softly, thinking of your little family. “Him, along with you and Kathryn, are the best things that have ever happened to me.”
“Good.” He says kissing you softly. “But truthfully I should be thanking you, my love.” At your confused expression he clarifies. “You brought love and light into our lives and for that I’ll always be grateful.”
“I love you.” You say against your husbands lips, knowing you could spent eternity against then and never grow tired.
“I love you too.” He say rolling you onto your back so you can continue kissing. “I love you so much my love.”
-
“Ormund wants to take Daeron to squire.” Gwayne say as soon as he enters the solar, having just come from a meeting with the man. Gwayne already having said no, but thinking he should tell you.
“Ormund can go fuck himself.” You reply quickly, not liking your children anywhere near the Lord. Not trusting him as far as you can throw him, which isn’t very far.
“My love.”
“No way in the seven fucks is my son working for that manipulative piece of shit.” You say hoping Gwayne refused the man, if he didn’t he would deal with it.
“Noted.” Your husband says smirking kissing your cheek before sitting down to read. “It’s good I already told him no, I don’t particularly want you killing my cousin today that would be incredibly impractical.”
-
“I’m sorry.” Daeron says guiltily, not wanting anyone to be mad or upset with him.
“I accept your apology, my sweet boy.” You say taking his hand in yours knowing your son is very insecure, and terrified of punishment. Him clearly still affected from the few years he spent living with Ormund before you married Gwayne and took the boy in. “Everyone makes mistakes every so often, we just have to learn from them.” You reassure, squeezing his hand three times, code for I love you. “So what did you learn.”
“Don’t let Tessarion roam the castle without telling anyone.” He say looking down at your joint hands, not thinking his plan through just knowing that he wasn’t allowed to fly without permission. Tessarion missing her rider so he thought she’d like to spend some time in the castle.
“Exactly.”
“That scared the shit out of me.” Gwayne says still recovering from the rude awakening.
“Sorry kepa.”
“It’s fine, just next time don’t let a dragon into my chambers without telling me when I’m trying to have a nap.” Gwayne reasons, never before now thinking he’d be woken by a real dragon wanting a cuddle.
“She just wanted to see you.”
“I know, but waking up to a dragon staring at you can be quite terrifying.” Gwayne laughs, thinking the whole thing ludicrous. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
-
“kirimvose.” Thank you. You say as Daeron passes you the potato’s over dinner, you making the rule that you both have to speak in high Valyrian to make him more fluent. You doing the same, having been taking secret lessons for years to help him.
“Yôû'’rhëza wel'khôméën.” You’re welcome. He responds smiling at you while he does so.
“Sȳz bôyza.” Good boy. You praise, wanting him to know you’re proud of him at all times. “Yôû'’rhëza ïmp’rhôviñgnos wé’lltor.” You’re improving well.
“I really need to get better at high Valyrian.” Gwayne mumbles to himself only able to make out good boy and thank you. Drinking some of his wine a small smile on his face though at how good you and Daeron have gotten over the past few moons of constant practice.
“Mae'ybætor ao kostion gīmigon lēda Ka'edjrhyntor?” Maybe you can learn with Kathryn?Daeron says with a cheeky smile, you laughing at his suggestion. Kathryn now 4 namedays old and too busy eating her mashed potato to care about the conversation going on around her. “Kesor mae'ybætor vēttys aōha lév'ëlion.” That maybe more your level.
“I don’t know what you said but I’m going to assume it was rude given how much your mother is laughing.” Gwayne say pointing his fork at the boy, smile obvious on his face making it clear he wasn’t actually mad.
-
“Why can’t I stay on the ground where it’s safe?” Gwayne asks, looking at Tessarion. The girl clearly exited as she keeps chattering.
“Because he’s not allowed to ride long distances alone and I’m with child.” You explain, Helaena inviting Daeron to meet her half way, the girl having been writing her brother every so often.
“But- can’t a dragon keeper go with him?” Gwayne tries absolutely terrified of heights, not understanding why Helaena couldn’t fly the whole way. Dreamfrye being a bigger more experienced dragon anyway so the distance would be shorter.
“I can go alone kepa, it’s fine.” Daeron offers not wanting to inconvenience anyone but also wanting to see his sister, the girl being the only one to keep in contact with him. Even if most of her letters are about different types of bugs and pretty things she saw in the gardens.
“No, it’s not fine.” Gwayne responds putting his son above his fear, not willing to let the boy go alone. Knowing he’s secretly scared to see his sister in person for the first time since he can remember. Gwayne suspecting Alicent might come along to supervise, him not wanting Daeron to be alone if she does. “I’ve got this.”
-
“I’m never flying again.” Gwayne says to you later that night after the children are asleep in bed. Daeron having had a nice afternoon with his sister. Both secretly grateful Alicent didn’t come with her, Gwayne not thinking Daeron was ready for that yet. “That was terrifying I don’t know how you two like it so much.”
“It’s exhilarating.” You say, loving the free feeling you get as you fly through the sky. Daeron loving it as well. Kathryn being more like her father and liking to be in the ground.
“It’s horrifying.” He corrects pulling you closer into his arms, the man having missed you today. Especially given you’ve just found out your with child again for the first time in years. You both thinking the gods would only bless you with Daeron and Kathryn, grateful to be proven wrong.
“But did he have a good day?”
“He did.” Gwayne admits, knowing if Daeron asked he’d do it again in a heartbeat. His son’s happiest taking priority to his momentary discomfort. “I wish we could take in Helaena as well, you’d love her.”
“She’ll have to come to visit for a while then.” You say having heard all about the girl from Daeron. Him having asked if she can stay for a few days next moon. You saying you’ll have to ask her mother first. “I’m sure she’ll love it here, especially with all the bugs in the gardens.”
“I’ll write Alicent on the morrow, but first I need my wife.” He says pulling you into a kiss. “I love you more than words can ever express.”
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The night air sweeping in through the window is bitingly cold, but you do not close the heavy arched windows of your chambers. You stand perfectly still, wrapped in a simple but elegant night dress of ivory silk that pools around your bare feet.
As the youngest daughter of Aemma Arryn and King Viserys, your blood is pure Old Valyria, yet you wear the heavy velvet and sigils of Oldtown. You are the lady of Oldtown, the wife of Ormund Hightower. For years, yours has been a marriage defined by a quiet, devastating distance. There were no grand declarations of passion, no sweeping romances; just a cold, dutiful alliance between a dragon princess and the Lord of the Hightower. Yet beneath the icy exterior lay an unspoken, terrifyingly deep love, a devotion neither of you ever dared to confess, out of pride, out of fear, or perhaps out of the sheer weight of the war tearing your families apart.
But now, the war has stripped away the luxury of your silence.
Your thoughts are miles away, trapped within the cold stone walls of the Red Keep. Your young son, a boy who inherited his father’s sharp Hightower features, dark hair, and striking brown eyes rather than your silver locks, was in the Red Keep when Rhaenyra’s dragons descended. The blacks had taken the castle. Your boy was a captive.
The heavy oak door to your chamber creaks open, then softly clicks shut. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. The firm, deliberate weight of his footsteps tells you everything.
Ormund steps into the room, still wearing his heavy riding leathers, the scent of horse, leather, and the impending winter clinging to him. He stops a few paces away, his gaze locking onto the fragile silhouette you present against the dark sky. For all the coldness between you, the sight of you in your night dress, looking so terribly vulnerable, breaks something inside him.
Slowly, he closes the distance, coming to stand directly behind you. He doesn't touch you at first, respecting the invisible wall you both spent years building.
But tonight, you don't have the strength to maintain it.
With a ragged breath, you let your head fall back, leaning the weight of your body completely against his solid, armored chest. You feel him stiffen in surprise for a fraction of a second before his hands find your waist, his grip firm, steadying you as you tremble against him.
"I want my son back, Ormund," you whisper into the dark, your voice cracking with a fierce, agonizing desperation. "I want him back in my arms."
You turn slightly within his embrace, your hands coming up to grip the cold iron of his breastplate, your violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears as you look up at his guarded face. "You must do everything. Anything. Ride north, burn everything, march your armies to the very gates of the Red Keep, but bring him home to me."
Ormund’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes reflecting the absolute agony radiating from you. He opens his mouth to speak, to give you the measured, strategic response of a lord, but you press a hand to his chest, cutting him off.
"I have never asked you for anything, Ormund," you sob softly, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down your pale cheek. "In all the years we have been wed, through the coldness and the silence, I have never begged you for a single thing. But I am begging you for this. Give Rhaenyra whatever she wants. If she wants Oldtown, let her burn it. If she wants a head..." Your breath hitches, your fingers clawing at his armor. "Offer her mine. I will willingly give my life to the executioner's block if it means our boy walks free. I will die for him, Ormund. Please."
Hearing the woman he secretly adored, the fierce dragon princess who had never broken, never bowed now speaks of throwing her life away is too much for him to bear. The wall of ice between you shatters completely.
Ormund catches your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. He pulls you flush against his chest, his head dropping down to press a deep, lingering kiss into the crook where your neck meets your shoulder. His lips are warm, trembling slightly with a profound emotion he has suppressed for a lifetime.
"Never speak of giving your life," Ormund murmurs against your skin, his voice thick, rough with a fierce, protective rage. "Do you hear me? Never."
He shifts his head, his forehead resting against yours in the dark, his breath hot against your lips. His eyes burn with an absolute, terrifying certainty.
"I will not lose him, and by the Old Gods and the New, I will not lose you," he vows, his voice shaking with the raw weight of the love he has never put into words until now. "I will raise every sword. I will march until the boots rot off my feet and the dragons tear the sky apart. I will get our son back, my love. At any cost. Even if I have to burn the world to do it."
As he pulls you tightly into his arms, burying his face in your silver hair, the coldness of your marriage vanishes entirely, replaced by the terrifying, beautiful warmth of a husband who would destroy the realm just to keep you whole and protect your son.
Some people are complaining that it doesn't make sense that Ormund Hightower doesn't have chest hair, but we're talking about a man who likes cleanliness. If he found a way to dye a kid's hair Targaryen platinum blonde, he was going to find a way to fully wax himself.
I know Ormund would be running a beauty salon like it's the Navy
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Request - Hello lovely! Could you do one where the reader is just needy/clingy with Robby? In a cute way? As a needy gal myself, Robby brings it out in me 🙈🫶
The emergency department was loud. Not trauma-level loud. Just… emergency department loud. Phones ringing. Monitors chirping. Residents asking questions. Nurses trying to hunt down physicians who had mysteriously vanished the second someone needed a signature. In other words…
Tuesday.
You’d had the day off. Robby hadn’t. Which meant you had exactly one mission after finishing a late lunch with Dana. Annoy your boyfriend.
“I don’t know why you encourage this,” Dana muttered as the two of you stepped through the ambulance entrance.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She snorted.
“Sure.”
You spotted him almost immediately. Robby stood at the central nurses’ station, glasses perched low on his nose as he reviewed lab work. His white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. There was the familiar crease between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was charting or contemplating homicide. Probably charting. Hopefully. A resident was rambling through a patient presentation while Robby stared at the computer screen.
“Mhm.”
Another pause.
“Mhm.”
The resident kept talking.
“Mhm.”
Dana leaned toward you.
“I don’t think he’s heard a damn word.”
“He hasn’t.”
“You gonna fix that?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Without another word, you wandered over. You didn’t interrupt. Didn’t announce yourself. You simply slid into the narrow space beside him and rested your chin on his shoulder. His pen stopped moving.
“…Hello.”
“Hi.”
“You stalking me?”
“Maybe.”
The resident glanced between the two of you, suddenly unsure whether to continue presenting.Robby sighed.
“Finish, Whitaker.”
Dennis blinked.
“…Uh…”
You smiled politely.
“Sorry. Pretend I’m furniture.”
The poor kid looked even more confused. Robby finally turned his head just enough to glance at you.
“You’ve been here exactly seven seconds.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re already attached to me.”
“Mhm.”
“…Why?”
You shrugged.
“I missed you.”
“You saw me this morning.”
“That was…” You pretended to calculate. “Like… six whole hours ago.”
He made a face.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“You love me.”
“I’ve never admitted that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. But you caught it. Victory. Whitaker awkwardly cleared his throat.
“…Should I…”
Robby looked back at him.
“Continue.”
The poor guy launched back into his presentation while you remained exactly where you were, chin resting comfortably against Robby’s shoulder. You didn’t say another word. You were simply… there. Halfway through discussing antibiotics, Robby’s free hand absentmindedly found yours.
He didn’t even seem to realize he’d done it. His fingers laced through yours automatically while his attention remained on the patient in front of him. Dana walked by just in time to see it. She barked out a laugh.
“You two are fucking ridiculous.”
Neither of you looked up.
******
By four o’clock, the emergency department had settled into one of those rare lulls that everyone knew wouldn’t last. Robby finally escaped to the physician workroom with a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour earlier. You followed. Of course you did. He hadn’t even sat down before you appeared in the doorway.
“You again?”
You smiled innocently.
“What?”
“Were you waiting outside?”
“…Maybe.”
He dropped into the chair with a groan.
“My God.”
“What?”
“I have a stalker.”
“You have a girlfriend.”
“Same thing.”
You wandered behind him while he logged into the computer. Then, without warning…You wrapped both arms around his shoulders from behind. Not tightly. Just enough that your forearms rested across his chest while your cheek found the top of his head.
He froze for exactly one second. Then continued typing.
“…Comfortable?”
“Mhm.”
“You planning on staying there?”
“Mhm.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know I have to work.”
“I know.”
“So…”
“I can hug you while you work.”
He sighed dramatically.
“Jesus Christ.”
But he leaned back ever so slightly into your embrace.
“You know…” You smiled against his hair.
“What?”
“You complain an awful lot for someone who hasn’t told me to let go.”
“I’ve accepted my fate.”
“Which is?”
“I’m apparently dating a koala.”
You gasped.
“A koala?”
“Mhm.”
“I was hoping for something majestic.”
“You climbed onto me twenty minutes ago.”
“I leaned.”
“You’ve been touching me for the better part of an hour.”
“I like touching you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“It makes my brain happy.”
That answer made him stop typing. He turned his head enough to look up at you. Your expression was completely sincere. No teasing. No joking. Just… honesty. He reached up and gently rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.
“You had a rough week?”
You nodded once.
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I just…” You smiled sheepishly. “I’ve missed my person.”
Something softened in his eyes immediately. Without another word, he reached behind himself, caught your wrist gently, and tugged. You stumbled around the chair with a surprised laugh.
“What are you—”
Before you finished the sentence, he pulled you sideways until you landed across his lap.
“You weigh approximately six pounds.”
“I do not.”
“Close enough.”
You laughed as your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.
“There.” He rested his chin against the top of your head. “Better?”
“So much.”
“Mhm.”
“You gonna let me finish charting?”
“Probably not.”
“I figured.”
The workroom door opened. Frank Langdon walked in carrying two charts. He stopped dead in his tracks. Looked at the two of you. Looked at the clock. Then looked back.
“…Are you kidding me?”
Neither of you moved. Robby didn’t even lift his head.
“No.”
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You know there are chairs.”
“There are.”
“So why is she in your lap?”
Robby answered without missing a beat.
“Because she wanted to be.”
Frank stared at him.
“…That’s your explanation?”
“Mhm.”
“You realize both of you are attendings.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re acting like you’re seventeen.”
“Mhm.”
Frank looked toward you for help. You simply smiled.
“I like him.”
Frank threw one hand into the air.
“I can see that.”
He turned to leave, muttering under his breath.
“I swear to God this hospital is becoming one giant HR complaint.”
The door closed behind him. You started giggling. Robby finally laughed too, the deep, quiet laugh that almost never escaped him at work.
“You happy now?”
You nodded against his shoulder.
“Mhm.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“Good.”
“You know…”
“What?”
“I think you’re secretly clingy too.”
He scoffed.
“Absolutely not.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So if I got up right now…”
“I’d finish my chart.”
You slowly lifted yourself an inch off his lap. His hand immediately settled against the small of your back. Holding you there. You raised an eyebrow.
“…Really?”
He looked down at where his hand had landed. There was a long pause. Then he sighed.
“…Don’t.”
A grin spread across your face.
“I knew it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He rolled his eyes so dramatically it should’ve hurt.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” You settled right back against him, smiling as he automatically tightened his arm around your waist. “…Here I still am.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yeah… yeah, you are.”
And despite all his grumbling, not once—not for a single second—did he actually let you go.
******
If there was one thing everyone at PTMC had learned over the years, it was that Dr. Michael Robinavitch looked perpetually irritated. Even when he was perfectly happy. His neutral expression made medical students question their career choices. His focused expression made residents apologize for things they hadn’t even done. And his genuinely annoyed expression…Well. People tended to scatter.
It made your favorite hobby all the more entertaining. Because underneath all that perpetual grumpiness…He was unbelievably soft. Just not for anyone else.
“You know,” Dana said one afternoon as she watched you standing at the coffee machine, “you’re about to become public enemy number one.”
You glanced over your shoulder.
“Why?”
She nodded toward the trauma bay.
“Because your boyfriend has been in back-to-back traumas for four hours.”
“So?”
“So he’s in one of those moods.”
You peeked through the glass doors. Sure enough…There he was. Hair a mess from repeatedly dragging his fingers through it. Glasses shoved into the pocket of his scrub top. Jaw clenched. He was listening to a surgical consult with all the enthusiasm of someone getting a root canal without anesthesia.
“Oh…”
You smiled.
“He needs me.”
Dana barked out a laugh.
“No, ma’am. He needs a nap.”
“Those are basically the same thing.”
“They are absolutely not.”
You grabbed your coffee anyway.
“I’m going in.”
Dana leaned back against the counter.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you make him smile.”
“You owe me money.”
“We’ll see.”
The trauma consult finally ended. Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Anything else?”
The surgical resident wisely shook his head.
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
The resident disappeared like he’d escaped prison. Robby exhaled slowly.
“Christ…”
His back hurt. His head hurt. Someone had somehow spilled coffee on one of his favorite pens. He’d been yelled at by a patient’s family because the CT scanner wasn’t magically instantaneous. He was running forty-five minutes behind on charting. He wanted approximately ten minutes where no one spoke to him.
“Hi.”
He looked up. There you were. Holding two coffees. Smiling like you hadn’t a single stressful thought in your head. His shoulders relaxed before he could stop them.
“…Hello.”
“I brought you coffee.”
“I already had coffee.”
You looked at the cold cup sitting beside the computer.
“That?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s iced coffee now.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
“I figured.”
You slid the fresh cup toward him. He accepted it without argument.
“Thanks.”
“You look grumpy.”
“I am grumpy.”
“I know.”
“You enjoying this?”
“A little.”
“You should probably seek therapy.”
“I already have you.”
He looked at you over the rim of the cup.
“…That was smooth.”
“I know.”
You leaned against the counter beside him. Neither of you spoke for a minute. You simply stood shoulder to shoulder while he drank his coffee. To everyone else…It looked uneventful. To you? It was your favorite kind of intimacy. Just existing beside him. Eventually he sighed.
“I’ve got another twelve charts.”
“I know.”
“Three admissions.”
“Mhm.”
“And Dana keeps threatening to assign me residents.”
You gasped dramatically.
“The horror.”
“I’d rather fight a bear.”
“I’ve met some of your residents.”
“They’re exhausting.”
“So are you.”
“They’re exhausting differently.”
You laughed.
“I’ll give you that.”
The overhead speaker interrupted.
“Dr. Robinavitch to Room Eight.”
He closed his eyes.
“…Of course.”
He made no move to leave. You nudged his shoulder.
“Go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“You come with me.”
It wasn’t even phrased like a question. You smiled.
“Bossing me around now?”
“I’m inviting you.”
“That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“It was an invitation with authority.”
You laughed.
“Okay, Chief.”
He started toward Room Eight. You fell into step beside him. Naturally. Halfway there, without thinking, your hand slipped around his forearm. Not because you needed help walking. Not because you were trying to make a statement. You just…Liked holding onto him. He glanced down.
“You know…”
“What?”
“We’re walking twenty feet.”
“I know.”
“I don’t disappear if you let go.”
“I know.”
“So why are you hanging onto my arm?”
You looked up at him like the answer was obvious.
“Because it’s attached to you.”
He stared at you for a beat.
“…That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
You grinned.
“But you smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I exhaled.”
“You smiled with your lungs?”
“Exactly.”
“Medical miracle.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You are unbelievable.”
“You love me.”
“I’ve made questionable decisions.”
“You proposed.”
“That was one of them.”
You laughed so loudly that a passing nurse looked over.
“You are such an asshole.”
“And yet…” He slowed just enough for you to catch back up after nearly laughing yourself breathless. “…You’re still holding onto me.”
The patient in Room Eight turned out to have the flu. Nothing dramatic. Just a miserable forty-year-old man convinced he was on death’s doorstep. By the time the exam was finished, you’d somehow ended up perched on the edge of the counter while Robby finished documenting. The patient watched the two of you with narrowed eyes.
“You married?”
You answered first.
“Not yet.”
“Engaged?”
“Mhm.”
The man looked between you.
“I can tell.”
Robby didn’t look up from the computer.
“How?”
The patient shrugged.
“My wife follows me around the house like that.”
You blinked.
“…Like what?”
He pointed at you.
“You keep finding reasons to touch him.”
You looked down. Your hand was resting lightly against the middle of Robby’s back. You hadn’t even realized.
“Oh.”
The patient chuckled.
“My Linda does that.”
You smiled.
“Really?”
“Thirty-seven years.”
He grinned weakly.
“If she’s in the room…” He shrugged. “…She’s touching me somehow.”
Silence settled for a second. Then the man looked directly at Robby.
“Enjoy it.”
Robby paused his typing. The patient continued quietly.
“One day you’ll walk into a room…and nobody’ll be there reaching for you.”
The room became unexpectedly still. The humor dissolved. You watched Robby’s expression change almost imperceptibly. Something thoughtful flickered behind his eyes. He finished the discharge instructions before helping the patient up.
“Take the antiviral.”
“I will.”
“Drink water.”
“My wife’ll make me.”
“Good.”
The patient smiled.
“You’ve got a good one, Doc.”
Robby glanced toward you.
“…Yeah.” His answer came softly. “I know.”
Later that evening, the department finally settled down enough that the two of you found yourselves walking toward the parking garage together. The heat had finally given way to a warm summer breeze. You instinctively slipped your hand into his. He didn’t say anything. Just intertwined his fingers with yours. After a minute, you looked over.
“You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Mhm.”
“You okay?”
He nodded once.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“It usually is.”
Another few steps passed. Then, completely out of nowhere, he stopped walking. You turned toward him.
“What?”
Instead of answering…He reached out. Straightened the collar of your scrub. Brushed an imaginary speck of dust from your shoulder. Then rested his hand gently against the side of your face for just a second. You smiled.
“What was that for?”
He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed.
“Nothing.”
“Robby.”
His eyes met yours.
“I guess…” He cleared his throat. “…I never really thought about why you do it.”
“Do what?”
“The touching.”
You tilted your head.
“It makes me feel close to you.”
“I know.”
“And I like knowing you’re there.”
He looked down at your joined hands.
“I think…” A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “…maybe I like knowing you’re there too.”
Your entire face softened.
“Oh?”
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t make a thing out of it.”
“So you admit it?”
“I admitted nothing.”
“You literally just—”
“I said I tolerate your clinginess.”
“You said you liked it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
You stepped closer, slipping both arms around his waist.
“Liar.”
He sighed with theatrical annoyance.
“Jesus…”
But both of his arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you snug against his chest.
“You know what’s funny?” you murmured.
“What?”
“You’ve been hugging me this whole conversation.”
He looked down.
“…Huh.”
“You gonna let go?”
He thought about it. Then tightened his embrace instead.
“…No.”
You smiled into the fabric of his scrub top.
“I knew it.”
He kissed the top of your head with a grumble that lacked even the slightest hint of annoyance.
“Don’t get used to winning.”
You laughed.
“Too late.”
And with one arm still draped securely around your shoulders, the two of you walked the rest of the way to the parking garage—looking, as Dana would later describe it, “like two people who’d forgotten personal space existed.” Neither of you minded one bit.
******
The shift had been absolute bullshit from the moment you’d walked through the doors. Not catastrophic. Not traumatic. Just… one of those days where every patient seemed angry before you even introduced yourself.
The woman in Room Nine insisted you were withholding pain medication because you “looked too young to be a real doctor.” A man with a sprained ankle screamed at one of the nurses because his discharge paperwork was taking “too fucking long.” Someone threw up in the hallway. Someone else somehow managed to clog the staff bathroom. And just before lunch, one of your pediatric patients had looked at you with huge watery eyes and asked if his mommy was going to die.
She wasn’t. But explaining that to a terrified seven-year-old had taken a bigger piece out of you than you wanted to admit. By six o’clock, your social battery had officially flatlined. You found Robby in the physician workroom. He was exactly where you expected him to be.
Feet propped on the desk. Reading through imaging reports. Coffee sitting forgotten beside the keyboard. Glasses sliding halfway down his nose. He looked up as you walked in. One glance at your face. That was all it took.
“…Bad day?”
You nodded once.
“Mhm.”
“Anything explode?”
“Not literally.”
“That’s usually a positive.”
“Mhm.”
He watched you for another second.
“You okay?”
Instead of answering…You walked straight over to him. He frowned.
“What’re you—”
You simply climbed into his lap. Not gracefully. One knee on either side of his hips, arms immediately wrapping around his neck before you buried your face against the side of his throat. He let out an amused grunt as the chair rolled back an inch.
“…Jesus Christ.”
No answer. Only your forehead pressing more firmly into the warm skin beneath his jaw. He rested one hand automatically against your lower back to steady you.
“…baby.”
“Mhm.”
“You realize we’re at work.”
“Mhm.”
“You are currently sitting on the chief attending of emergency medicine.”
“Mhm.”
“Very professional.”
“Mhm.”
He sighed dramatically.
“I date a raccoon.”
“You date a koala.”
“I’ve upgraded you.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I’m sad.”
“I know.”
“I don’t wanna doctor anymore today.”
“I know.”
“You know a lot.”
“I’ve been listening.”
His fingers began slowly rubbing circles across the small of your back. The movement was absentminded. Instinctive. Like breathing. Neither of you spoke for nearly a minute. You just stayed there.
His heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The smell of coffee and laundry detergent lingering on his scrub top. One of his hands resting protectively against your waist while the other continued lazily scratching up and down your spine. It was enough to make your shoulders finally unclench.
“…Better?” he asked quietly.
“A little.”
“You wanna tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I just wanted you.”
His heart squeezed. “…Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“You got me.”
Another long silence. You breathed him in.
“I love you.”
The words were muffled by his neck. He smiled to himself.
“I had a feeling.”
“No…” You lifted your head just enough to look at him. “I mean…”
Your eyes looked exhausted.
“I don’t need advice.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need someone to fix it.”
“I know.”
“I just needed my favorite person.”
Something softened so completely in his expression it almost didn’t look like Robby anymore. He reached up and brushed his thumb beneath one of your eyes.
“I’m right here.”
“I know.”
The workroom door swung open. Dana walked in carrying three patient charts. She froze.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Neither of you moved. She stared.
“You two have become insufferable.”
You smiled over your shoulder.
“Hi, Dana.”
“What exactly is happening?”
You answered honestly.
“I’m emotionally regulating.”
Dana blinked.
“…By sitting on your fiancé?”
“Mhm.”
She looked at Robby.
“And you’re allowing this?”
He looked genuinely confused.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Tell her no.”
He looked down at you. You had already curled even closer against him. He looked back at Dana.
“…I physically can’t.”
Dana laughed so hard she nearly dropped the charts.
“Oh my God. You are so whipped.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve become a human recliner.”
“I’ve accepted it.”
She shook her head.
“I’m telling Langdon.”
“Go ahead.”
“He’ll make fun of you.”
“He already does.”
Almost as if summoned…Frank walked through the doorway. He stopped. Looked at the two of you. Closed his eyes.
“No.”
Dana immediately pointed.
“I didn’t do this.”
Frank opened one eye.
“Robinavitch.”
“Mhm.”
“Why is your fiancée in your lap?”
Robby answered without hesitation.
“She had a hard day.”
Frank waited.
“…And?”
“And she wanted a hug.”
“So you sat her down?”
“She sat herself down.”
Frank looked at you.
“Is this accurate?”
You nodded.
“I climbed.”
Frank sighed toward the ceiling.
“I spent twelve years helping people.”
Neither of you responded.
“I’ve worked mass casualty incidents.”
Still nothing.
“I once intubated someone in the back of a moving ambulance.”
Robby nodded.
“I remember.”
“And somehow…” Frank gestured toward the two of you. “…this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve seen.”
You couldn’t help laughing.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He looked back at Robby. “You know…”
“What?”
“You could put her down.”
Robby frowned.
“…She’s not a backpack.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looked down at you again. You had somehow managed to tuck your face back into his neck without anyone noticing. One of your hands lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your breathing had slowed. Your entire body had gone wonderfully, comfortably limp. He smiled. Just a tiny one. Barely there. Then he looked back at Frank.
“I could.”
Frank waited. Robby shrugged.
“…Don’t really want to.”
The room went completely silent. Dana’s jaw dropped. Frank stared. You looked up slowly.
“…Wait.”
Your eyebrows shot toward your hairline.
“What?”
Robby’s eyes widened slightly.
“…Shit.”
Dana pointed dramatically.
“He admitted it!”
Frank immediately chimed in.
“I heard it too.”
“I…” Robby rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not…”
Dana was already halfway out the door.
“I’m getting the residents.”
“No!”
Frank followed her.
“This deserves witnesses.”
“For the love of God…”
Within thirty seconds, half a dozen residents were suddenly finding reasons to walk through the physician workroom. Dana stood in the doorway grinning like she’d won the lottery.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” She announced far louder than necessary. “…Dr. Robinavitch has officially admitted he likes affection.”
A chorus of dramatic gasps filled the room. One resident whispered, “Holy shit.” Another muttered, “I thought he reproduced through mitosis.” Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I hate every single one of you.”
“You don’t mean that,” Dana said sweetly.
“I absolutely do.”
You finally slid off his lap, only to immediately stand beside him and lace your fingers through his. He looked down. Then, without thinking, Squeezed your hand. Dana noticed. Of course she noticed. She pointed again.
“There!”
“What?”
“The hand!”
“What hand?”
“You’re holding her hand!”
Robby looked down. Sure enough…He was. Completely unconsciously. He closed his eyes.
“…Goddammit.”
The room erupted into laughter. You looked up at him with the biggest, sappiest smile he’d ever seen.
“So…”
“What.”
“I think…”
He already knew.
“…don’t.”
“…you might be just as clingy as me.”
He looked at the ceiling as though asking for divine intervention.
“I am never beating these allegations.”
You leaned up on your toes and kissed his cheek.
“Nope.”
He let out one long, dramatically suffering sigh. Then, with every resident watching…He slipped his arm around your waist anyway. Because apparently the allegations were true.
******
By the time the two of you got home that evening, the laughter from the emergency department had followed you all the way to the parking garage. Dana had texted.
Congratulations on coming out as affectionate.
Robby had immediately responded.
Go to hell.
Two seconds later…
❤️
He’d locked his phone.
“I hate her.”
You laughed from the passenger seat.
“No, you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
“You invited her to our barbecue last weekend.”
“That was a lapse in judgment.”
“You made her a burger.”
“I was being polite.”
“You gave her the last brownie.”
He shot you a look.
“I was manipulated.”
“You were.”
“I know.”
You reached over the center console and rested your hand on his forearm. He didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t comment. He simply turned his arm over so your fingers naturally slipped into his palm. Like always.
The house greeted you with the familiar sounds of home. The hum of the refrigerator. The air conditioner kicking on. Your golden retriever trotting enthusiastically toward the front door, tail wagging so hard her entire back end swayed with it.
“There she is,” you cooed, dropping to your knees.
The dog immediately shoved her head beneath your chin, demanding attention. Robby hung both of your jackets by the door before scratching behind the dog’s ears.
“You’ve created a monster.”
You looked up.
“Which one?”
He looked between you and the dog.
“Exactly.”
You laughed.
“She’s just affectionate.”
“So are you.”
“I’ve never knocked you over trying to say hello.”
“You’ve come close.”
“I absolutely have not.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“You literally launched yourself into my lap today.”
“…That was different.”
“How?”
“I was emotionally delicate.”
“You looked more like a flying squirrel.”
You gasped dramatically.
“First I’m a koala.”
“Mhm.”
“Then a raccoon.”
“Mhm.”
“Now a flying squirrel?”
“I’m workshopping.”
“You suck.”
“I’ve been told.”
Dinner ended up being takeout because neither of you felt like cooking. Chinese food. Sweatpants. Hair pulled back. The television playing some documentary neither of you were actually watching. Robby stretched out across one end of the couch with a tired groan.
“My feet hurt.”
“You’ve been standing for fourteen hours.”
“My back hurts.”
“You’re getting old.”
He looked over.
“I’m forty-nine.”
“Ancient.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“You’ll forget by tomorrow, Grandpa.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You are the worst.”
You smiled sweetly.
“I know.”
He picked up the remote. The movie had barely started before you quietly slid across the couch. One cushion. Then another. Until your thigh rested against his. He didn’t look away from the television.
“…Hello.”
“Hi.”
“You’ve migrated.”
“It’s a big couch.”
“It was.”
“It still is.”
“You’ve somehow occupied my half.”
“I don’t think that’s physically possible.”
“It is when you’re determined.”
You smiled to yourself. You waited another thirty seconds. Then you gently tucked your feet beneath one of his legs. His eyes flickered toward you.
“…baby.”
“What?”
“Are you trying to merge into me?”
“No.”
Another minute passed. Then your head slowly found his shoulder.
“Mhm.”
“What?”
“The final form.”
You laughed quietly.
“I like your shoulder.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“It’s comfortable.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“It smells like you.”
“I’ve definitely noticed.”
He sounded completely deadpan. You tilted your head enough to look up at him.
“Are you actually annoyed?”
He looked down at you. Your cheek was squished against his shoulder. Your eyes looked sleepy. Your hair was a mess from taking it out of its ponytail. You looked…Happy. Safe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you look so completely at ease.
“No.”
His answer was quiet.
“I’m not.”
You smiled.
“Good.”
“You know…”
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You really are attached to me a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“You follow me around the house.”
“Mhm.”
“You sit beside me when I read.”
“Mhm.”
“You steal ninety percent of my hoodies.”
“They smell like you.”
“You’ve said that.”
“I mean it.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I know.”
Silence settled between you again. The documentary continued playing to absolutely no audience. The dog sighed dramatically from her bed across the room. Outside, the wind rattled softly against the windows. Eventually, Robby spoke again.
“I have a question.”
You hummed.
“When did this start?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“The…” He motioned vaguely toward the two of you. “…constant need to be touching me.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Long enough that he thought maybe you weren’t going to answer. Then you reached down and absentmindedly traced circles across the back of his hand.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
You sighed softly.
“I think…” You searched for the right words. “…I think it’s because you’re the only place my brain ever gets quiet.”
He turned toward you completely. You continued staring at your fingers where they rested against his hand.
“Work is loud.”
“Mhm.”
“My thoughts are loud.”
“Mhm.”
“The world is loud.” Another small shrug. “But when I’m touching you…”
You smiled sheepishly.
“…everything gets still.”
Robby felt something twist painfully inside his chest. He’d expected something teasing. Something silly. Not that.
“You make me feel…” You looked up at him. “…home.”
The room fell wonderfully silent. He reached up and gently brushed a piece of hair away from your face.
“You should’ve told me that.”
You smiled.
“I didn’t think I had to.”
“No.” He admitted quietly. “I guess you didn’t.”
Without another word, he set the remote down on the coffee table. Then he shifted. Until he was sitting farther down the couch. You frowned.
“What’re you doing?”
He patted his thigh.
“Come here.”
A grin spread across your face.
“I thought I was already here.”
“I have a better idea.”
You didn’t need to be asked twice. You climbed sideways into his lap, tucking your legs over the arm of the couch as your arms naturally settled around his neck. He wrapped one arm around your waist. The other rested across your back. Holding you securely. Comfortably. Like he’d done it a thousand times. You sighed happily.
“There she is,” he murmured.
“What?”
“My koala.”
You smiled into the side of his neck.
“I thought I was a flying squirrel.”
“I’ve narrowed it down.”
“I appreciate the scientific process.”
“It was rigorous.”
You laughed.
“I bet.”
Another comfortable silence settled over the room. The television continued playing forgotten in the background. Your breathing gradually slowed. Then slowed some more. Until Robby realized you were asleep. Just like that. Curled against him. One hand still loosely gripping the front of his T-shirt. He looked down at you and couldn’t help smiling.
“You know…” he whispered, mostly to himself. “…I think they all have it backwards.”
The dog lazily lifted her head.
“They think you’re the clingy one.” He gently kissed the top of your head. “I just never have the heart to tell them…”
His arm tightened ever so slightly around your sleeping body.
“…that I don’t actually want you to let go.”
He stayed exactly where he was for the next hour, long after the movie had ended and the credits had rolled. His leg fell asleep. His back started aching again. His phone buzzed twice on the coffee table. He ignored all of it.
Because the woman he loved was sleeping peacefully against his chest. And as far as Robby was concerned there were far worse ways to spend an evening than being someone’s favorite place to call home.
******
If anyone had asked Dr. Michael Robinavitch how he was doing that morning…He would’ve answered exactly the way he always did.
“Fine.”
It was automatic.
Resident: “Morning, Dr. Robinavitch.”
“Mhm.”
Nurse: “Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
Frank: “You look like shit.”
“I always look like this.”
Business as usual. Except…You knew him. Really knew him. And the moment he walked into the emergency department, you knew something was off. He wasn’t grumpy. He wasn’t sarcastic. He wasn’t muttering under his breath about administration or broken printers or emergency medicine as a profession.
He was… Quiet. Not physically. Emotionally. The kind of quiet that only happened when something was hurting. You watched him through morning rounds. He answered every question correctly. He taught the residents. He examined patients. He signed charts. He smiled exactly once when an elderly woman flirted shamelessly with him.
To everyone else, Dr. Robinavitch was having a perfectly normal day. To you, He hadn’t looked your way once.Not because he was avoiding you. Because his mind wasn’t here. Around noon, you finally cornered Frank outside Radiology.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Frank didn’t even pretend not to know who you meant. He sighed.
“…Today’s the anniversary.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
His mother. She’d been gone for years. Robby rarely talked about it. When he did, it was always brief. Matter-of-fact. As if keeping the words short somehow kept the grief manageable. Frank leaned against the wall.
“He’ll get through the shift.”
“I know.”
“He always does.”
You nodded slowly.
“I know.”
Frank looked toward the trauma bay where Robby stood reviewing imaging with two residents.
“He’ll never ask for company.”
“I know.”
“…But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.”
For the rest of the afternoon, you didn’t smother him. You didn’t hover. You simply…Stayed close. If he walked to Radiology you somehow found yourself needing Radiology too. If he stopped for coffee you happened to be headed toward the coffee machine. If he sat down to chart you quietly took the chair beside him instead of across the room.
Neither of you said much. You simply existed beside him. Every now and then your knee brushed his beneath the desk. Your shoulder bumped his in the hallway. Your fingers found his for a few seconds before another patient pulled you away.
Tiny reminders. I’m here. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.
Around six that evening, the emergency department finally slowed enough that the two of you walked toward the parking garage together. The sky was streaked orange and pink. The summer heat had finally begun to fade. You unlocked your car. He unlocked his truck. You looked at each other.
“You wanna come to my place?” you asked gently.
He hesitated. Normally he’d tease you. Normally he’d say something sarcastic. Instead…
“…Yeah.”
Just one word. Quiet. Tired. You nodded.
“Okay.”
Dinner was grilled cheese and tomato soup. Mostly because neither of you had the energy to cook anything more elaborate. You ate at the kitchen island in comfortable silence. When the dishes were done, you wandered into the living room.
Usually this was where you’d migrate toward him. Find his shoulder. Steal his lap. Wrap yourself around him like an affectionate octopus. Tonight you stayed on your end of the couch. Not because you didn’t want to touch him. Because you were waiting. Giving him room.
He sat down with a quiet groan, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the dark television screen. The room stayed silent. One minute. Two. Three. You let it.
Then without looking at you He quietly spoke.
“…Come here.”
Your heart squeezed. Not because of the words. Because of how softly he’d said them. You smiled.
“You sure?”
He nodded once.
“Mhm.”
You stood and crossed the room. Instead of automatically climbing into his lap like you usually would, you stopped in front of him.
“What do you need?”
For a long moment He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
“I don’t know.”
Your heart broke.
“I just…” He rubbed both hands over his face. “…Don’t want to be by myself tonight.”
You didn’t say a word. You simply stepped between his knees. Slid your arms around his shoulders. And hugged him. Really hugged him. Not playfully. Not teasingly. Held him.
For several seconds, he didn’t move. Then very slowly…his forehead came to rest against your stomach. His arms circled your waist. He let out a long, shaky breath. You began running your fingers through his hair. Slowly. Patiently. The way he’d done for you so many times before.
Neither of you spoke. The room didn’t need words. After another minute, you felt him melt. His shoulders finally dropped. The tension he’d been carrying all day slowly draining away beneath your hands. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
“I’ve got you.”
His fingers tightened against your back.
“I know.”
Another few minutes passed. Then he quietly admitted, “I went to call her today.”
Your hand stilled in his hair.
“When I got in the truck for lunch.”
His voice sounded almost embarrassed.
“I picked up my phone.”
A sad smile crossed your face.
“…Habit.”
“Mhm.”
“I realized halfway through dialing.”
Silence.
“I still do it sometimes.”
You felt tears sting your own eyes.
“Oh, Robby.”
“I know she’s gone.”
“I know.”
“But every once in a while…” He swallowed hard. “…I forget.”
You carefully tipped his chin upward until he looked at you. There were tears sitting quietly in his eyes. He wasn’t crying. Not quite. But he wasn’t hiding anymore either. You cupped his face with both hands.
“I wish I’d met her.”
A tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“She would’ve loved you.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
He laughed quietly through his nose.
“She would’ve taken your side in every argument.”
“Naturally.”
“She would’ve called me an idiot.”
“You are one sometimes.”
“Mhm.”
His smile lingered for just a second before fading again.
“I miss her.”
You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
“I know.”
“I hate today.”
“I know.”
“I hate that every year it sneaks up on me.”
“I know.”
He closed his eyes.
“I just…” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly.“…wanted someone.”
Your heart completely caved in. Without another word, you climbed into his lap. This time not because you needed him. Because he needed you.
His arms wrapped around you immediately. Tightly. Almost desperately. You tucked his head beneath your chin and resumed playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your fingers traced slow circles across his back. Every now and then, you pressed a gentle kiss into his temple.
“You know what’s funny?” you whispered after a while.
“What?”
“I always thought I was the clingy one.”
He let out a tired huff that almost resembled a laugh.
“You are.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.”
“Then what’s this?”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“…This is different.”
“How?”
He looked up at you. There was no embarrassment anymore. No attempt to hide behind sarcasm. Just honesty.
“…You’re home.”
The words stole your breath. He rested his forehead against yours again.
“And today…” His thumb stroked absentmindedly across your side. “…I really needed to come home.”
Your eyes filled instantly.
“You know…” You smiled through the tears. “I distinctly remember someone calling me a koala.”
“I stand by that.”
“And a barnacle.”
“Mhm.”
“And a flying squirrel.”
“Also true.”
You laughed softly.
“So what does that make you?”
He thought about it. Then, with the smallest smile, “…A hypocrite.”
You burst into laughter. Real laughter. The kind that made him smile too. You kissed him once. Twice. Then rested your forehead against his.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“What’s that?”
“You never have to ask me twice.”
His expression softened.
“For what?”
You brushed your nose gently against his.
“For this.”
You tightened your arms around him just a little more.
“For me.”
He closed his eyes and held you as though he’d been trying not to all day.
“Deal.”
And if anyone at PTMC had walked into the house that evening, they would’ve laughed themselves sick. Because the notoriously stoic, chronically grumpy, emotionally constipated Chief of Emergency Medicine was sitting on his own couch…Clinging to his fiancée with both arms. And he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ dr. brendon park operated like most shark, always patrolling and returning to where he was familiar. he knew how to fix fractures and re-implant amputated limbs with confidence. he was a master in his professional craft. socially—brendon didn’t have that same skill, and when you moved to the night shift, the atmospheric change was something he couldn’t stabilize like bones.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no use of y/n, no physical description, sexism/conflict in the workplace, pediatric/mass casualty cases, burnout, slow burn, grumpy/sunshine, competence kink, emotionally repressed brendon (he honestly needs therapy), power imbalance, this is just park realizing he fucked up and lowkey yearns for reader to notice him again lol
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ here is the long awaited continuation! someone said something of a park pov and i couldn't resist it!! i hope this is a worthy part two (yall let me know honestly, okay?) i love brendon park y'all and i know you guys do too, so i really hope you guys like it (i have a validation kink)
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 14.4 k
part one: find another soldier!
Brendon heard more than what he wanted to about the hospital and its staff. Even though staff were acutely aware when he was around (typically refraining from making obvious comments about him), he was still able to pick up a few things here and there.
Observations of potential flings and affairs between nurses and doctors. The ‘drama’ that occurred within departmental staff—some of them including married couples who challenge their vows by working together. The latest news on what residents royally screwed up or who had been reprimanded for forgetting protocol.
Brendon Park, who had the hearing of a shark, picked up those sociable conversations between colleagues. He always stood a comfortable distance from the parade, finding no satisfaction in bonding with people he was meant to work with. The absence of relation and sharing intimacy such as personal details didn't affect his work negatively, which was all that mattered to him
He told himself he didn't care about any of it, even when he heard a thing or two about himself. Internally, he knew that was the absolute truth. There was no exception.
Until he passed by the nursing station where Sully, his chief resident, was speaking with Dr. Emmick, the night shift attending. The two were off to the side, speaking among themselves like the two had done so before. Sully held a digital chart in his hands, but his attention was on Dr. Emmick, casually slumped with her hands in her jacket pockets.
“She’s doing perfectly on her own.” Dr. Emmick shrugged, a proud smile on her face. The relief that escaped Sully made something tick in Park. “I mentioned nominating her for chief resident next year. That just seemed to amp up her determination even more, if that was possible.”
“That's not surprising. She’s always been miles above some of the other residents.” Sully responded with a buzzing smile. Brendon had resorted to stopping by the printer behind the station, pretending to be shuffling through pages he had already arranged. “She’s managed to teach me a few things I plan to take with me.”
“I’m sure she’ll be sad to see you leave,” Dr. Emmick patted his shoulder, that softer smile she reserved for praises and quiet appreciations painting her face. Sully nodded along with her words. “But, she’s blossoming here. Before you know it, she’ll be running this place.”
“Dr. Emmick,” Park cut through the conversation, standing from across the nursing station. He held up the papers in his hand, a curt nod in her direction.
She offered one more smile to Sully as she moved around the desk. Park didn’t look over at her as the two merged to walk alongside each other. In the time Dr. Emmick had been at PTMC, she never once spent time alone with Brendon Park. The most solitude the two of them spent was when they had meetings, and even then, those events included other admin or members of the collective hospital boards they were in.
She figured out he was a lone shark when they first met, preferring to slip in and out the doors without so much of a ‘good morning’ or ‘good night.’
The least he could do was offer her a nod whenever they passed each other by hand-off.
Dr. Emmick walked with a small sway, too much energy for someone who spent the entire shift focused on an emergency reconstruction of a patient with an unstable pelvic ring fracture. Brendon sensed the small glances she sent him, and he sighed out through his nostrils, maintaining his aloof demeanor. If he acted normal, she’d keep the curious questions to herself.
“We’re only a few months shy from graduation again.” Emmick mentioned casually, maneuvering around some nurses passing by, offering small ‘excuse me.’ “Do you have anyone in mind for chief residents?”
Brendon barely flinched at the question, keeping his attention straight ahead. The two pushed through the first pair of double doors until they reached the nonclinical area of the surgical department, where his office along with the other chief surgeons and attending lounge was.
He snorted lightly, shaking his head. “At the rate my residents are working, we may have to settle on one, if we both agree on someone.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for one resident,” Dr. Emmick snickered. She was aware what residents wanted the title, which came with the most attention from the attendings. All the other residents were their little ducks to watch, a true simulation of being an attending in a trauma-1 hospital.
Which came with the responsibility of their wrong-doings as much as their wins.
Emmick brushed her stray hairs behind her ear, “And if you can't settle on someone from the day-shift, I’d hate to hear what you think of those in the night shift.”
“I’m assuming you're asking because you had someone in mind.” Brendon diverted smoothly, his tone even and rested. Despite the fact he knew exactly where she was reigning the conversation, he still held the detached perceptive look he had when he was making an objective judgment.
She hummed, advancing ahead of Park to scan her badge to enter the hospital-staff exclusive area. With a beep, the doors clicked open and Brendon stalked down first. When the door shut behind Emmick she stepped back to his side, “It’s someone we both have worked with extensively.”
When Brendon reached his office, he bowed his head slightly to hide the twitch in his nose. Once he sat at his desk, he had put back the stoic expression. Emmick shut the wooden door, pulling out a chair for her to sit across him. Both her hands folded onto her lap, legs crossed. The small twitch in the corner of her mouth all but confirmed his suspicion.
When your name escaped her mouth, he straightened his back. He was recalling the image of him sitting on his desk, your buzzing body standing in front of the door, waiting for the moment to escape. You had left and never looked back.
Once the switch was made official, Park wasn't expecting there to be a lapse in his day-to-day life. It’s not like you had moved departments or hospitals. He would see you passing by the halls during hand-off, the back of your head or the familiar fleece jacket you sported in the eerily cold hospital; but there was a distance that didn't exist while you worked the dayshift.
Working under his command and his directive as his resident.
“What about her makes her ideal for the position?” Brendon questioned. The current quarterly review the two were meant to oversee before their meeting pushed aside.
The question was firm, like he was interviewing his colleague instead of searching for her opinion. She raised her eyebrows at him, an amused grin flashing back at him. “You want my professional opinion?”
“Obviously.”
“She is a good mentor, has great instinct and initiative. She keeps a clinical perspective while under pressure.” Emmick listed out concisely, opting to appease the language Dr. Park preferred. He didn’t care about the mush or the personable trait that made you stand out to him, even if Emmick felt those strengths were your greatest virtues. “As a third-year resident, she is already doing the job of a chief resident, without the title.”
Brendon remained silent, pressing his lips into a thin line. The subtle movement of his jaw, an obvious tick, made it evident what he refused to put into words. He had doubts.
“This observation is based on the last three months she’s been on the night shift?” He clarified while crossing his arms over his chest. Through the sleeves of his scrubs, his muscles tightened, pulling the fabric tighter.
Emmick confirmed with one silent nod, eyeing Park from her chair. “As well as the double and previous night shifts she has worked.”
“And you're confident in her abilities?”
The more questions he spewed, the more it resembled an interrogation. He was investigating a theory he was keeping to himself through the people who knew you, instead of addressing the source. In three months, it was clear that you were keeping a distance.
No one wanted to spend five minutes alone in a room with Park, let alone talk to him that long. In your case, you confronted him of the clear judgments he made of your work while under his supervision. The public displays of his criticism had pushed you into the deep end of a pool, and as you found an edge to climb off, you took the extra steps to never fall in that situation again.
If you had asked him, he’d describe it as running.
“You aren’t?" Emmick resounded incredulously, like it was unbelievable he thought contrary to popular belief.
“I think that in the majority of the three years I’ve witnessed her work, I’ve noticed moments requiring additional correction.” Brendon commented with no hesitation, as if he was waiting for the opportunity to let it out.
The frustration you caused when Mr. Stevenson suffered through compartment syndrome. The lack of awareness when you were run down through your double shifts. Even the lack of urgency when treating patients. It was all hindering your ability to be a perfect orthopedic surgeon.
“All residents need to be corrected.” Emmick remarks with a humorous scoff. Park ticked his head to the side, displeased with her dismissing his objection. “I’m not saying she’s perfect.”
“It was implied strongly by your choice of words.”
“Well, in comparison to some of the other residents, she’s damn near it.” Emmick cocked her head to the side, almost daring him to utter a word. Brendon kept his eyes on her, and all he saw were talons flared out, like a hawk ready to protect its nest.
Emmick had traits he respected in a colleague. Working together as attendings undertaking residents with shaky hands became a source of common ground. What divided them was their nonidentical ways of going about it. Emmick stuck her ground when Brendon might expostulate with gravity to the risks. She believed in a hand-on validating method. Brendon had to see it first to believe it.
“I thought maybe you might agree.” She mentioned casually, picking at a lint on her jacket sleeve.
Brendon nose twitched, leaning forward in his seat to rest his burly arms on the table. “Why is that?”
“Because I like to believe you couldn’t possibly deny when a resident is good at their job.” Emmick narrowed her eyes at him, tempting to push him just close enough to the edge where he’d have to turn and face the issue.
What Brendon thought was nothing was something worth omitting. He could brood all he’d wanted, and most of his residents wouldn’t blink a teary eye, but what he cursed Emmick over was her peculiar talent at observation.
“Especially not a resident like her.”
He huffed out a sigh, almost cracking his resolve. This had to be a joke. “The residents chosen for the chief position need to have earned my utmost trust. It’s not a title handed prematurely.”
“Like Sullivan?” She asked skeptically, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back in the chair.
Her steady stare dragged across every inch of his face. He didn’t bother intimidating a colleague who had proven time and time again she wasn’t to be messed with; even when people assumed she was too lax in comparison to him.
But, she had a nasty bite.
Brendon knew exactly what she was insinuating. Apart from Sullivan (who was personally chosen for the role by Park) his co-chief for night shift was also a man who (in Parks terms) got lucky from the process of elimination. Despite the fact Emmick might’ve argued the two female 4th year residents would’ve made wonderful selections.
“Look, before you snarl your shark-teeth at me, let me say one thing.” She put up a hand to restrain his irritability right before they were meant to meet with administration.
When he mentioned nothing more, she sat up straight, leaning in closer like she might tell him a life-changing secret. “If this is about her moving to night shift, that might’ve been my doing more than hers. No hard feelings, Brendon.”
“What do you mean?” He entertained, eyes turning into slits as he stared curiously. Like examining an amputation on the field.
“I told her I could use a resident with her skill.” She mentioned casually, like the concept was known by everyone. Brendon was aware of what Emmick thought of you, as much as the other resident did. She didn’t hide her affection or pride with a firm guard as he did.
She shrugged, her smile upside. “I didn’t think she’d want to give up the chance to be taught by you, but here we are.”
Brendon's eyes moved down at the desk, feeling the oak from that night as he gripped the edge of his desk. He conformed to the idea his sudden dissatisfaction was from you standing over him, pointing blame for affecting your work. He was too hard, too malevolent, or contemptuous for your liking.
All the effort he put in was just him being too “proud” and “arrogant.” He expected more from you, and he didn’t need your honesty (as you had put it), to remind him that you weren't up to the plate.
“I still stand by the fact she’s exceptional, and it would be a disservice if we didn’t even consider her.” She concluded, with the firmness that came from working her way to where she was.
On the very few occasions that they spoke, Emmick had expressed small gratitude for the trust he had extended to her when she first transferred over. He didn't comprehend the need to “thank” him. He assumed the hospital was hiring competent attendings to take over the hard work while teaching naive residents and interns.
So when he thought of you, as chief resident or an attending, the bill did not fit. Nobody just deserved the title. It was earned from hard work. You had yet to work hard enough to garner a standing ovation from him.
Philosophy wasn’t Brendon’s strong suit. He didn't waste his time on debates, but he did have strong beliefs. Medicine was a rational practice. There were right and wrong things to do in a hospital—as a surgeon—that could put the lives of others in the balance. He was taught that lesson long ago, and when it came time for him to pass along his teachings, he made sure to drill it in all his residents.
‘Your patient can die at any moment. Don't be the reason they don’t make it.’ was something he had reminded them time and time again. He didn't need to be pulled away from one life-saving surgery to futilely attempt another. His residents should be covering all bases, without serving any reminders.
He hadn't forgotten the occasions you had failed at that.
It was rookie mistakes unsuited for third year residents. When he enforced responsibilities, he expected stellar work in return. If the residents signed up for the work of orthopedic surgery, they should be held accountable for every action and inaction that they take. He expected them to enforce that upon themselves.
He had put that weight on you.
He was unapologetic for what he had done while you worked with him. It was all for the sake of the patients, himself, and you. Your work was a reflection of him, and if you couldn't figure out how to stand on your own two feet, how could anyone trust the training you had to save lives?
You had not seen it that way. Brendon shrugged it off in turn.
Maybe he was vindictive, waiting for Emmick to see the dangerous flaws he did. He expected Emmick to see it as he did, but she had other pillars in her teaching.
He saw it the way she smiled whenever you showed up around her. Brendon noticed it from inside patient rooms, behind nursing stations, and the few occasions you two were in the same space together. Emmick praised you with the same ease as breathing.
Everyone was aware how rare Dr. Park complimented anyone for his or her work. Marla Emmick operated oppositely.
She’d pat your shoulder, whisper something with that curled grin of hers, or give you a fist-bump as a supportive nod of your actions. Brendon rolled his eyes at it.
These weren’t kindergartners who needed a gold star for accomplishing something required of their program. These were grown adults who needed to comprehend the intensity of their choices, their observations and evaluation of patients, and the importance of knowing what they were doing as much as showing up to do it.
He was trying to make competent surgeons capable of saving fragile human life and he would do that at the expense of feeding the “shark” persona everyone saw. Cold-hearted, detached, and mean.
Even while you were under the supervision of Emmick, he still tried to figure out whether you had learned anything from the time you spent with him. He needed to see whether Emmick was right about her observation.
Park was making his way to the patient waiting in the pre-op wing. He stalked around, looking for the small group of residents making their rounds. He nodded at Annette, the charge nurse, as she pointed over to patient room three. When he made his way to the room, he saw the collective group of residents standing at the foot of the bed. He stood by the doorway, listening to the hand-off Reddy, the senior residents for the night, conducted.
Frank Giles, a 65-year-old, needing a total hip replacement after a nasty fall in his home, sat on the bed. He was cracking jokes with the residents, who seem to go along with it.
He was looking around the crowd, in search of someone specific. Frowning, he looked at Dr. Reddy, “Where is that one doctor? She’s the one who spoke with me when they first admitted me.”
Reddy furrowed his brows, glancing up from the device in his hand. He paused for a moment before speaking your name. It rang bells in Mr. Giles face as his smile widened, “Would it be too much to ask if she could do the operation?”
Sully smiled sincerely, standing center at the foot of the bed. “Her shift ends soon, unfortunately. But knowing her, she will likely check in with you tonight once you’re resting up in post-op.”
Mr. Giles conformed to the idea, despite the fact his smile was nearly as bright as before. “Good friend of hers, I assume?”
With a flustered grin, Sully nodded. “Roommates. Given the amount of time we spent together, I would hope we are.”
A belly laugh filled the room, and Mr. Giles identified with something Sully said. The endearing look on his face made it clear to Brendon, watching the old man examine Sully like he were someone familiar. “Reminded of my late wife and I.”
Brendon could make out a quiet condolence from Sully. Before Mr. Giles could go on a tangent, Sully smoothly transitioned the conversation into pre-op protocol. Reddy jumped in easily, going over the diagnosis.
He nodded along to what Reddy explained about the procedure assigned to Sully. After a couple of questions, the residents paid their farewell and filed out in a line.
Park stood back, waiting for the senior residents to emerge from the room. When his chief resident noticed Park, he gave him a silent tut of his chin. He fell in line beside him, silencing the quiet conversation between Sully and his co-chief resident.
“Where is Dr. Emmick?” Park asked without invitation. The question was directed to Dr. Reddy, who lifted his brows in response.
Park expectantly looked at him with hooded eyes. He shook himself from the daze, “She got stuck in a complex acetabular reconstruction. 3 hours and counting.”
“Alone?” Park followed up, eyes darting in front of him as he counted the back of the resident's head.
He knew exactly who was missing. He didn’t need to specify where his curiosity lied.
“No,” Sully jumped in, glancing at Park from beside him. Despite the fact they were about the same height, he still towered over the senior resident. He then said your name with a smile, “Dr. Emmick managed to rope her into a possible ten-hour surgery. Although, I doubt she would’ve said no to it.”
“Better her than me.” Reddy had mumbled under his breath, presuming his comment could be omitted from Park the Shark.
“As a fourth-year resident, it should be you.” Park swiftly remarked, barely jerking his head to look at Reddy. He did extend his arm to Sully, silently taking the device in order to sneak a look at the operation details. “How do you intend to make up for your lack of exposure in a different hospital? By choking up the minute you’re standing over a patient with everything at stake?”
Reddy's wide eyes panicked and landed on Sully, hoping the person supposedly in his corner would save him. Sully gave him a menial headshake, refusing to intervene. Reddy sighed in defeat, shoulders sagging. “It was a joke.”
Park didn’t elaborate more on the matter as he glared at him from the corner of his eye. As he opened the operation details, he read about the patient suffering a work-accident. Based on the intake details and initial imaging once in the ER, it was an unfavorable surgery to hop on while almost done with a 12-hour shift. With a both column fracture involved, you two were bound to be stuck there for ten hours.
Before Park could rip Reddy apart even more, he excused himself to debrief about a patient in post-op. Instead of joining the group, Park stopped by the nursing station, investigating the details of the case further. Of course, Emmick would choose her most prized resident to join the surgery.
However, Brendon couldn’t help but wonder whether you agreed for the experience and bragging rights that came from being selected over your senior resident only.
Sully stood in front of him, hands in his pocket while glancing between his fellow residents in the patient room and his attending. He leaned back on his heels, “I heard the patient was in a pretty bad state when he came in. Dr. Emmick might be stuck in there a while, if you needed her.”
Park huffed out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. With your absence, he was able to gauge what type of doctor Sully would turn out to be. He was the same ambitious and focused resident he always was, even without you to support him through every surgery.
Whether he wanted to or not, he had asked Park for a recommendation letter for an attending position he planned to take at a trauma-1 hospital in Chicago.
Brendon never embellished the truth—whether personally or professionally. There was no way he would lie on a rec letter for a resident, no matter how much they relied on it for a position anywhere. But, he hated to admit, Dr. Sullivan had managed to push Park to add some flourish to the letter.
“Maybe this is out of place, but I know talks about chief residents are being held around this time.” Sully leaned in casually, still keeping his focus mostly on Reddy and the other residents. They both could hear enough from outside the room. “Do you mind if I give you my opinion as their predecessor?”
Park lifted his gaze up, hooded eyes staring back at Sully, who waited patiently for a response. Looking bored, Park sighed, “Something tells me you’re going to give it to me regardless.”
Sully chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck casually. He shrugged, “I want to make sure you and Dr. Emmick consider everything to make the right choice, not that you need me to do that.”
Remaining silent, Park stared blankly at Sully. After a beat, he understood Park wasn’t going to welcome the suggestion verbally. That was beneath him. Sully leaned onto the nursing station, eyes focused on Dr. Park. “I don’t want you to think this is some plug just because she’s my roommate or because we’re close.”
Brendon didn’t need any more explanation as to who he was referring to. The utterance of your name from him was something he was starting to dread after the last conversation with Emmick. Sully stared skeptically at Park, trying to read into the stoic demeanor he had all the time. “She is a good surgeon, and as her chief resident, I do believe she could fulfill the position with ease.”
“Are you sure she’ll survive without you?” Park questioned, his eyes now narrowed on Sully. It wasn’t the type of concern Emmick would’ve shown him. It was a mockery of what Sully just expressed. The everlasting doubt in his resident still understands the work. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t vocalize it yet either.
Sully cocked his head to the side, “I don’t doubt it. The real question is if I’m going to survive without her. I got too comfortable having her around, I guess.”
Brendon saw the slight tenderness in his eye. Something soft he didn’t get to see every day between him and you. He could almost sense your presence while you were holed away in an OR. The way patients asked for you with the same affection they’d search for a comrade. He was aware of what the residents thought of you, often turning to you to save them from a sinking boat.
It was like they knew you’d throw them a life preserver, unlike the harsh suggestion to ‘figure it out’ on their own like Park would do.
“The lease of our apartment is already under her name. She is set for next year.” Sully mentioned coolly. Park hated small talk, but he found it odd within himself to hesitate with cutting the conversation short. He stared with the same blank expression at Sully, completely unsure what to do with that information.
Sully chuckled, “If she weren’t set on staying, I would drag her over with me.”
Brendon forehead creased in the center and his jaw clenched, similarly to when attending a consultation in the ER. A solid focus on trying to capture every detail of a patient’s leg, arm, or other joint susceptible to needing care under his department.
He never questioned where a resident went once they were done with their program. They all couldn’t stay here, and the ones that attempted found it hard to continue with the pressure pushed by ‘Park the Shark.’ Even if there were a resident whom he deemed sufficient to fill an attending position, he’d never advocate on their behalf.
Brendon didn’t get where he was by accepting a hand-out from anyone.
“I’m still going to hold her a place over there just in case.” Sully continued, still hanging around Park like there was more to discuss.
Park caught the residents leaving the room, walking over to another a couple of doors down. His eyes followed their movement, barely blinking when he looked back at Sully, questioning glare. “Shouldn’t you be doing hand-offs with the rest?”
Sully didn’t look over his shoulder, or show any attempt to attend to his duties. There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, not even when he saw the glare from Park, staring him up and down. He was a man determined to do a job Brendon saw no point in. “I’m telling you this because I’d hate for you to come to the realization how critical her contribution to this hospital is until it’s too late.”
Brendon grinded his jaw slightly. Had Sully conspired with Emmick to shove you down his throat? Or maybe this was a lousy attempt at your end to get an apology out of him. Park didn’t relinquish. He didn’t care how much people argued the contrary, he refused to give in on what people may think was “best” for his department.
“You may not need her, but that doesn’t eliminate her worth around here.” Sully stated with firmness.
From the hardened stare of his resident, Brendon knew exactly what Sully was referring to. He didn’t doubt that you’d share the hostility brewing between him and you. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Park would not shy away from exposing a resident for their wrong doings.
What he was starting to notice was the courage of certain residents willing to put their foot down on what they saw was unjust.
They handed him the short end of the stick during his residency and med-school years. His teachers and attendings didn’t make it easy, and they certainly wouldn’t have tolerated being advised by residents like you and Sully.
Instead of picking a fight, he chose the silence. It was early in the morning to dig into Sully. He’d chosen to wait into swatting him around like a shark with its fin. It took another minute for Sully to realize Park the Shark was opting to glare at him, inserting dominance until he got the hint.
Park handed him the device back. Sully took it without question, swiftly turning to head in the direction the residents disappeared. Standing firm in place, he watched the cloud of plum scrubs move around the post-op floor.
He knew exactly which ones would cry over his directive before the start of their next year. Who would hesitate and second-guess themselves the next time they answered a consultation. He could acutely guess who would be eaten alive by the other attendings across different departments. If they couldn’t handle the likes of Robby or Walsh, then he saw them quitting sooner rather than later.
Yet, you didn’t fit that image, physically or metaphorically.
You, who was off doing a surgery only he trusted senior staff on, were ambitiously seeking to make yourself indispensable. There was no need when you had staff like Emmick and Sully in your corner, even the dreadful surgical attendings like Walsh were jabbing at Park to ‘ease up’ on the only resident able to keep up with him.
He heard it all and up until now, it never made sense to ‘ease up’ on his residents. It was far from his natural instinct to push until they finally figured to pull themselves up, even as he had control of the rope. You had managed to deny him that pleasure, opting to climb the side of the cliff with your bare hands.
Now, he was left watching and waiting, with the rope still in his hand.
When Brendon heard about the opening of OR 5, cleaned up after the complex acetabular reconstruction, it was past noon. He was doing the afternoon check in with Annette, and he hadn’t realized how late the surgery ended.
There was no sight of you or Emmick. He would not have assumed either of you were going to stay longer than necessary once charting was done. It was a difficult procedure based on the pre-operative details. The day had been lulled by a scheduled base itinerary that the residents could handle with limited supervision. He had time to spend, and he was analyzing the patients chart as if he was going to scrub in for surgery.
It was obsessive, but the compulsion to understand every surgery in the department he commanded, was a given.
He happened to be going around the post-op ward. Checking in with residents as patients moved out of surgery to observation or were discharged or transferred elsewhere. As he was passing by the room in the far corner, he heard a familiar belly laugh. Unrestrained and engrossed in whatever made him laugh.
Brendon peeked his head first, checking in through the window. Mr. Giles sat on the bed, glancing to his left with a toothy grin. The surgery had been done in a few hours, and although he’d probably feel better sleeping the entire procedure off, he had his own form of treatment.
He was staring fondly at a female visitor. It was hard to make out who they were from their face, but the silhouette was too familiar. He noted the black backpack sitting beside the chair, pulled close to the bedside. It wasn’t until the voice started laughing along with Mr. Giles that it clicked.
“I swear, I’ve never seen anyone slip so animatedly as then.” You breathed out, the laugh subsiding into giggles as you tried to catch your breath.
Stopping beside the filler of the wall between both rooms, he crossed his arms. Without realizing, he was inclining his ear closer to listen. You sighed out dramatically, “He’s not the most graceful, but he can suture up nerves and tissue even with his eyes closed.”
“So, how come he’s leaving?” Mr. Giles questioned, interested in the explanation. He cleared his croaky throat.
There was a beat of silence, and from the corner of his eye, Brendon noticed how you shrugged. “He doesn’t see himself staying here. This was always temporary compared to where he wanted to be.”
“And how about you?” Mr. Giles proposed, smiling again. “You’re pretty good at what you do. Where do you want to be?”
You hummed, nervously laughing after as you tried deflecting the comment. Too humble to know when to just take the compliment. “I haven’t decided yet. Dr. Sullivan has invited me to join him once my residency is over, but I still have a year to figure that out.”
“Don’t wait too long.” Mr. Giles advised in the antiquated fashion Brendon’s parents did to him.
Marriage. Kids. Retirement plans; personal-life-milestones Brendon put aside. He didn’t have to think about that while focusing on his career. As long as he could continue to be the chief orthopedic surgeon at PTMC, his life was as fulfilled as he felt it could be. He didn’t need personal distractions to keep him occupied.
“Sometimes, the things that are good for us are the things we let go.” Mr. Giles warned, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “If I had taken my own advice, I would’ve married my wife before going to the Marines. I was lucky enough she came to find me once her first marriage ended.”
Brendon glanced down at the watch positioned on the inside of his wrist. It was past one and he didn’t need the liability of restless residents staying around past their bedtime. He advanced towards the patient’s door, one hand braced on the frame of the open sliding door.
He spoke your name briskly, title and surname firm into the air. You turned towards the door of the room, eyebrows raised to your hairline. Staring at you with heavyset eyes, he saw the casualness of your attire. Plum scrubs more than likely in the dispenser, changed into relaxed jeans, a grey t-shirt, wrapped in your fleece jacket.
Rotating from the hip, you put on a tight lip smile. “Dr. Park. Did you need to check in with Mr. Giles?”
“No,” The firm definition of his arm around the sleeves of his scrub tightened, gripping tighter to the frame. “I’m here to make sure all my staff is where they need to be.”
With the pronunciation of his possession over the day shift, you heard the message clearly. Facing Mr. Giles, your body relaxed with the revelation of his soft expression. With one hand stretched, you patted his hand lying flat on the bed. “I will check on you tonight.”
He scoffed, the corner of his lip curling up. “So soon? You just can’t stay away from this place, huh?”
While reaching down to slip on your backpack, you smiled coyly. You pushed the chair back to the corner, and once back by Mr. Giles bedside; you paused with your hands in your jacket pockets. “What can I say, I love what I do. Rest up, Frank.”
Making your way out the room, Brendon pulled his arm back, stepping aside to give you an undisturbed exit. The air that hit him as you were passing by was colder than the fuzziness between you and Mr. Giles. Brendon still found himself venturing in the same direction as you.
“If you’re looking for Dr. Emmick, I last heard she was speaking with the wife of the steel-yard worker.” You directed to Park walking behind you. As you turned the corner, walking in the direction of the elevator, he was still behind you.
“How did the surgery go?’ He asked with no change in the equilibrium of his tone.
You sighed, shaking your head. “He’s in the ICU. Apart from the fracture and the reconstruction, he suffered major trauma to his internal organs. Spleen was compromised, and Dr. Walsh removed a part of his kidney.”
The way you noted all the information was robotic. It was like having an automated voice read the chart. If he had wanted the differential diagnosis of the patient, he wouldn’t have asked. His eyes lingered on the back of your head, suddenly determined to leave the hospital as rapidly as possible. As if your pit stop to see Mr. Giles wasn’t the true reason you had delayed leaving.
Instead of heading straight for the elevators, you derailed into the residents lounge, slipping in and letting the door fall behind you. Park, with the reflexes from his childhood, pushed the door back with his palm. Inside the lights were dimmed, and you walked over to the fridge, as if you were utterly alone in the room.
“How come you were pulled to assist?” Brendon ruminated, eyes narrowed at you.
When you stood back up straight, you had an energy drink in your hand. The crack of the seal echoed and you shrugged while sipping the beverage. He awaited a verbal response. Some nonsensical explanation for an answer you had no way of knowing.
You took a couple of steps, in his direction, before stopping. He didn't move from the path to the door. With wide eyes and an awkward tight lip smile, you rocked on your feet. “Is there something else you needed to know about the patient, Dr. Park?”
The question wasn’t proposed because you wanted the conversation to continue. If it was the only way for you to be able to leave the confined space, you would; but you make it practical. About the patient care and the workload, the night shift was leaving the day shift. Nothing of the sort that related personally to you and him.
He knew with the scheduled double shift you were blocked for must have been a dread. If the current direction this conversation was heading was any clue, he could see the double shift being the last thing you want to do.
Working for 24 hours—half of them stuck with the attending you shunned from your education. Brendon was anticipating some form of retaliation. Letting your professionalism turn to spite. Lying in wait to see whether you’d give him the same treatment you felt you unjustly earned from him.
“Typically a fourth-year resident would perform or assist the procedure.” Park responded, completely guiding the conversation in the opposite direction.
You didn’t remove your eyes from him. They were glassy, and the way your lids would flutter ever so slightly, weary. With your lips sealed, you slowly nodded your head, as if remembering for the future. Don’t get used to this treatment. It’s not meant to last.
“I responded to the consultation and it was Dr. Emmick’s directive to have me on the surgical team.” You plainly renounced. This antagonistic approach was doing nothing in his favor. From the way you kept looking at him with the blank expression, he had more luck talking to a wall. “It was a learning opportunity.”
Brendon curtly nodded once, flexing his jaw as his teeth pressed against each other. Firmer than before. How were you supposed to be ‘equals’ if you could barely speak words to him?
“I have to go home. I work another shift tonight.”
Silently, you maneuvered around his body. As he felt your arm come up against his, he finally retracted himself. You only opened the door wide enough to slip your body, letting partial light from the hospital peek in the ambient lounge.
Brendon’s hand reached for the handle, pulling it open wider. You glanced up when you noticed the door leave your grasp. You spun around once stepping out the room, eyeing Brendon peculiarly.
He stood opposite of you, shoulder tall and pulled back. He nodded once more, “See you next week for day shift.”
Brendon prided himself on the control he had. The influence in his department that allowed him to rule over his residents prevented health violations and potential lawsuits from knocking on his door. It saved him from unprecedented headaches. The less likely he was to have an unplanned meeting with Admin, the better.
That idea was expanded to his residents. He deemed it efficient to harbor the tenacity his attending preached. If they put on a mile with an inch, they could potentially save someone’s quality of life.
That is a lot harder said than done when patients weren’t easily agreeable to their plan of care.
Which was the only reason Brendon was tenser with pediatric cases. With more parties involved with the care, there was more time dedicated to explaining operative procedures and post-op care. Everything was done for the consideration of the children, but Brendon didn’t understand that type of reliance.
Being a single man in his early forties, he had yet to figure out that stage of his life. There was no personal life with a wife or children waiting for him outside the hospital doors. So his approach was practical when explaining, but it was failing him at the moment.
A 12-year-old girl was trembling in fear, tears staining her cheeks, while sitting on the hospital bed. Her parents were sitting beside her, and after Brendon thought they might be able to proceed with the open reduction and internal fixation, they were pulling out with the consent forms before them.
“We just don’t feel as comfortable as we did before. I mean, how do we know the probability of the risks?” The father reasoned, similar in build as Brendon, one arm filled with tattoos. He twisted at the hip, as one hand held the smaller one of his daughter, while facing Brendon.
He shouldn’t have sent Jones to sign the consent forms.
“We don’t have precise numbers, but most children recover well.” Brendon’s concise answer was honest, not medically malicious. He couldn't provide them false hope. That was a lawsuit waiting to happen.
“But, could she develop this growth plate injury the other doctor mentioned?” The mother questioned, leaning forward in the chair. Her eyes were sunken from the exhaustion, and despite the fact, they had only been there for three hours, the hospital air and lights were draining the youth in her.
“So we aren’t even sure if she will be able to dance, let alone move normally?” She continued with a shaky breath.
He was totally going to rip Jones a new one.
Before Brendon could make a feasible attempt to remedy their concerns, they all heard a knock come from the door.
You peeked your head in, one hand braced on the door you slid open. Your eyes landed on the couple and their daughter, and as if you immediately sensed the tension in the room, you smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Dr. Park for a moment.”
When your attention moved to Park, he let out a heavy sigh, one raised eyebrows in your direction. What is it?
The subtle shake of your head, Not in here.
Brendon grabbed the device the parents put at the edge of the girls bed. The father stood up, wiping his hands on his black denim jeans. “We will need more time to think about this, anyway.”
“Let the nurse know when you’re ready.” Brendon curtly responded.
You opened the door wider, stepping back to let him through. Closing it gently once he stepped out, you spared the family a soft smile. You both walked away from the glass, over to the nursing station. Brendon put down the device, “What is it?”
“ER needs a consult.” You informed him immediately. He put his hands on his hips, turning to the patient's room.
When he glanced at you, he noted the army green scrub cap, beige stars littered around it. It seemed new. He shrugged his shoulders, lips pursed. “Why hasn’t anyone gone down?”
“Bryant did.” You affirmed, shaking your head as you scoffed. “Dr. Robby must be in a mood because he sent him up immediately. I just happened to catch him groveling when I left the OR.”
His eyes wandered up to drink in your nurtured appearance. Despite the last shift you worked being night shifts, you managed to come rejuvenated for the day. This was no longer the shift you mastered, but you appeared the same as before.
Except Park knew things were different. Unexplainable, but it was messing with the ‘control’ he had within himself and in his habitat.
When you came in for hand off, you joked with the night shift. Hugged and laughed along with whatever funny patient interaction they had that night. When you came around Emmick, she’d check in with you, tease you about the change of schedule.
Once Park came around to collect all the residents, he caught the slight wink she sent you when you both looked in his direction. Like the two of you had always spent your residency as close friends.
“So, how come you're here telling me this?”
You chuckled, grinning subtly. “It’s better than having to hear about you ruining another resident's spirit.”
The knowing look in your eye that twinkled before you looked away didn’t go amiss. That was shady, but something told him that’s exactly what you meant to do. Even if he couldn’t admit it, you were intentional with your action.
You looked back over your shoulder to pre-op room 6. “Was that the girl with the Salter-Harris fracture?”
Park hummed, shifting on his feet. You had noticed the patient from looks alone. The only time you could’ve heard of the patient was from nurses when they transferred her up from the ER, before participating in the rotator cuff repair. You had the faintest idea of who she was, but you were aware from when you walked in.
“Seemed tense.” You noted cautiously, eyeing Park from his face alone. It was like you were trying to angle out his response without words. You had been able to read any room you had entered, which is why he believed in practicality.
No need to play different parts every time you enter a room.
He looked down at you. You mimicked his posture, less weight on your shoulder, appearing casual. “Blame Jones. He’s freaked the patient out, and now the parents are hesitant to sign the consent forms.”
He scowled and there was a beat of silence.
“Is there any way I can help?”
The question was assertive. You weren’t planning to be overlooked, and you needed an answer. You weren't going to walk away without an answer. It was the drive he kept alluding you were missing. Whatever pushed you into wrapping your soul around another was showing up more in this two-minute conversation than before.
The private check-in that Brendon had never acknowledged as you were looking out for a colleague (as much as a supervisor) was an ‘act’ that disappeared in three-months. In that time, you had erased the previous routine and rapport with him, and started new. Brendon knew it was taking everything in your power to restrain yourself from doting on him as much as anyone else you worked with.
He was also acutely aware you didn’t stray away from what mattered most to you. Professionally or personally.
Brendon reasoned. This was genuine, but the way your steely eyes waited expectantly, it felt like looking in a mirror. He was sure the residents recognized the impersonal stares from the countless times he stared down at them. He didn't hide the fact he was displeased, stressed, or irritated with an outcome.
No one wanted to be the one sent to bother him during those moments. You had dared to step up to the plate in place of an intern.
“Why not answer the consultation?” Brendon fixated on the fact you heard of the consultation and preferred coming to him personally to let him know. You hadn't responded to it, nor were you aware there was a consultation to see until a few minutes ago.
You cocked your head to the side, playfully rolling your eyes. “I’d rather not get on Dr. Robby’s bad side.”
Fair, he supposed. You set boundaries with your own attending. He couldn't say he was shocked you’d do so easily with someone who wasn’t directly your supervisor. The slight stretch of his neck managed to pull at the muscles down to his shoulders, and the dread of the patient in room 6 was getting to him.
Before Brendon could assign you to some scheduled surgery to busy yourself, you pointed your thumb back to the room. “I will talk to the parents. It is best that they make a decision soon before the girl takes a turn for the worse.”
He was left with no choice but to stiffly agree with you. The careful steps you were taking backwards put immense distance again. “You better head down to the ED before Robby rips you a new one.”
The smooth turn you made flipped a switch. You sanitized before knocking the door. When you opened it, he could make out the faint sound of you greeting them properly while introducing yourself . He could see you smiling all over again. It wasn't just the bed-side manner you put for patients, but the authentic side of you that was patient and illumining.
Brendon buffered for a minute, waiting to see whether you’d come out, deferring to the idea of appealing to their psychological needs. After what felt like minutes, you hadn’t come out at all. No inkling of a potential departure.
Daring to fight against the curve, Brendon stalked close enough to peek in the room from the window. To any nurses or doctors passing by, he was the leader taking mental notes of what was happening in his area of control.
He saw your figure first from the angle. You were sitting on a chair, nodding along to something the girl was saying. Beside her, the parents were grasping onto her hands, while the 12-year-old patient let tears roll down her eyes.
You were on the mothers opposite side, listening intently like any other adult patient. Yet, this patient was comfortable being a frightened 12-year-of girl. The father jumped in, speaking at you with more elaboration as his hands moved.
The transition was simple, still empathetic and understanding as they explained in detail what they couldn’t tell Park standing in the room. You spoke slowly and steady, much more available to sit and reflect on every aspect of a surgery you had done before.
When Brendon assumed time was escaping him, you weren’t fighting nearly as desperately as he was. He was endeavoring to make it worth his while. You were working at the pace that suited the patient under your care.
While being young and having better neuroplasticity than him, you were malleable with every experience. You were adapting to every interaction with patients and coworkers—which explained why you were unrecognizable in an element Brendon Park had no intervention in.
No control over a habitat you were reigning with your mind and fortifying with your heart.
And after answering the consult from a brooding Robby and booking an OR, he found you sitting in the dictation room, typing away. You had lost the scrub cap, letting your hair be free. You hadn’t moved when he walked in, as if you had been expecting him to look for you.
He was looking down at the consent forms, initial and signed by the parents.
“How did you manage to get them to consent?” Brendon queried. He stood at the door, holding the device up.
There was a small hum to fill in the silence of the room. He awaited there, like you had the knowledge of the Holy Grail—waiting for you to bestow upon him the privilege of knowing.
Standing in front of anyone, he’d feel like an idiot. Standing in front of you, he was trying to get to know what everyone else saw. The missing piece to his elaborate puzzle with a decades work into.
You lazily lifted your head, briefly confused until you realized what he was alluding to. Shrugging your shoulders and leaning back in the chair, you sighed. “I just sat there and spoke to them.”
“The parents and the girl had questions they felt Jones didn’t address.” You clarified, simplifying the previous trouble Brendon was having.
You made it sound like the antiquated practice had somehow been lost between consultation and transfer to the surgical floor. “They just wanted to have a conversation instead of being mandated to agree with the surgery.
Standing up, you wandered over to the coffee pot with a mug already in hand. Pouring the liquid, your light breathing was calm. You weren’t rattled by emotionally distraught parents and frightened girls.
The same way standing up against him came out as if you had done it before.
The coffee pot clicks back on the machine. You carefully moved around, grabbing sugar packets and powered creamer. “They knew it was necessary, but it didn't stop them from feeling scared.”
“It’s all for the benefit of their child.” Brendon responded. You were a doctor. He was aware you knew that. It was a reflex. It was the practical answer.
It should’ve been a no-brainer. For you and for the parents. No parent should neglect or delay care necessary, especially if the odds of them being mobile without the procedure was at risk.
You stared at him with wide eyes, before chuckling. “They know that, Dr. Park.”
With the stare of your eyes, you were communicating what you weren’t going to put in words for him. They’re still human and afraid. It was redundant considering Park had scolded you for such. You weren’t going to bother with explaining yourself anymore.
“I also spoke with Jones about appropriate verbiage when getting consent from patients, specifically in pediatric cases.” You informed, holding the mug in two hands while
heading back to your workstation.
He shook his head, squeezing his teeth together until they rubbed. You stuck a hand out, halting whatever tangent he was going to start. “Not everyone’s preferred method of criticism is from Park the Shark.”
The small grin on your face while you typed didn’t agitate him as much as it would’ve from anyone else. Walsh would’ve earned a scowl. He might’ve glared at Emmick from the corner of his eye, with a strained stretch of his neck. Garcia knew better than to poke the Shark when she saw him send the senior resident out of the OR as a second year.
And while he thought he had sunken his teeth deep enough to be able to pull you from making grave mistakes, you had slithered from his grasp. You had him chasing your tail in a trail that would end with him going to the depths of the dark ocean.
“Some of us learn differently. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You casually mentioned, clicking around on the computer and typing. “The point is we learn to do better next time, right?”
When his brain registered you were talking with him, he huffed out a breath, tempted to let the corner of his mouth curve. He picked up the subliminal message. You were becoming braver with your jab; and even while you pretended not to be overtly interested in to stare him in the eyes, you were making precise stabs.
Before he could push the conversation further, there was a beep. You both glanced down at each other's pagers and the small scrape of your chair against the floor followed. You breezed past him without a second thought, leaving him in the wake of your sunshine. Even with the glumness of his personality, you were shining the darkest of places. He was inches from touching the sunlight, but some cloud always obscured it.
Brendon looked at the door click shut and he saw the same cloud shutting his limited sunlight once again.
“All non-emergent surgeries will be rescheduled. We need to focus on OR turnover to be quick. Some of these patients may not be able to wait five minutes.” Brendon instructed precisely, staring at the patient board over the nursing station. His arms folded over his chest, musing in thought.
“My nurses know what they’re doing, Dr. Park.” Annette joked, frameless glasses sitting on her nose as she stared down at her device. Her fingers moved eagerly to start moving the scheduled times of the current list of patients.
Brendon shook his head with a small hum. He heard the clacking of shoes down the hall and his head followed the noise. Emmick was typing rapidly on her phone, while approaching him. “What is the current count?”
“17 including children, right now. It can change soon.” Annette responded, glancing at Emmick who stood close to them.
Emmick sighed, pocketing her phone. She shook her head as she saw a couple of the residents rushing by to reach out to loved ones and run to the bathroom before they were buried in their work. A multi-vehicle pileup on the interstate, including an 18-wheel truck. Once the mass size of the gasoline truck flipped over, the rest of the cars followed, and the casualties were increasing by the second.
“Have you reached out to the rest?” Brendon asked, turning to Emmick.
She stiffly nodded, interlocking both her hands behind her head. “I’ve debriefed with the residents in the lounge. A couple of them will be going over 24 hours on their feet.”
He knew exactly who was supposed to be done with a double shift. That didn’t stop them from their responsibilities. They knew medical emergencies occurred at all hours, and anyone’s life could hang in the balance. Their job was to react to the trauma at hand and do everything in their power to stop the emergency.
As on cue, you were coming around the corner with Sully by your side. He was handing you a paper cup, probably filled with coffee, to push you through the unexpected extension of your shift. Despite this being your third consecutive shift, you were synchronized with Sully’s steps. He was light and energized, and with each sip of coffee, you were pacing yourself to reach the same determination.
When Sully found the two attendings standing in the small circle, he smiled casually, as if a car pileup was an everyday occurrence. “Residents are getting in their last moments of freedom. Let us know where you want us, Captain.”
“Trauma down stairs will determine priority. Dr. Emmick will run point with Garcia.” Brendon informed, tutting his chin to his colleague.
“Lovely.”
Emmick rolled her eyes, dropping her hands to her hips. Brendon briefly ignored the annoyance with a slight glare. “I will assign you all to cases as they come in.”
Sully and you both nodded to Brendon’s command. Emmick bumped your arm with her elbow. “Want to help me downstairs? Could use the second pair of eyes.”
“I’m going to need all R4 and R3’s in the OR.” Brendon intervened, glancing between the two of you through his hooded eyes. “I won’t have to check the work of the interns.”
Emmick narrowed her eyes while she pursed her lips. To the two residents in question, it would seem like Emmick was challenging the decision. It wasn’t rare that on occasion the two attendings would butt heads, like hammer-head sharks fighting for their space. But to Brendon, this was a jest. One more feather in her cap about how well she knew him while barely speaking to her.
“Fair point.” Was all Emmick mustered, suppressing the small grin on her face.
When Brendon looked over at you, there wasn’t any deflation of his prerogative. You weren’t visibly upset as you were focused. While still taking sips of your coffee, you were simply listening to the instruction. He could safely assume you were high-strung, from the small shift of your feet and your eyes to the group of your supervisors and friends. You didn’t let your face show it.
“Will you be able to manage?” Brendon questioned in your direction.
Humming, you furrowed your brows at the question. He crossed his arms, “I’m going to need you to be alert. Sometimes you’re going to have to work through the fatigue for the sake of patient-care.”
The statement wasn’t wrong. It was an observation any rational teacher would warn their student. Accepting to work at a trauma-1 hospital brought the exhaustive workload. If he was going to trust any of the residents to demonstrate leadership and initiative, it was a moment like this to prove it.
He noticed the hesitant eyes from Sully and Emmick, caught off guard from the warning. You nodded once, ignoring the uncertainty for your closest work-partners. “I understand, Dr. Park.”
Satisfied enough with that answer, he looked back to Annette who was watching the interaction carefully while speaking on her spectralink phone. She muttered small replies before hanging up. “Ambulances are 7 minutes out.”
“That’s my cue.” Emmick announced, clapping her hands together. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, sending you a small wink. “See you once the dust settles.”
Brendon scoffed, shaking his head. Emmick began her tread backwards, pointing a finger at Brendon. “Don’t’ go biting any of my resident’s head off!”
Sully snickered, covering his mouth with a hand and with the two of you standing in front of him, he didn’t see that task as impossible. He motioned his hands outward. “Get your nerves out before either of you kill a patient.”
You pushed a smiling Sully in the direction that Emmick went down, your free hand resting lightly on the back of his arm as you guided him away. He was mimicking an aggressive bite, chomping his teeth at you. Retracting your head, you laughed, eyes crinkling into little slivers.
The energy changed two hours later. With the surgical unit bustling with all the possible staff available, his residents were no longer smiling or kidding—covered in blood stained gowns, dispersed between the 25 operating rooms. Brendon stepped out of OR 17, doffing the gloves he was wearing. When he walked down the hallway, he noted another door slide open farther down.
You stepped out, hands on your hips as you sighed. When you looked in his direction, he was already heading towards you. “What do you have?”
“Bilateral wrist and humeral shaft fracture with a radial nerve injury. Put in plates and screws.” You sanitized your hands, rubbing vicariously through every side. Motioning your head to the ER you just exited, you sighed. “May is closing up.”
The double doors down the hallways clicked open. Turning both your heads at the sound, a patient was being wheeled in with a small group of doctors and nurses surrounding the head of the bed. Brendon recognized the vascular surgeon, Greg Norton tying up his scrub cap. He greeted Brendon with a grin, hands landing on the bed railing. “Park, ready to make mincemeat with this poor fellow?”
When the bed came up towards where you both stood, you had moved beside Brendon, hands on your hips as you stared down at the patient. He noticed the quizzical look in your eye, staring at the lower extremities. “I won’t be scrubbing in.”
You turned to look at him as Dr. Norton furrowed his brows, his grin faltering. “What? Don’t tell me you’re going to send me one of your pups?”
Looking down at you, there was a moment of doubt, like you couldn’t believe Park was actually looking at you. “Possible posterior wall acetabular fracture with hip dislocation. Emmick called beforehand about it.”
“What did imaging show?” You questioned, already honing into your diagnostic skill. Your eyes shifted around his face, and your mind was moving at an incredible speed attributed to the neuroplasticity you sharpened.
“Come on, Park.” Dr. Norton interrupted, leaning forward as to cut into the silent digression of the case. His thick New England accent bounced off the walls with the heightened volume he always spoke at. Brendon crossed his arms as he reluctantly glared at the older, fuller man. Dr. Norton then looked towards you, nose scrunched slightly. “What are you, sweetheart? R3?”
“I’ve done this procedure before.” Your calm voice still gives way for the displeasure of his dismissal.
It wasn’t disappointment, it was anger. Despite being 20 years his junior, you maintained a sense of composure for your age. Some might have acted ferociously. Brendon knew there were attendings that would not have kept up appearances for the sake of respect in the workplace.
Dr. Norton snorted, shaking his head. “Nothing against you, honey, but this procedure is made for meticulous hands. I don’t need the trouble of some shaky, doe-eye resident screwing this man’s possibility of walking.”
Brendon's own disbelief didn’t seem as animated as yours, widening your eyes while tilting your head to the side. Dr. Norton had been around since before Brendon joined the hospital. He always poked at the fact Brendon didn’t smile for a doctor with ‘razor sharp’ teeth. He thought Dr. Brendon Park was as animalistic as people described him to be, he’d flaunt it.
Before you could proceed by jumping into a pit of fire, Brendon crossed his arm, squaring his shoulders. “Dr. Norton, I assign the cases, and if you have a problem with that you can take it up with me after my resident performs the surgery.”
Dr. Norton snarled, lifting his top lip to his nose. He looked at you before smacking his lips. With the menial glare from Brendon, he could see his ego visibly deflate. If he wanted him to show his teeth, he should have asked nicely.
“You ready?” Dr. Norton grumbled, motioning his head to one of the OR’s down the hallway. He was turning his father away from Brendon and avoiding your gaze, as if you had ripped his jugular.
Offering a polite nod, you took a step back, still staring at him. “I will meet you there after looking at the imaging, Dr. Norton.”
Dr. Norton grumbled, signaling for the nurses to continue down the hall to the OR. Brendon stood there, eyeing Dr. Norton as he passed, burly arms crossed to intimidate with his physicality as much as his personality. When the doors to OR 22 closed behind the transfer team, Brendon finally turned to face you, who was staring up at him with a deadpanned expression. “I didn’t want you defending me.”
Brendon pressed his lips in a thing line. You didn’t deny that you needed it. Dr. Norton didn’t know how to talk to his female colleagues, and his brusque manners didn’t rub people the right way, regardless. You had worked with him before, under Brendon’s guide, which left you in the limelight compared to center stage.
The overcasting shadow of his reputation protected you from the scrutiny. While stranded at sea, you had to find your own anchor to throw.
“I wasn’t.” Was all he plainly said.
He wasn’t defending you. He was defending your knowledge. Had you been Jones or Reddy, he wouldn’t have jumped so eagerly. There were weaknesses in all his residents, some more than others, but you had been the exception in most areas. Even if it didn’t come at first, it came from work. You could not have survived up to 27 hours of traumatic repairs if you had not put sweat and tears into getting it right.
“You better hurry and scrub in.” Brendon advised, cocking his head to the side. Go look at the images and prove to him he’s wrong. Prove to me you’ve got this.
With less visible friction, you walked around Brendon, heading in the direction of the double doors. You walked with the power of someone prepared for the challenge. When Brendon turned around, he noticed another figure had joined the hallway, having exited OR 2.
Sully stood outside the door, speaking at you quietly. He furrowed his brows, hands on his hips as he saw you walk away. You nodded in response to his question, pushing the door open with you back and slipping through gracefully.
Brendon sighed, walking down the hall and nodding to Sully in acknowledgment. “You done? I have a couple of open-tibia fractures that won’t heal on their own.”
Buffering for a moment, Sully complied with a small smile. He turned back to the door, forehead pinched as he tried deciphering the scene. Park, you, and Dr. Norton. From the small snort, he had picked up all the clues necessary to make a bold assumption. It didn’t help Norton spoke with the volume of twenty people.
“Thank you, Dr. Park.” Sully gently grinned; slyly leaning forward as he suggestively spoke.
The word rang in his ear repeatedly: You may not need her, but that doesn’t eliminate her worth around here. Sully was assuming Brendon thought the hospital couldn’t utilize your brilliance. That the hospital didn’t need surgeons with exemplary bedside manner that matched their skills in an operating room; or that he couldn’t use someone he could trust at this very moment to dedicate themselves in a surgery he trusted himself to do.
In typical Brendon fashion, he stared at Sully, lips in a tight line that strengthened his jaw and cheeks even more. Sully pushed the limits by still standing before him and that distressed him more than he liked. He didn’t know whether it was the fact that Sully had thanked him something he saw as unnatural, or the fact you had yet again dismissed his efforts others would consider valiant.
He didn’t want to be a hero of any sort (not that you needed it, he was starting to realize). You could snarl just as nasty as him, but it wasn’t your preferred method of surviving—because you weren’t just surviving your residency. The formulated relationships with your co-residents, attendings, and patients were your life mission, apart from learning to improve someone’s life while living their worst day.
The vulnerability that he considered not outfitted for the workplace led to how you operated. Your life, the patients, even the residents you helped when they just were not there yet.
Brendon didn’t see the future as optimistically as you, and when the shattering reality came of how it could look different to what he was used to know, it did break his stride. The built of momentum between you and him—his correction and your fear of fucking it up—was his everyday routine. Not to minimize you, but to build the tools to survive.
Of course, the method didn’t work. And he stupidly realized he was attempting to survive on his own like a shark in a tank.
It was a hard lesson you were teaching him while baiting him. He was rolling his neck around trying to compose himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” Sully responded, raising his chin higher as he squared his shoulders. The same self-satisfied grin gracing his youthful features. He watched for any unwelcoming passersby before leaning in. “Better you than me. I might’ve socked the guy.”
Brendon's lips twitched, and he looked at Sully thoughtfully. He definitely had the build. He had seen him work out at the gym across the street from time to time. “You wouldn't have.”
“For her? Yeah.” Sully confirmed breathy as he scoffed from the disbelief. “Like I said Dr. Park, she could survive without me, but I don't think I could’ve made it without her.”
“I don't take lightly when people dismiss her.” Sully stuffed his hands in his scrub pockets, shuffling briefly like the admission was something too vulnerable. For a conversation with Dr. Park? It was a revelation that went beyond professional bounds.
You had taught Sully a thing or two about being attuned with your inner spirits—and if that meant warding away what ate the center of it—there was worthiness in the cause. Park saw the deep resemblance in the now stoic impression on Sully’s face. Bold and Brendon couldn't ignore it.
Sully took careful steps backwards, arms falling to his side. “So, thanks, Dr. Park.”
“I’ll book the OR.” Brendon announced walking out of Trauma 2 in ER. He ripped off the gloves he was wearing, tossing him in a nearby waste bin. It was an ironic day to get into a motorcycle accident while the interstate was still being cleared from the debris of the MVA in the morning.
What more could you expect from a 21-year-old boy whose frontal lobe still had not developed.
It was almost 2 and the majority of the patients that came in during the accident had been moved to the post-surgical unit or the ICU while waiting for follow up surgery for open wounds. The surgical department had cleared half of its staff that stayed overnight or pulled the spontaneous shift. Those still on the clock were dragging their feet and it was taking everything in him not to bite. When the night shift residents were able to leave, they were also zombies walking.
All, except one. When he got up to the surgical floor, he walked into the viewing room, where their charge nurse could gauge operations with the camera live streaming it all. He could see OR 22 running up to 8 hours of operation time. He mostly was staring at the different scrub caps to distinguish all the involved staff.
The only one missing was a green cap.
“Are they finishing it up?” Brendon questioned, turning to Annette sitting at one of the open tables, typing into the device.
She hummed, head still lowered. “Ortho is done with the reconstruction. Vascular and trauma is finishing up.”
Brendon nodded curtly before heading back out the room. The surgery couldn’t have been too complicated if you were done in roughly 7 hours. He had slipped in once as he continued assigning residents to the incoming patients. You had stayed stuck there for the majority of it, and Brendon didn’t feel the need to come in after that.
His immediate thought was to check the dictation room. If you were still lingering, you’d probably be trying to finish up work you had, which meant charting. To his luck, when he peeked through the window on the door, he found you hunched over a computer. The same station you sat at the last week he had spoken to you.
Inhaling a sharp breath, he twisted the door open, and the click caught your attention. Lifting your head and eyebrows simultaneously at the direction of the door, your body visibly jolted. He knew you were awake enough to orally translate your notes, but your body kept succumbing to the sleep it needed.
“How was the surgery?” Brendon questioned, approaching the desk with his hands in his scrub pockets. With the height advantage, he had a clear view of the desk. You had a paper cup of black coffee, an open energy drink, and a small bottle of ibuprofen.
Straightening you back as a way to stretch your body, you shrugged. “Went better than expected.”
“Did Norton give you any grief?” Brendon followed up, not taking his eye off the obvious display of you recklessly messing with your body’s melatonin. From the look of it, you didn’t have anything of substance to run off.
You gently twirled your wrist to reboot your dexterity and putting down the microphone in your hand gave you the break your body needed to lean back in the chair. The question caught you off-guard, leaving your mouth open, while your brain lacked the reflex to come up with a response.
“He was fine. Didn’t talk much unless he was bragging about his NFL athlete son to the nurses.” The small scowl on your face made him bite back the laugh he wanted to let out.
He heard the stories. The accolades he made about a son who mostly sat on the bench. He couldn’t remember the last time they had even aired his face on anything bigger than a phone screen. Brendon crossed his arms, the slight cure of his lips gave him away. “He's the 2nd running back on a good day, at best.”
You bit your bottom lip, shaking your head lightly. “Have you told him that?”
“Almost.”`
The loopy grin on your face made you look cuter, as Emmick or Walsh might describe it. He was aware what staff liked you for your personality and which other liked you for something other than work-appropriate. In an objective sense, none of them were wrong, nor did it concern him or HR yet. Your hands rubbed the back of your neck, easing it from side to side. “Apart from that, he is a respectable surgeon. He just lacks the social cues to elevate him to a standard that I could befriend.”
Brendon arms crossed over his chest. When he looked away, he was starting to see there were some lessons you felt he needed reminding of. Brendon had casual friends, people from college or med school he kept in touch with enough to be invited to weddings. He didn’t plan trips to see them across the country, but he thought being mutual on social media made up for that.
When in comparison to you, he did fall flat of the mark. You had the charisma that engaged everyone, and no one forgot your name because of it.
In no way was it to save face for anything you may lack. It was your greatest strength, which as healers earned more respect that skill did.
You let out a choppy yawn, attempting to hide it before it just came out altogether. He cocked his head to one side, tightening his stance. “You’re exhausted”
“No, I'm fine.” You corrected him. He could not help to think that if Emmick were standing here, you would be more subject to her compassion than his no-nonsense tone. “I have charting to get done.”
“Which you are barely awake for.” Brendon pointed out.
The sigh that escaped you paired with the glare of your bloodshot eyes confirmed it all for him. You were past your limits, and there was no reason to prove you were capable of heaving the heavy load. Not to Brendon’s eyes.
He watched you reach for the energy drink and before you could take a sip, it was pulled from your loose grasp. You stuttered, sitting up taller while staring accusatory to Brendon, holding the now relatively small can in his hand. Before you could utter a word, he leaned over to grab the cup of coffee with the other. “You don’t need this. You’re frying the melatonin in your brain telling you to go home.”
“I am needed here.”
He scoffed, turning his back to you as he found a way to keep the caffeinated drinks from your reach. He opted to put it on a nearby counter, leaning back into it with feet crossed to hide the mere temptation of sight.
“If I did need you, I’d need you to stay awake and alert.” Brendon grasped the edge of the counter underhanded, flexing the muscles in his biceps. “Right now you are neither of those things.”
Sagging in the chair turned to face him, your computer with the dictation notes still open abandoned, you frowned. “You could use the help.”
“No, I need you to go home.” Brendon emphasized his stare glued to your tired body. You didn’t have the precision to walk in a straight-line let alone cut into someone and know the difference between each ligament in a fractured tibia. It wasn’t an undercut. He wasn’t even sure it was out of pity. It was the rational thing to do for both you and him. “I can't work if I'm concerned about the moment you come down from the adrenaline of everything else.”
“You’ve been working over 30 hours straight. Either go home or sleep in the on-call room until Sullivan is out, but I don't want to see you in any OR, understood?” He questioned the way a parent might give an ultimatum to their preteen.
With those options presented to you on a platter and not some vicious stab of his displeasure of your character, you came to your senses. “You’re right. It was stupid.”
“It’s the exhaustion.” Brendon huffed out, standing from the counter. He turned his back to you and dug in one of the cabinets.
“Is Park the Shark making an excuse for his resident?” You mused and he could imagine the dopey grin on your face.
“You’re my resident now?” Brendon questioned back, shutting the cupboard while hiding the item he grabbed in his wide fist. He glared at you through his eyelashes. It wasn’t nearly as fierce as Park the Shark could be.
“Honorary resident, depending on how I feel.” You joked, while craning your head back the closer he approached you.
The bags under your eyes were deserved. Not in a derogatory sense to put you down for your appearance, but because it felt like a badge you could brandish. The hard work you put while he pushed his thumb into your back, grinding your gears until you saw the same perspective from ten-feet above the ground, and you stood on your toes to match. It was an effort he could recognize in few residents.
Except not all dare yank him down to see it from their eyes. You had all but grabbed him from the collar and shook him. With dignity and pride to recognize yourself for something more than the surgical ‘pipsqueak,’ you humbled him.
That wasn’t an easy feat, and Brendon hadn't even snarled his teeth.
He held out his one curled hand, a protein bar in a plastic wrapper facing you. When you look back up at him, lips curled inwards and eyebrows curved in confusion, he sighed. He rolled his eyes, “Eat something. You’ve had enough caffeine to kill your heart two times over.”
Skeptically, you took the protein bar in your hand and muttered a small ‘thanks.’ Slowly peeling the wrapper apart, you took a generous bite. He stepped away, stalking around from behind, still making sure you were chewing properly the only piece of nutrients you’ve had in hours.
After sufficiently breaking down the food and digesting it down your esophagus, you spun your chair around, catching Brendon before he approached the door. “I appreciate your endorsement, by the way. With Dr. Norton.”
He looked at you from over his shoulder, before turning his body to get a better look. You nodded appreciatively. “I probably didn't deserve it, but I couldn't have entered that OR without some of your help.”
The cheeky smile on your face made him narrow his eyes humorously at you. He twitched his nose to hide the smile that wanted to break. If there was anything you were good at besides completely reconstructing the stability in someone’s hips, it was pecking at him with a double edge sword.
“If the patient makes a full recovery, Dr. Norton won’t have anything to complain about then.” He shrugged. It was a safe response. One that didn't compromise the stone-cold persona.
He knew you thanked him because you meant it, but also because he had already extended one hand to pull you back towards him. One step closer to reimagining what you both thought couldn't align.
“Not to be cocky, but I’m sure he will.” You said softly, the opposite of bold and pretentious. You hopped back on the computer, rapidly typing and clicking around on the screen.
Brendon snorted, enjoying the bona fide assurance. It’s the only reason he hasn't loiter or probe the medical judgment you made in the OR. Even with the pressure boiling like a cooker pot, you had earned the space to own the operation room he typically did with years of experience.
“I better not see you in my OR.” Brendon looked at you pointedly. “Not until your next shift.”
Now leaning in the chair, with your free hand, you lazily saluted to him. You brought up the protein bar and chewed lazily through another bite. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting a serious response from a third year resident.
“I promise, Dr. Park.” You added, reaching down for your backpack. With raised eyebrows, you wait for him to move along, proving he was satisfied with the response.
He looked you up and down once more before heading for the door again. With his hand on the door knob, he heard the shuffling of the chair and your bag. He opened the door and stopped when you called his name one more time.
With the sound of your voice, he pressed his back against the door, keeping it open while turning his head once more. You were approaching him, backpack hanging low as you trudged it. Slipping in between him and the space he held open with his body, he had to crane his neck down to watch the top of your head travel past him.
“Have a good rest of your shift, and I’ll see you around, Dr. Park.” There was a faint smile on your face as you started walking backward, still looking at him.
He stayed frozen holding the door, half his body stepping out into the hallway. You spun gracefully, fiddling with the wrapper of the protein bar. He believed the words, because they came tenderly from your lips. The easy steps of your walk communicated what you didn't say with the words. He was one step closer to getting in your good graces, and he rubbed away the stiffness in his jaw as he bit back the grin.
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You go out on one errand for your sister and suddenly everyone wants you to stand in the grave of a man whose hubris brought him only death and ruin so they can dim the light in your eyes by casting the shadow of their nihilism over you but as a knight named Gawain Gwayne you have a subconscious instinct for this kind of bullshit and you’d like to just do a normal quest and maybe get a laurel thank you very much so you’re like alright yes I see that your white armor no longer shines and your seat is casting a broken halo behind you can w— yes I see that the symbol of state power is a necklace of hands around your neck which already figuratively choked the life out of you ca—oooh my god YES I know you clearly intend to harp on this metaphor by using the unwarranted authority granted to you by your station to spitefully hang everyone else with the noose around your own neck we don’t have t— dude YES I can SEE you intend on committing a crime so craven and heinous that it’ll blacken my soul beyond repair too thus shattering my idealistic morals as a knight and leaving me at beast soaked in the blood of the innocents I swore to protect. I fucking got it, I’m specifically trying to avoid that can I PLEASE go home and not do this shit for once. And the answer is no.
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