Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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.
I'm absolutely going to cry. Tumblr deleted my review 2x already. 😭😭 I just want you to know your writing is absolutely phenomenal, and I had to follow you.
I'm really coming to love Emmick and Sully. They are fantastic side characters to The Pitt. Especially when Sully constantly talks to Park about Reader. And I definitely think Emmick was gently teasing Park about Reader this chapter.
Frank Giles, was such a good addition!!! He really showed the sunshine characteristics of Reader. The last chapter she was definitely more exhausted and stressed. Frank absolutely showed her more caring side. Franks addition to the cast definitely showed how multifaceted your characters are, especially Reader.
"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." I'm so happy she's becoming more assertive without compromising her morals, and being stoic or mean-spirited. Loved this attitude change after she switched to night shift. 🤭💗💗
"You had him chasing your tail in a trail that would end with him going to the depths of the dark ocean." This had me screaming!!! He's acting so nonchalant, and this is his inner monolog!! 😭😂😂
"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." Why did this give me butterfly's like Pride and Prejudice??!!! I just know their hands brushed in this moment!!!
“Is Park the Shark making an excuse for his resident?” Reader is so cute and sarcastic?? This is a dream come true!!! I love sassy women!!! 💗💗💗
"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." I'm so excited that Park acknowledged that he wants to be in Reader's good graces!! This is such a good paced slow burn!!!!
i sooo appreciate this deep dive on this chapter because it helps me make the best choices for the next! im in love with brendon and reader so much i don't want to mess it up lol
also, lets be honest: brendon's inner monologues will feel so methodical and poetic while also wearing a straight face. i head cannon that this guy probably internally panics when it comes to romance and flirting while having his stoic, scary face...
like, he cares for reader, he just doesn't know how to show it yet!
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.
s-tier tsundere vs s-tier sunshine. i was waiting for a part 2 and i'm all for this !! its the little moments that add up, my fav ones: him noticing her everywhere, looking out for her because he wants his residents in place and checking in on her (yeah papa i totally believe u), his small realizations abt himself and shifting his unmovable stances when faced w her inexplicable bright light and persistence (!!!), when did he start opening doors for other hello (?) cracking up 'jokes'(?) giving out protein bars and sharing banters through his shark teeth (?), not to ignore the amplifying tension than in pt. 1, slowburn so good it got me romanticizing clinical rounds sigh 🙏 it was so well written ♡
it the little subconscious moments that i dig in slow burn romances. the little things even the characters don’t realize are exclusive tokens of affection/appreciation. i try my best to weave them into what i write because i LOVE LOVE LOVE it (also we all know park has been whipped for reader lol) ;)
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: it will vary for each chapter ! age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), there will prob be some lewd convos but no smut, cursing, mentions of drinking/smoking, won't follow the plot of the show
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
idk how many chapters i plan on posting, nor do i know when i'll post them, so come along w me during this journey ! lmk if u would like to be tagged !!
thank u to the anon who gave me a bunch of ideas i combined a couple of them to make this, so thank u sm again !
these r not an accurate depiction of how i imagine the reader !! these r purely for aesthetic purposes and what aesthetic i imagined her to have while writing
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ dr. brendon park had earned the notorious title ‘park the shark’ for reasons besides his chiseled facial structure and razor sharp eye contact. his bites aimed to make his victims bleed without warning or apology. everyone awaited his retribution to come. the last person he expected to humble him was his do-good third-year resident.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, grumpy x sunshine trope, hurt/comfort, slowburn, work-place tension, park being a bully & ass (but he's hot), park being territorial/possesive (if you squint hard enough), night shift (because I love them!!), competence kink, blood/gore & other reoccurring medical topics in 'the pitt', medical inaccuracies (i've only graduated from google med school),
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ y’all i genuinely foam at the mouth every time a shark fic on this app. there’s nothing that brings me more joy than fantasizing about dr. brendon park, so here’s my interpretation of this sexy man. also this is inspired by the song 'kill me' by hayley williams !! (i love that woman soooo much y'all)
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 13.6 K
If you were in the comfort of your own apartment and bed, wrapped in the sheets you had personally endeavored yourself to splurge on, you would probably be in a better mood. Even though you had racked up enough student loan debt to achieve the satisfaction of ‘following your dreams’ to the point of living scraping by, you’d consider your bed a prized possession.
If they had warned you about the lack of commodities as a resident while working an overnight shift, you may have reconsidered your career choices.
While this wasn’t your first night shift, it was definitely the roughest one yet. Lack of energy, constant back pain, and absolute discomfort in the resident on-call room did nothing to satiate your grumpiness.
You no longer could count the times you had tossed and turned on the bed. At the end, you had resorted to sitting on the office chair, with your head thrown back. It did nothing for your back, but it was less annoying than attempting to lay on the sad excuse of a bed. You caught a couple of hours of sleep, with your sweatshirt providing some comfort, but not enough to pass as high functioning.
Right as you had fluttered your eyes close; there was a ping from a phone. You shook awake, flustered and alarmed from the noise.
Shit. You stared down at the watch. 7:23 AM.
You immediately jumped from the chair, tripping over your own feet to your backpack placed by the corner of the bed. Your hands fished for the phone in the side pocket, and when the screen illuminated your face, your blood pressure dropped.
SULLY 1 min ag0
The shark is looking for his next meal.
Where the fuck are you?
There was no hesitation. Your hands moved like lightning. Backpack, water bottle, random protein bar you scavenged from the resident lounge. Slipping out of the on-call room, everyone saw you jogging down the hallways, towards the resident lounge where no doubt, Dr. Park was expecting you to hand-off the night shift.
Your futile attempt to reverse the dark spot under your eyes landed you right in the middle of the ocean. The ‘Jaws’ theme song played in your mind, and you knew he could smell your blood pumping from across the hospital. It was a sixth sense of his, able to detect a puny resident from a mile away.
The thumping of your heart rose to your throat, like a boulder you couldn't swallow down. Your breathing was caught each time you tried to pull it down to your lungs. You were a dead man walking. That much was certain when you saw the wide eye stare from Sully, your senior resident. The two of you had bonded from being your attending’s personal meals.
‘Park the Shark’ was how you all had met him when onboarding the PTMC’s orthopedic surgery program. It didn’t make sense to you how the simple mention of a name could make everyone’s back shiver, until you tried to introduce yourself, hand out a stretched and wide smile to the hunk of muscle of your attending.
“This isn’t kindergarten. Don’t waste your breath on first impressions. To be clear, there’s nothing you can do to impress me.” Park deadpanned, staring down at you as he brushed past, leaving your hand floating.
The same frown must have crossed your face as you halted, fixing your badge into the waistband of your plum scrub pants. Holding your breath, you tossed your backpack to the nearest available chair, dragging your hands down your face. Time to face the music.
Your senior resident sat at one of the workstations, eyebrows raised as recognized the unease of your shortcomings. Sully leaned forward, arms crossed as he stared at you. “Where the hell were you?”
“Trying to catch some sleep so I don’t snore my way through the rest of my shift.” You gritted back, tucking your stray hairs away. There wasn’t time to doll yourself up in a mirror and you were praying that you didn't appear as restless as you were.
This was the second double shift you were pulling, and your third year had just started. If you were being honest, you didn’t understand why you were the one doing it.
Park had come up to you during one of your lunch breaks a couple of weeks ago, and dropped a physical copy of the newly printed schedule. In the colored blocks, you found your name under two of the 12-hour blocks. You had stopped chewing the sandwich in your mouth, looking up at your attending with wide eyes.
“There’s been some changes. Your cooperation is assumed, so memorize the changes.”
You barely uttered a word until he stalked off as if this was scutwork he was dreading to get done. Safe to say, you weren’t pleased with the sudden change of schedule for the month.
Right now, you are suffering the repercussions of it.
“You should be glad Dr. Park got distracted by Walsh’s morning jabs.” Sully scoffed, standing up with a smug slump. “He’s feeling particularly hungry this morning and Walsh is only going to make it worse for the rest of us.”
You shrugged menially, rushing over to the fridge in the room, digging for the collective energy drink collection. The crack of the seal echoed in the room. “It’s about time Park dishes what he eats.”
Earnestly, you got along with Walsh—and most of the other surgical attendings and residents. You had worked around enough of them to garner a likable reputation, but working under Dr. Park worked against your favor socially.
It was different in the night shift without Park. There wasn’t a certain tension when answering consultations or in the operating rooms. Albeit, everyone was a bit looser during the nights, but it opened a space where you could take charge more freely without worry of consequence or doubt in your decisions.
“And you think Walsh is the one to do that?”
The bass in the voice was unique to one person only in which everyone in the surgical department recognized from the other end of a call or down the hallways. Unamused in his tone that never changed while his lips remained stiff and straight.
You almost choked on the acidic liquid you had started gulping down. Whipping your head to the point of stabbing into your muscles from the speed, Dr. Park stood at the doorway with his arms crossed. If you were a bigger idiot than you were now, you would’ve pretended he didn’t hear what you said.
To try to spare yourself, you quickly shook your head. “Dr. Park—“
“Save it, pipsqueak.” Park dismissed, barely paying you any mind as he stared down at his watch. With his head bowed the reflection of the gel-cast over his light brown hair shined right in your eye. Perfectly combed back, chiseling his piercing bone structure. “You missed pass over. I had to hear from a second year resident.”
Glancing at Sully, he shrugged his shoulders, eyebrows down turned. Quickly recovering, your hand gripped onto the can tighter. “Jones? He’s a bit overzealous—“
“Which in your case, wouldn’t hurt.” Park dryly interrupted, staring at you with hooded eyes. The ‘clean shaven’ look he typically had pronounced every twitch in his mandible and the other parts of his jaw. It was a good way of telling when Dr. Park had lost his patience.
You blubbered, your fingers numbing from the cold can as you refused to let it go. “I don’t want to see you dragging your feet.”
“Of course not—“
“Don’t tell me.” Park dismissed, stalking passed you over to the fridge. He occasionally stole from the resident stock; everyone assumed it was a test to see who would stop him.
No one dared.
He didn’t have to finish the saying for you to get the message. He needs to see it. As of now, you weren’t helping your case as you tried coming up with deflections of your mistake. If there was something Park hated more than mere incompetence, it was weaponizing it with the false hope it worked on someone as sharp as him. Acting a fool and being a fool were two different things, and regardless of what angle you chose to play, it was always a lose-lose situation for yourself.
And you still needed to survive another 12 hours around him.
You should’ve known you weren’t going to last the day. If accidentally sleeping through your alarms and missing hand off told you anything, it should’ve been a sign things were going to go astray.
While pushing through a pair of double doors, having scrubbed out of an open tibia-fibula fracture surgery, a yawn escaped you. Shaking your head and rubbing your eyes, you hardly noticed what was coming ahead. Head bowed and senses incoherent, you only lifted your head once you ran into a form of mass, sending you tripping backwards.
When you looked up, the heavy stare of Park shadowing over your entire body, you shrank into yourself more than you already had earlier. It was a miracle that Sully roped you into the surgery, long enough to endure half your shift and to avoid Park the Sharks current disfavor of you.
Sully did not intend to stay once his residency was up. He knew he didn't have the courage to battle up against Park over executive decisions, even if Park carried the ‘Chief’ title. He had other goals to look forward to that didn't include staying at PTMC.
You, on the other hand, were yearning for an attending spot. Upon matching into Orthopedic Surgery, especially at a trauma-1 hospital like PTMC, you knew you would fight vigorously to outperform the others. What you didn't expect was to be soul-crushed by an attending like Dr. Brendon Park.
In the three years you had worked under him, you had seen enough residents fizzle out with time. Half of them moved across the country for fellowships and attending positions, while the other stayed just far enough to refrain from having to mutually work with him again. No one dared curse his name, but he was the type of person you only wanted to meet once in your life.
Your plans of moving into a lively city like Pittsburgh and settling into the comfortable life of an orthopedic surgeon no longer felt like an achievable dream, and you were falling into the conveyor-like cycle as the rest of his former residents.
When you finally closed your slack mouth, you registered something clattered against the linoleum floor. Your eyes darted to the ground noticing his phone had fallen from his grasp. Immediately, your body bent down, examining the phone with anxious precision before holding it out again.
“I am so sorry, Dr–”
“ER needs an ortho consult.”
His words clipped your sentence again, the apology ignored. He brushed past you, and the cold brush of his arm brought shivers to your exposed skin. You stood dumbfounded, unsure how to interpret his stoic statement. Spinning in your heels, you watched his taunt, muscular back walk further from you.
He pushed the double doors with his back, sticking his phone in his pocket. The subtle sigh he let out didn’t go amiss. “What did I say about dragging your feet?”
You dashed over in his direction, pushing the door back as Park let it fall toward you.
The elevator ride down was nothing short of awkward. Park was never one for small talk. He found it a waste of air, especially when he considered most pleasantries as disingenuous. While standing behind him, your hands fiddled in front of you; grasping and releasing your fingers with easy rhythm, you chewed the inside of your cheek. You weren’t a talkative person necessarily, but you were now silently reminding yourself to request for some elevator music for ambiance later.
As soon as the elevator halted, Park wasted no time, briskly exiting the elevator once the sleek doors split open. You followed in his suit to Trauma 1 in the ED, slipping in behind Park.
When you first walked in, you saw the small bustling group of nurses and ED staff surround a gray-haired African-American woman. You could make out that much from the corner of the room as you stood back and watched. Although you had been in this room many times, you didn't always make yourself known while Park was around. Why would anyone trust a thing to slip out your mouth with someone like Dr. Park present?
With the fogginess of the lack of sleep and the last surgery you barely made out of, you hardly noticed the debrief occurring anyways. Words about the patient's vitals and chief complaints were being tossed from a resident off to the side. You were internally imploring Park to not dismiss him as he had you practically the entire morning.
Your hands fell in their customary position in front of you, folding into a ball as a form of self-soothing. Briefly closing your eyes, taking in a deep breath, you tried to call upon some energy to hit you like a wave. You still had the second half of your morning shift to go, and you barely got through half the energy drink you cracked open to sustain you. Don’t get in his way, and maybe he won’t sink his teeth into you–
“I see you dragged one of your pups, Park.” A deep voice ribbed from the opposite end of the room.
Dr. Robby stood with his arms crossed at the foot of the gurney, staring back at you with no shame. He cocked his head to one side, glazing at you with amusement, hiding in the corner like some meek fish. Some of the other doctors had finally noticed you, sparing you a smile that came off more like a grimace.
Your attention drifted to your attending, who glanced over his shoulder, back at you. So much for not being noticed. Your entire body tensed up, and the bored expression from Park secured another stamp of his disapproval.
“What does the X-ray show?” Park questioned, his tone even and bass-y while echoing in the sterile room.
Eyebrows lifted with a quick hum coming from you was the only sound that came from anyone breathing in the room. His piercing blue eyes didn't move from you, and you weren't sure whether to keep looking or to turn to somebody else he might have referred to.
Someone called your name in the distance. As if on a swivel, your head moved toward the direction of the call. Dr. Langdon scratched the side of his head, subtly nodding his head to the X-ray machine.
Suddenly aware the question was directed to you, a cold chill ran down your spine. Embarrassment and fear of reprimand for acting like an idiot while being a third-year resident clouded your mind as your feet shuffled to the machine. Peering down at the screen, your eyes distinctly measure every inch of the image.
Lifting your head, you looked to the side. A front-view of the patient, an older patient dressed in khaki capri pants and a blue, flowery blouse. She sat uncomfortable, and you noticed her left leg, shortened and externally rotated. Based on the current needles poked in her, she was sedated from feeling most of the pain she should be experiencing.
“What’s your name ma’am?” You asked politely, with a soft smile.
She let out a shaky breath, mustering up a quivering smile. “Mrs. Perry.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Perry.” You mused, straightening your posture and walking over to Dr. Park’s side, leaving enough space to not brush against one another. From up close, you could see Park pressing the hip area on the left side of her body, arms flexing with the movement. She’d visibly flinch, but withheld from yelping. “How did this happen?”
“I tripped over my living room carpet.” She scoffed, annoyed from the incident while shaking her head. Park removed his hands, reaching down to hyper-extend her leg. The reaction then was a hiss. “I should’ve listened to my daughter when she told me that old things might kill me.”
There was a slight grumble released beside you. When peering from the corner of your eye, Park was stretching his neck uncomfortably after finishing a physical examination he’d typically have his resident perform. His words ringed in your ear. Don’t tell me.
Turning your body to face him, you awkwardly avoided his pointed stare. “X-ray shows a displaced femoral neck fracture. Based on the pattern, a Hemiarthroplasty might be necessary.”
You saw the slight twitch in his face. Moving around you, he advanced towards the machine, needing to see the images himself. You filled the void he left as Mrs. Perry bedside. Smiling down at her shaken expression glued onto Dr. Park, you leaned forward to capture her attention. “The surgery is a very common one. Mostly recommended in cases like this. You’ll have a greater likelihood of being able to stand and move after 48-hours.”
“What is the healing process like?” She asked, the slight tremor in her voice resonating too deeply within you.
Carefully reaching over the gurney, you grabbed her cold frigid hand resting on the edge. She sucked in a breath, staring at your eyes as if they held in some precious jewel for her to find. “You’ll probably need physical therapy afterward, possibly at an inpatient rehab facility. Mrs. Perry, many patients before have recovered beautifully from this, with mobility returning to their standard before this injury.”
You noticed the brimming of tears in her eyes, nodding her head vigorously along with your words. Her frail hands found strength to squeeze yours, and you couldn't help but beam wider at her. You could hear Park speak with Robby and the other doctors, but you didn’t pay them much mind.
“Thank you.” She whispered, the air hitting your face. She lifted her other hand to grasp at her chest, as if you lifted a weight from her. “Bless your soul, sweet girl.”
“We will book the OR for the procedure.” Dr. Park spoke louder, stopping at the foot of the bed. When you turned your head in his direction, he nodded to Robby. “We’ll need blood work and an EKG done to plan accordingly.”
“Already on it.” Robby nodded, he glanced from Park to you. He tried to hide the subtle skeptical look in his eye after listening to you speak with Mrs. Perry with tenderness.
You certainly didn’t learn that from Park the Shark.
Park didn't utter anything more as he sauntered behind you. The snapping of his gloves as he pulled them off concluding your business in the ED. You spared Mrs. Perry one last look, before ushering yourself out of the trauma room. When the door sealed shut, Park had already pressed the up arrow for the elevator. You halted a couple of feet behind him, standing to the side like some kid in trouble.
Clearing your throat, you rocked on the balls of your feet. “Was I right about the Hemiarthroplasty?”
If you were Sully, or any other resident with much more confidence in their diagnosing skills, you’d assume you made the right observation. But you weren’t—especially with Park present—and with a patient's life on the line, you didn’t pretend to be either.
The elevator dinged, doors opening wide for the two of you. Park who settled himself in the center of the elevator box while you slipped around him. Once the button lit up for the surgical floor, the box rattled to move up, forcing you to grasp onto the railing.
“Do you really have to ask?” He asked, not concerned to see your reaction. His voice seemed almost annoyed by the need to ask.
You fumbled on words, mouth agape as you considered how to redeem yourself without sounding overtly desperate for his approval. He slightly shook his head, squaring his shoulders. “Next time I ask for you to do your job, I assume you won’t dally like you did now.”
You weren’t dallying.
If anything, you were trying to comprehend what injury Mrs. Perry had. Apart from the X-ray, there were still elements you could learn talking to the patient. Maybe your teachers in med-school were too ‘soft’ for Dr. Park's animalistic taste, but you found the traditional-method worked.
You furrowed your brows. “It’s all for the sake of patient-care.”
“Reacting promptly and avoiding delay is patient-care.” Park corrected, you saw the slight maneuver of his chisel jaw, now able to see your figure from over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have to teach my third year residents this.”
If you were paid every time he threw that insult, you’d have your student debt paid two-times over. There weren't enough fingers on your hands to count the amount of times he directed those words to you. It was profoundly glued into every fold of your brain, haunting you even in your sleep. The utter lack of gratification you gave him as his resident didn’t need words with the way he’d dismiss you like a prey not worth the hunt.
It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You’d be wasting your time and his if you sat around lulling, but sometimes the insults bordered on cruel.
“It’s his teaching methods. Be glad he even addresses you by name.” Sully painfully attempted to remedy the slight heartache you had a couple of months ago—sulking over the fact Park had ripped you a new one.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or whatever Nietzsche said.
Except, you weren’t sure that philosophy helped anyone who worked under the control of Dr. Park.
That much was assured once Mrs. Perry was moved into an OR after her necessary tests were conducted almost three hours later. You were half hoping you wouldn’t have to perform the surgery, finally running to your wits end after the double shift. There wasn’t anything to liven the zombie-like shuffle of your feet down the halls through consultations and pages. Your body was running on autopilot, and the connectivity with your brain no longer attached.
You hadn’t realized you fell asleep while supposedly “resting your eyes” from documenting patient charts. Without much thought, your brainpower fizzled and shut off at the first taste of silence and peace. You were only thankful there wasn't anyone else trying to cram in charting time.
With your body succumbing to the small grace, you hadn’t a clue of your surroundings and the last thing you expected to disrupt your REM cycle was the booming sound of a door slam shut. You shook awake, turning your head in either direction to find the source of the noise. When your eyes shot open in the direction of the door to the dictation room, you saw a grouchy Dr. Park standing at the doorway with his hands on his hips.
You tried to act like you hadn’t been sleeping, blinking reverently to shake off the drowsiness. Dr. Park wasn’t convinced. Humming you braced one hand on the desk, spinning the chair slightly. “Were you looking for me?”
“You’d know that if you’d answer your pages.” His stolid stare of your face was aware of exactly the position he caught you.
Your hands wandered to the pager on your belt. When you saw all the unanswered responses, you groaned, too aware of the fact you had managed to fail your attending, again. Refusing to lift your head, you shut your eyes in defeat. “I’ve been trying to catch up on—“
“Sleep?” Park interrupted, bracing his arms over his chest.
Blinking at him like a dog with its tail between its legs, you could see something beyond general annoyance over you sleeping on company time. You hadn’t exactly expected him to handle it nicely, but a pit was forming in your stomach. It felt like awaiting a death sentence.
Park ticked his head to the side, snarling like a shark tempted by insatiable fury. Too wild and ferocious to wait for his next meal to come. That didn’t make him forget his control, staring at you with the starching glare. “Mrs. Perry is ready for surgery.”
His hand gripped open the door, stalking out as quickly as he came in. You sat there frozen, unsure what to make out of the reaction. He wasn’t the type to yell. His icy demeanor and hooded stare said enough without an elevation in vocal volume. Yet, he didn’t elaborate more on the obvious inappropriate state he found you in.
Could it be a dream? Maybe your brain hasn't fully booted to life. There was no way Dr. Brendon Park would let your mishap slide, right?
After surgery, you walked around with less eagerness than you did before (if you had any). You downed half a pot of coffee you found in the break room before scrubbing in. It was no shocker Dr. Park had led the entire operation up until the end, where he left you alone to finish up the entire procedure after he removed the hip-ball to replace it with something durable,
When you left the surgical wing, you noticed you put in over an hour of overtime. Sully was more than likely settled at your shared apartment. When you glanced at the lock screen of your phone, you noted the missed message.
SULLY 1 hr ago
Bought thai and dessert. I know you’re going to need it after tonight.
The exhale that left you might’ve sounded like you had received the best news of your life. In hindsight, it was as luxurious as your life got.
You were mostly grateful you had managed to avoid Park since finishing the surgery. Some part of you dreaded that he’d be waiting out the double doors to hand you the list of all your faults within the one shift. When you found the halls empty, you thanked whatever higher authority there was that it wasn’t the case.
As you stood in the desolate, quiet elevator, your hands hovered over the buttons. You were desperate to run out of the hospital and forget the shift like a bad nightmare. Instead, your finger reached for the post-op floor.
Maybe it was in everyone’s nature to linger instead of pulling away without turning back.
You didn’t think the hospital could get any colder. You tugged your fleece jacket to wrap over your body as you walked over to where most of the patients were sedated and asleep. The nurse at the desk recognized you, waving her hand at you before turning back to the paperwork she was attending to.
Mrs. Perry's room was diagonal from the desk, even with her face turned away, you knew her from afar. Quietly pulling the door open, you slipped in, gauging her body for any sudden movements of her shifting awake. When you saw the soft fall and rise of her chest continued without lapse, you grabbed the marker on her patient-board.
She was a lovely lady overall, resembling a grandmother from childhood. You scribbled a small note to tell her surgery went well and wishing her a speedy recovery, finalizing with your name. When you slipped out, you made no more delay, hurrying to the directions of the elevators, typing away in response to Sully’s message.
You didn’t lift your head up when the door slid open, side stepping to the panel to click to the floor to the hospital parking garage. Too busy staring at your phone, awaiting a response from your roommate; you didn’t acknowledge the presence lingering behind you. Just another hospital staff trying to make it home.
The buzz of the elevator filled the silent atmosphere. You hummed lightly to a song you had stuck in your head, watching the three dots light up the opened message.
“How’s the patient?”
You jumped back, your head turning ninety degrees in an impossible speed that would leave a kink in your neck no doubt. The grip on your phone was ironclad as you stared wide-eyed at Park, leaning against the railing with one arm. Staring at him with a frightened look, no doubt the same look of surprise from earlier, your mouth clamped shut.
He raised his eyebrows at you, and with a careful step, back you nodded. “Mrs. Perry is resting in post-op. I’m sure she’ll make a nice recovery with some therapy.”
Park only gave you a firm nod. He didn’t need you to reaffirm that thought. He had looked at all the pre-op tests and results. She was an ideal patient for her age, low-risk of infections and complications. He knew everything about his patients. Therefore, his nonchalant and dispirited expression reminded you of that.
You peeled your eyes away, hoping the elevator would somehow move faster, so you didn’t die of shame. As the elevator continued to descend, you grimaced, choosing your next words carefully, “I’m sorry about missing the pages. There is no excusing my ignorance of my responsibilities. I just—“
Your words fell flat. How were you supposed to excuse the fact you fell asleep while charting, especially to an attending like Dr. Park? Anyone would have a better time wrestling an actual shark then to be forgiven by Dr. Park.
“All residents should be able to adapt to their schedules.” Park reminded you, like you were an intern who had yet to learn to struggle on a shift. You had worked double and overnight shifts before. Today just happened to be one of the tiring ones yet. “Do you think a patient wants you drooling over them while in surgery?”
He shook his head, which was the most you had seen him emote. After the face you had made some mistakes you should've grown out of. “I gave you one task today, and somehow you were incapable of managing that.”
You shrunk within yourself, hands clamming around your phone. The sharp inhale must have caught in your throat from the constricting chords. It was as if the air had thickened with the rising density of Park’s sudden reprimand. Of course, you couldn’t save yourself from drowning into the depths of the ocean, where most of the curious sharks lived. You were bound to be another fallen soldier in Park the Shark’s list of students who fell too short of the expectation.
“I need competent third-year residents on my staff. Ones who don’t need me to hold their hands and coddle them their entire way through this program.” He took one-step closer, and you wondered what was taking the elevator so long. “I won’t risk my patient’s life for your irresponsibility.”
The elevator dinged and the metal doors slid open. You held your breath the entire time Park stared down at you, like scum under his shoe. Without uttering another word, he walked out the doors, placid and unfazed by the confrontation, compared to you. Feet glued to your stationary position and blood running cold over your entire body.
Was that how Park saw you? Some liability he tried to tolerate, even when he preferred you separated from the patient with a ten-foot pole. The shaky breath you finally let out shook your core. Maybe all he saw you was the ‘pipsqueak’ of the group. Too mousy and self-deprecating unlike the rest.
God, you were a fool thinking you could impress anyone with your confident persona, impersonating a skilled ortho-surgeon instead of training to be one.
You stuck your hand through the sliver between the closing doors, activating the sensor once more. Stepping out into the fresh breeze, you caught the headlights of some luxury car flash in your direction. With one hand hovering over your eyes, you traveled to the side, remaining close to the edge away from the pathway. Right as the car passed by, you caught a glimpse of Park speeding away without turning back.
It sounded naïve to hope you could change his opinion of you. Didn’t mean you’d stop trying. He could stir the waters into a whirlpool, but you made your travel home planning to fight against it. If there was something you wanted Dr. Park to recognize most was you weren’t going to stand for the tyranny—even if he was the living impersonation of an apex predator in your habitat.
Some animals were made to be preyed on, and you’d climb the food-chain if you had too.
The animosity from Dr. Park had stopped in the shifts after. You made an effort to be assertive. Taking charge of consultations while instructing the interns. You weren’t doing it just to earn Park’s respect, but to also prove to yourself what you wanted to be capable of. If he happened to change what objective opinion he had settled on about you, then that was just a plus.
Thankfully, it had worked well enough to have Park only mutter the tame sarcastic remarks, which announced to everyone he wasn’t a fan of redundancy. He nodded at you when he ‘liked’ what you had to say about a patient and their diagnosis. Never cracking a smile, but whenever he'd examine you up and down once exiting a patients room, you knew he had no critiques.
It was nearing the end of the day shift. You had paid your farewells with most of your closest colleagues. Sifting through the fridge in the break room, you heard the door click open. Lifting and peeking around curiously, you assumed other residents were packing to leave.
Instead, Dr. Emmick, the night shift attending that relieves Park, greeted you with a casual smile. You had worked with her previously, enjoying her calm, playful nature. She had her black hair tied in a braid, framing her face. You always admired her youthful look, tanned color and clear skin.
She smiled at you while holding her packed lunch. The sweet ring of your name followed as she approached, “it’s nice seeing you around.”
“Likewise,” You mused, extending a hand out as you politely put the container into the fridge. She gratefully handed it to you, mouthing a small ‘thank you.’ Before closing the fridge, you grabbed the last of your energy drink, tapping the seal.
“I hope Dr. ‘Shark’ is treating you well.” She joked, and you caught the playful chaste in her words. She flashed a grin as she spun around towards the kitchenette.
You scoffed, shaking your head with a nervous smile. “As well as he treats all of his residents.”
She laughed at that, her cheeks swelling as her smile widened. She moved around, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. She rustled around the sweeteners and sugar for a minute. “I find it hard to believe you haven’t charmed your way into his cold heart.”
Squinting your eyes at her, you chuckled awkwardly, gripping the can tighter. “What do you mean?”
You froze as she poured the warm liquid in her mug. She moved around casually as if what she said hadn’t been news to you. While she shook her head, you continued to stare at her back with a crinkled nose. “I haven’t met a single person who didn’t have a single good thing to say about you.”
She shortly paused to take a brief sip of the coffee before she rustled with more of the sugar packets. “You have been monikered the most liked resident of the entire hospital.”
“That’s a lie.” You countered. When the tone came out more combative than intended, you retracted your head a bit, pressing your lips together.
“Don’t believe me?” she mused, glancing over her shoulder as she mixed the coffee with a stirrer. The grin on her face made you feel like you shouldn’t have doubted the observation.
‘Most liked’ must have been an exaggeration. Of the entire hospital? Impossible. Sure, you played nice with the surgical attendings and the doctors down in the Pitt, but they couldn’t have all thought that way. Not when Park found a way to rip up your efforts every shift. It is unbelievable that any of the attendings could like you if Park found flaws.
“Which begs the question as to why you stay on the day shift.”
When you lifted your eyes to level at her face, she was leaning back onto the counter cradling the mug. One foot crossed over the other and she smiled sincerely. “I know many here on the night shift who would appreciate you a little more. I know I would.”
“I could use a resident with your maturity.” She shrugged, pushing off the counter. You continued fiddling with the can, trying to ground yourself as she continued finding new ways to praise you. “Would take a lot off my plate.”
You hadn’t realized how silent you were until she raised her eyebrows at you expectantly. Shaking your head, you waved one hand in dismissal. “I’m sure you’re just saying that. I know most of my co-residents are moving once they finish residency and the hospital is in need of some positive turnover.”
She narrowed her eyes at you, like your observation was a point-of-view she hadn't been exposed to. With the slight shake of her head, she blew out a sigh, eyebrows raised. “Truth is it’s a lot harder to stay than it is to get in. It’s definitely not for lack of trying. But, I think if anyone has a solid chance, it's you.”
Before you could politely disagree, the sound of a phone ringing bounced off the wall. Reaching into her scrub pocket, Dr. Emmick pulled out her on-call phone, skimming the ID. She lifted her head, offering an apologetic smile. “Just consider it, at least.”
She swiftly answered the call, announcing her name. You waved her a small goodbye, which she returned, before you excused yourself out. Dr. Emmick was a good mentor from the times you had worked the night shift. She was swift with an edge of personality people felt Park lacked with all his glaring. She played music roulette while doing surgery, remaining the champion of the ongoing ‘guess that tune’ game.
It was hard to deny her forwardly when she charmed everyone with such ease.
You walked down the halls, towards the elevator where Sully stood by waiting, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up when he heard the footsteps, “What took you so long?”
“I was talking with Dr. Emmick,” You sighed out, leaning over to press the down arrow button. He stared at you skeptically, noticing the small shrug of your shoulders. “She tried to convince me to move to the night shift.”
He scoffed, stuffing his phone and hands in his pockets. He bounced on his feet, staring up at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
Your head spun to stare at him with down turned eyebrows and pursed lips. He stared down at you with a puzzled expression, “What? You’re not a morning person, whatsoever, and you hate working with Park.”
“I don’t hate working with Dr. Park.” You neglected, offended by the insinuation. ‘Hate’ was a strong four-letter word you disliked using.
‘Hating’ Dr. Park insinuated the one thing you didn’t want to relent to: that he was under your skin. If he was able to obliterate the part of you that made up the person enduring his personality, then you’d have to resign. There was no way you could objectively work with him—or anyone similar—without it affecting patient care. It wasn’t a justifiable means to an end; it was a disservice to the patients.
Sully mockingly nodded his head, pretending to believe your words. You noted the small eye roll as he scoffed, “Either way, I won’t be here to cover for you next year, and you could use someone like Dr. Emmick in your corner.”
When the doors opened to the elevators, Sully slipped in first, holding the door open for you to follow. You bowed your head, still fiddling with the tab of your energy drink, no longer needing to satiate the craving. All you felt was the small shake of the elevator as it began its descent. Sully stood diagonally, watching you stare at your feet.
His small huff caught your distracted attention, “If you're so determined on staying here, you better learn to play offensive with Park. Don’t the big sharks always dominate the small ones?”
You refrained from laughing, dropping your gaze to hide the crack in your expression. Once Sully got over the shark-induced fear, he played around a lot more than he should’ve. The others thought it was like dropping his blood in a tank of sharks. Sully had read up on all the shark facts he could, and during every hand-off while Park was present, he’d share it with him.
He swore that Park patted him in the back once, hiding the small curve on the corner of his lip.
“Wouldn’t turning over to the night shift just confirm what he already thinks of me?” You questioned, rolling your head to the side as the words rang in your head again. All you were was incompetent and juvenile anyways.
“Maybe,” Sully shrugged, readjusting the singular strap of his backpack hanging off his shoulder. “Or maybe he won’t care at all. If he feels that strongly about you, then why should it matter to him?”
Sully was usually right, which was why they titled him chief resident. He had made the last three years with Park more than bearable. If you hadn’t gone to introduce yourself to him in the parking lot, he probably wouldn’t have chosen you to assist him throughout most of his cases. He always noted that you were smarter than the rest. When they’d all make performances of them kissing ass, you’d do it in silence, without the need of recognition.
You thought he was being nice when he offered his spare bedroom. In reality, you were the only one he could fathom spending time with outside the hospital.
When the elevator halted, Sully gave you a grin. “I hope I wasn’t wrong about you, pipsqueak.”
“Seriously?” You groaned, dragging your feet through the lobby as you two wandered out the doors as all the other day-shift staff.
Sully led the way with more energy than when he came in. You didn’t know how he wasn’t drained from the work, or the bustling of Park pushing him in every direction. He was meant to be the right-hand man, after all. When the two of you made your way out, the sun was close to gone.
There was a chilly breeze and you shivered as it kissed your cheeks. “What is that supposed to mean anyway?”
“I just hope that all the hints I’ve been dropping Park isn’t for nothing.” He shrugged, trotting up steps to the parking garage elevator.
“What do you mean?” You pushed, letting out a sigh once the two of you made it to the elevator. Your hands landed dramatically to your sides, head tilted as you stared expectantly.
He shrugged first. Once he caught wind of your raised eyebrows, he chuckled. “Look, I get we’re friends, roommates, and honestly, we work on more cases together than with Shark combined.”
“Get to the point.”
He raised his hands, as a form of retaliation, while you deadpanned him. “But, you are more than a decent resident.”
Scoffing with an offended and jarred gaped mouth, you prepared to fire equally backhanded remarks. Sully put his hands on your shoulders, guiding you into the elevator first, leaning into your ear. “I’m messing with you.”
He let go once inside, and clicked the fourth floor. He turned to you with a sincere smile, crooked and charming. You had lost track of the amount of times other residents asked if he was single or in a relationship with you. “But, I don’t think I’ve seen Park so interested in anyone as much as he is with you.”
Throwing your head back gently, it thumped the elevator wall, trembling as it glided upward. “People say the same about you.”
“My point is if I see it, so does Park.” Sully redirected with a casual smile. Professional and honest, in the same manner he talked to patients. “So give him reasons he needs to be wrong.”
“And If it doesn’t pan out, I’ll hold you a spot in Chicago.” He winked at you and as if on cue, the elevator dinged and the doors revealed the dark parking garage .Walking backward, he widened his smile, all teeth. “Then he’ll regret ever doubting you, shark pup.”
You tried to keep Dr. Emmick and Sully's words in mind. It had started to feel like an omen you meant to keep an eye on. It never occurred to you that some people had formed strong opinions about you. Dr. Emmick had asked subtle questions about your consideration of the last conversation the two of you had. Sully had noticed, and even began to inquire about your next steps.
It had never dawned on you that the invitation was serious.
Not until you worked the next night shift block on your schedule. You had walked into the dictation room, zipping on your fleece sweater when you ran into Dr. Emmick. She looked up from her watch, stating your name with a smile. “Didn’t realize you were scheduled tonight.”
You nodded politely, offering a closed mouth smile in return. “I switched with another resident. It was a last minute thing.”
“Well, happy to have you here.” She somehow smiled wider. You tried to hide the sudden tightness in your chest. It was weird to be openly invited and welcomed into your shift by an attending. Park would have barely looked in your direction if this were the day shift.
She stood with her hands in her pocket, examining you up and down. “Have you done the hand off yet?”
“Just got back from that,” You point your thumb behind you, motioning to the door you came in from seconds ago. “Seems like a manageable workload.”
“For now,” Dr. Emmick chuckled, readjusting the pager on the waistline of her scrub pants. “Give it a few hours to liven up. The next trauma is yours.”
You should’ve known by now to take her words seriously.
While assisting her in a surgery that was when the call came in from the charge nurse. Trauma via ambulance. Motorcycle accident. Left leg deformity with obvious bone exposure. Dr. Emmick only hummed as she glanced at you from across the surgical table.
That’s what landed you in the elevator, gloves and gown doffed while now only sporting your scrub cap. When you landed on the basement floor, walking straight off the elevator and looking into Trauma-2, you saw the chaos within the glass. Pumping hand sanitizer and pushing the door open with your back caught the attention of most in the vicinity.
Walsh lifted her gaze across the room, a small smirk on her face as she announced your name amusingly. “Dr. Park’s shark pup. You finally turned to the dark side?”
You shook your head, grabbing a pair of gloves from the wall. “Hello to you too, Dr. Walsh.”
Approaching the gurney, your eyes immediately went to the splint holding his left leg in place. That when you saw the exposed bone from an open wound on the anterolateral shin. An intern was sitting, irrigating the debris into a pan. You then looked up to see the young, male patient, sedated on the bed. He was scattered with other wounds in his face.
“Present, please.” You proposed, eyes darting to the staff wearing black scrubs.
“A please? Are you sure you're one of Park’s?” Jack hummed from beside you leaning over the patient as he and Walsh worked on putting a chest tube and alleviating some internal bleeding near the liver. When you looked at him, you scoffed, shaking your head.
“Motorcycle accident. Flew almost ten meters away from the crash per paramedics. No knee fracture or joint surface misalignment.” Nazely spoke up from your other side, continuing to irrigate gently, looking much smaller as she donned her gown.
“Jesus” You mumbled, hands behind you back as you leaned in to examine the open wound with precision. “Did he come in unconscious?”
“Morphine and fentanyl will do that for you.” Walsh mumbled as she began to stand up straight. She tossed the small strands of hair that fell around her face back looking in your direction.
She watched as your hand traveled along the bone in his knee, then lowered as you felt the tissue. Nazely had retracted her hands, looking around anxiously as you stared at the leg like some prey on the hunt. “Keep irrigating. It’s looking like a subtype B and we don’t want to risk infection.”
“Subtype B?” Nazely questioned softly, looking up at you with her widen sunken eyes. She glanced around to try to understand the silent understanding everyone else had.
You nodded at her, a soft smile as you made your way around to where she was, stopping close enough to brush against her arms. “Gustilo-Anderson Type III.”
“Good old Ramon and John.” Walsh joked, shaking her head with a small huff. Jack glanced at her, an amused smile on his face.
The movement continued as you examined the patient in silence. Nazely kept cautiously peeking at you from the corner of her eye. She was paranoid of whether she was doing it correctly, adjusting her arms rhythmically. Your mind and body acted on your training, sensations alarmed from the previous cases you can recall that imaged the patient’s current situation.
When you turned to Nazely, she tensed up a bit, suddenly alarmed. “Was his upper leg always this swollen?”
Her eyes followed where you were pointing nervously. She furrowed her eyes, a bit panicked while shaking her head. “It looks worse than when he came in.”
“Before the medication he was in severe pain, even with passive stretching.” Jack informed, now stoic as he followed what you and his intern were concerned. He moved around the nurses and techs to assist with other continuous care in his upper extremities. “Felt numbness in his toes and pain continued up to the ankle.”
“Can I see imaging?” You called out, retracting yourself to step over to the machine where the radiologist tech stood with the blue vest still on. Peering down, you drowned out the sudden rise of noises.
Voices followed with consistent reports of heart rate and pressure, moving into a position that was no longer safe for comfort. Even while focused on your area of expertise, you could recognize the plan of care Walsh and Jack were announcing. Ischemic. Stiffness, swelling, and pain in the left leg. Tibia fracture.
“Acute compartment syndrome.” You called out, turning your head over to Jack and Walsh.
The trauma surgeon tsked as she busied herself with Jack looking over her shoulder. She lightly jerked her shoulder, pushing Jack back to block space between them. Jack lifted his head over Walsh, looking at the small intern sitting on the stool, attempting to shrink impossibly smaller. “What are the four compartments, Nazely?”
She blinked rapidly, pausing with her mouth open as her attending addressed her. While shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath out. “Anterior, Lateral, Superficial, and Deep posterior.”
“500 to Dr. Toomarian.” You joked, walking back to her side. She gazed up at you offering a trembling smile as she gathered her bearings again, focusing on her one task. You sighed, shaking your head. “He’s going to need a fasciotomy and reconstruction if we can salvage all the compartments. Hope he doesn’t lose his leg.”
“Any attending’s available in ortho?” Walsh questioned, finally taking a step back to speak directly at you.
You ripped off the gloves you were wearing, tossing them in a bin before sanitizing. While rubbing your hands you sighed, “Dr. Emmick will be stuck in a spinal surgery for the next couple of hours. I will proceed as primary ortho after checking in with her.”
“Without supervision?” Walsh clarified, an eyebrow raised. You could tell she had reservations, not of the work, but the ethicality of the procedure.
You shrugged, before crossing your arms and holding her attention. “You’d rather the patient lose his leg, Dr. Walsh?”
Jack snickered from across the trauma room. He shook his head, “Now I see it.”
Walsh followed your previous actions, doffing the PPE attire. Once she ripped off the gloves, she clapped her bare hands, an amused smile on her face. “You’re up, shark pup.”
When you finally scrubbed out of the surgery, it was nearing sunrise. Before walking into the OR, you kept repeating the case in your head, going over the steps you had done previously before. You weren't exactly secure until stepping into the sterile environment. Standing at the surgical table, along with Walsh and the other surgical techs, it was coming to you as easy as breathing.
Taking control of the entire narrative in a different capacity felt strange. There wasn’t the lingering presence of Emmick or Park, who typically didn’t refrain from giving direction, guiding your hands like molding clay. There was steadiness in your hands you didn’t think would be present without either attending.
You could hear Park’s constant reminders not to get too conceited. Cockiness never suits a wide-eye resident still learning to stand; he huffed out after assisting in your first major reconstruction surgery. He had surprisingly relied mostly on your directive than his own, asking questions and staring at your work.
There was still a buzzing sensation throughout all your nerves, like an adrenaline rush you didn’t want to come down from. It didn’t help that when Dr. Emmick did step into the OR, to check in with how the operation was progressing, she gave no criticism. The nod and approving hum that escaped her while wearing the mask, listening intently to you break down the steps you’ve taken, made it hard to not be proud of yourself.
Instead of gloating though, you sat in the break room, nibbling on the lunch Sully had prepared for you two for the week. You leaned back in the plastic chair, scrolling through your phone. You heard the door click open, but made no effort to turn your head to the sound.
When you saw a figure move around from where you were sitting, you caught Walsh looking down at you, much cleaner from the last time you saw her. She grinned at you, stopping across the table, “The patient was moved to the ICU for monitoring. Good job back there.”
“Thank you.” You replied, putting your phone down gently. Sitting up straighter, your braced both hands on the seat, smiling coyly. “Is it bad to say I was afraid of messing it up?”
“Don’t let Brendon hear you say that.” Walsh snickered, turning her back to scavenge the fridge. She pulled out a gray can, immediately cracking the seal and gulping down the cold liquid. “He’d have a gall if he knew you did the operation with no attending supervision.”
“You were there.” Your chin motioned to where she stood, one hand now braced on the kitchenette counter.
“I’m not your attending.”
Her grin widened as you playfully rolled your eyes. There was a beat of silence as you finally sensed the temptation to steal another nibble of your food. Walsh stared at you, taking another swing of her drink. “I heard you’re bored with the day shift. Is Park not living up to the hype?”
With down turned brows and a shaky laugh, you tipped your head to one side. “What are you talking about?”
Walsh looked back at you as if she had shared a secret she wasn’t supposed to let slip. Readjusting her back, she pursed her lips. “Marla said you were moving to the night shift with the rest of us nocturnal mammals.”
Dr. Emmick. Ardent to assume one good half-shift was enough to have you turning your current schedule upside down. Although, you could say pretty confidently you had never been as validated as you had this shift than any day shift, you still were considering the proposition. It wasn't entirely a decision you could rationally make with this one experience. You had yet to find out what struggling with the night shift entailed.
“I’ve yet to decide on such a big change.” You corrected, earning a hooded look from Walsh. “I promised her I’d consider it.”
Walsh booed, rolling her neck to glare at you with amusement. The playful grimace on her face eased the small worry in your chest. Has it really been that big of a disappointment?
She pushed herself off the counter, sauntering in your direction. “Here I thought I’d be able to rub in his face how we stole his greatest protégé.”
There was that word. Along with the ‘shark pup’ nickname some of the residents had heard a handful of times answering consultations. They were meant to learn from the quiet, calculated Dr. Park, and find some way to honor him with their skill, but Park wasn’t the type to look at that. He didn't care much for individuality either, but he preferred neither of you to paint yourself in an image that only suited him.
“Why do you guys keep saying that?” You questioned genuinely. Walsh stopped in her tracks, raising her eyebrows at your question. “I’m nothing like him, and if anything, he probably has a scroll full of things I could work on.”
For a minute, you thought Walsh might actually pull you into the insider information that every surgical staff knew–except you. A part of you wondered whether Park was secretly feeding into the ongoing perception as well. Walsh scoffed, the corner of her lips curling upward, pronouncing her cupid's bow. “I’m not going to spell it out for you. Takes away the fun.”
“Besides, if it keeps you from coming over to nights, I don’t think I want to.” She admitted, leaning in closer to come off as mischievous. You only nodded, defeated that you were left out.
She sighed, “You’ve got potential. I’d hate for ‘Park the Shark’ to be the reason you don’t explore that.”
She rolled her eyes at the title Park had been known for since you joined. Now you understood why Park always seemed to have a scowl after talking with Walsh. If she jabbed at him in his face as much as she was right now, that would explain everything. She straightened herself, sparing you one last smile.
“See you around, daredevil.”
To say Dr. Park was a tough person to impress was an understatement. You didn’t expect him to sing your praises the following shift after Dr. Emmick had prematurely gloated on your behalf. The only reaction you got was a huff of some sort, his head tilting to the side as he saw you checking in on the patient and mutterings of ‘doing your job.’
By that point, you knew Park was grateful the patient had survived long enough to offer you his gratitude.
It did get him off your back a bit.
He still picked on you to accompany him on the major trauma surgeries, but he stopped hounding over you. Most consultations in the ER were yours to attend, with the junior residents to teach and guide. The word must have traveled, because even a hunk of a chief like Dr. Robby had respected your professional opinion.
They knew to trust your opinion when packed under the pressure of a MVA, including up to five vehicles and six pedestrians. Some of them were as young as 12, just riding their bike on the sidewalk by a park, blindsided by the speeding cars. It was chaos in the ED, and the trauma alarms up in surgery didn’t go missed by anyone.
Gowns and gloves flew on with quick ease and stained with the crimson blood of those involved just as quickly. Right as you were working on the hip fracture of a 72-year-old woman, a passenger to one of the affected vehicles, Park had immediately switched you out with Sully to stabilize a 32-year old man's leg.
You had done the same procedure alone. When you watched Park walk out to dictate another surgery, a sigh of relief escaped you. It was hours before the hospital found a steady rhythm. Most of your shift had passed by with the blink of an eye, and patients transferred in and out like a manufacturing company. Now, most of the interns and second-years were attending to follow calls about surgery while you sat in the dictation room to finish charting.
Sully sat across from you, speaking quietly as he recounted the steps of his pelvic stabilization of a 45-year-old patient, waiting to follow up with the acetabular reconstruction. You preferred to type your way through the chart, even if you could barely keep your eyes open enough to see the words.
What did liven you up was the sound of your pager beeping. You groaned lightly, earning a scowl from Sully who didn’t falter with his words. When you glanced down at your pager, you read the room number feeling some sort of dread following.
The last thing Sully heard was the scraping of the chair as you walked out the dictation room.
You wandered up to the post-surgery wing, wandering towards the room number with alerted ears. Right as you were approaching the sliding doors, you halted as nurses were pushing the patient bed out of the room. Pushing yourself aside by a wall, you watch with slight horror as Jones, the small blonde second-year resident, walks out like a wounded puppy, followed by an infuriated Park.
Despite being the least expressive person in the entire hospital, there was an eerie distinction between his typical crabbiness and his frenzied authoritative side. This was the latter.
When Park’s eyes landed on you, he scoffed. The disgust was evident when he brushed past you with little acknowledgment. You tried to ask a question that fell short when Dr. Park finally spoke up with his back turned to you. “Nice of you to finally act upon your responsibilities,”
With a huff, you followed closely behind him, eyeing at Jones who departed down a desolate hallway. “What happened?”
“Your lack of concern for patient care is what.” He retorted, and from the angle, you caught him in, it was as if he was snarling his teeth with a low grumble. “Mr. Stevenson was your patient, and your lack of consideration for him has resulted in compartment syndrome.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. From the trauma interventions, the lack of fuel keeping you standing, and the endless work you still had yet to finish in the last two hours of your shift had all blurred together. The patients handed off from the night before had been lost in your memory, and when Park uttered his name with the sharp punctuation, it was like the thought was aimed straight for the center of your brain.
“Jones agreed to cover while we attended the incoming MVA patients.” You said breathlessly, now matching his pace. He still didn’t bother to look at you, which should’ve been the least of your concerns, but right now, it made you feel insignificant. Undeserving of a moment of his precious time.
“So I heard,” he reported sourly, shaking his head. The nurses lead the hospital bed in the direction of the elevator and if your body weren’t caught off guard, you would’ve realized exactly where they were heading in the first place. “I’ve already reprimanded him for his dismissal of the nurse's report of his increased pain after the intramedullary nailing and refusing to consult with a senior staff member.”
He paused, turning to stand right in your tracks. You stumbled back with a startled expression, craning your neck back to look at him. The bones in his jaw ticked as he clamped down. The shadow over his eyes made his crystallized stare sharper, like a pair of knives pointed straight at you. You finally had a moment to catch your breath, but hardly anything was traveling to your lungs.
“But with your seniority, it was your responsibility to supervise his actions and your patients, regardless of everything else going on.” He affirmed a finger point at your chest as he emphasized his point. “You learn to accept the workload. Do you think they care whether you’re tired or busy with their limb on the line?”
His voice was echoing now through the halls. The last thing the nurses saw was his muscles contracting under his plum scrubs before the elevator doors sealed shut. It left you in shallow waters, helpless under the unrestrained hunger of his wrath. You stood with both hands resting at your side, eyes fluttering with every stab of his words.
It was your responsibility, and you stupidly pushed it aside like scutwork.
“Now he might lose his leg.” Park pointed behind him, motioning to the elevator box the patient disappeared too. That reality was dawning on you with the emergency-surgery taking place.
Your body deflated; mouth agape as you attempted to reel in some courage to face him with dignity. The last thing you needed was for him to bully you over your lack of thick skin. That didn’t stop the wetness accumulating on your waterline. Accept the consequence of your inaction, god dammit.
“I can scrub in.” You pleaded, like a last attempt to beg for some form of life saving intervention. A boogie, life jacket, floating ring, something to pull you out of the depth of your despair.
With a flat palm right in your face, he snarled. “Don’t be an idiot. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
“I will fix your mistake for you, since you appear too absorbed by other duties.” His detached and swift examination of your diminished position tossed aside any ounce of consideration he had for you. The match he struck on you overturned all the micro-trivial actions you confused for tokens of his appreciation. Now, he was turning away as you burned and fizzled alone.
“Word of advice? Don’t waste my time if you don’t plan to take every challenge this program entails seriously.” The lash of his words didn’t need to be filled with profanities to make an impact, nor the heighten of volume like some may assume.
He was filled with quiet precision. A sniper with a scope and steady aim. “I’m not going to waste my time teaching a resident whose absurdity gets the best of them during dire moments. It’s not worth my effort and you’re not worth the aggravation.”
You were stunned, stapled into your position in front of him. It was like watching a bad accident unfold. Park was intact, emotionally stunted, but able to move on with his life without having to rerun the event. You were coming from the wreckage with all types of breaks and fractures. Your stability wiped from under you and recovery was a concept you were not sure could happen with due process.
Therefore, when Park turned around without so much of a glance in your direction as he stood alone in the elevator. You swore you saw the interaction slide off him, taking literally the last thing he muttered to you.
You’re not worth the aggravation. A third-year resident who needed to be coddled and instructed step-by-step on how to do their job properly, like you were a med student. Reprimanded and shunned all at once.
It was an embarrassment to yourself when you locked the door to the private bathroom, leaning against the door with a shaky hand covering your mouth. Truth was, you were frightened Mr. Stevenson would lose his leg after you incautiously neglected him. Not only would you have ruined an innocent man's life (along with yours), but Dr. Park might’ve used it for grounds of terminating your participation in the well-accredited program.
It wouldn’t have been unjustified, but you would never recover.
When you crawled back to the dictation room, night shift was making its way in. You looked around for Sully. Something familiar and safe to fall on to. As you were walking in, Dr. Emmick was walking out, alongside a night-shift resident. She smiled when she caught your eye. If she noticed the hesitation in your response, she didn’t mention it out loud, but she did furrow her brows in question.
Sully lifted his gaze, slight alarm when his eyes peeled from the desktop to the sudden sunken look in your face that was beyond the exhaustion of the shift.
“What happened?” He questioned, hands braced on the desk to push himself up.
You made your way over to him, sinking in the chair beside him. He turned to lean his body toward you, ear burning with anticipation. The subtle shake of your head and the wobble of your chin. He knew exactly what look that was.
Before he could ask a follow up, you sighed, “You’re right. I hate Dr. Park."
A week had passed. You let the dust settle for a week. You weren’t the idiot Dr. Park assumed you were. It didn’t settle because you were overly upset. Refusing to cry in your place of work, you saved the self-pity for your couch, a rom-com too sad to be comedic, and a tub of ice cream in the dark to self-indulge. It worked, because you came in for your next shift, coherent enough for Sully to understand you.
You let it settle to think clearly of the decision you conferred with your roommate about.
It only took you a week to decide with profound confidence because you didn’t want to cave into Dr. Park’s not-so-subtle mark of inferiority for you. Giving in to his brashness meant letting him win. If there was one thing you had decided against was losing the opportunity to prove yourself.
That’s what had you walking down the hall with the sheer determination of someone scorned. At least, you were pretending to be. Steadying your breathing and keeping your chin held high, you were confident enough to confront the current source of your uneasiness.
It was the end of your shift, hand-off concluded and Sully was currently waiting for you in his Prius. He had offered to stick around for moral support, but this was one challenge you had to endure alone.
As you rounded the corner, where most of the offices were, you felt the air thin too short to breath. You couldn’t turn back now—certainly not ten feet away from where Dr. Park was. So mumbling the affirmations, you spoke two feet from the mirror in the morning; you knocked on the door of the office.
“Come in.”
When you pushed open the door, Park sat in a comfortable office chair, desktop resting on a polished, and dark oak wood desk. His finger hovered over the keyboard, and when you met his eye, there was an unmistakable twitch from his nose.
Somehow, his gel combed hair shined brighter under the office light than that of the fluorescence in the OR and the ED. It was a visible recall of discipline and order. Nothing went unnoticed by him and he acted appropriately per his standard.
In the past week, he couldn’t ignore the fact you acted passive compared to your usual friendly demeanor. The very few consultations the two of you wounded up in, you were curt in your evaluations. You no longer sweet-talked conscious patients, and suddenly your reports were too concise. It was as if you were trying to wrap up any form of conversation with him as rapidly as possible.
He knew better than to assume the monologue he gave you hadn’t stung. That was the intention, after all.
You closed the door behind you, opting to respect him and your professional relationship to not blow this into departmental news to gossip about. Hands folded in front of you, it was like being in elementary school all over again. Addressing a teacher or principle with the dignity of an adult, that at the age of 12, was a foreign concept.
Clearing your throat, you offered a tight smile. “I wanted to tell you I have made the decision to transition to night-shift until the end of my residency.”
The glare he spared in return was still razor sharp, but once the words left your mouth, you instinctively searched for there to be something to deceive him. He peeled his arms away from the desk, folding them in his lap. “Admin will want a formal address as to why.”
“Dr. Emmick specializes in spinal and musculoskeletal orthopedics. She’s agreed to mentor me in those sub-specialties.” You explained with no hesitation. Once it landed, you noticed how rehearsed the statement sounded. You tried to seal it with a shaky smile, despite the stiffness in your posture betraying you.
Park examined you. His eyes narrowed and you silently pleaded he’d just accept the lame excuse, tell you to leave, and never have to face him again until the rare chance you’d have to work the dreaded day shift again. The last thing you expected was for him to stand, coming to stop on the other end of the desk. He sat on the edge, bicep muscles curling as he folded his arm over his chest.
If he weren’t so insufferable, you could see yourself drooling over them like some of the nurses did.
“You aren’t interested in spinal or musculoskeletal orthopedics.” He spoke directly. As if he had the faintest idea what you were interested in. You almost opened your mouth to derail his confident theory, before he shook his head. “You love pediatrics. You told Sullivan that in the first week.”
It was scarily true. The first pediatric case you worked on was a scared 7-year old girl who was going to need an amputation. She had strangely accepted the fact she would be missing part of her leg from above the knee and lower. That is what sold pediatric orthopedics for you. Except, Park hadn’t worked that case. He remembered that.
“Is this about last week?” Park sighed out, slight dismay in his tone.
You pursed your lips, hardening your stare. “If it was?”
“I’d tell you not to act so immature.” He remarked, like he was astonished by the fact you even asked the question. “You messed up. It will happen. I will chew you up about it. Grow up and just accept it.”
You dryly laughed at that. Grow up. What a concept?
Had you not matured in the three years from working under his supervision? He molded you under his guise, so much, so the other attendings only saw him in your image. Even with the tenderness you held on to. Meanwhile, he was stubbornly trying to beat it out of you, like a bad habit.
“What’s so funny?” He questioned, although he knew the laugh wasn't amusement. He wasn’t sure he had seen this reaction from the furrow in his brows. Somehow, his eyes were more hooded than before with that tick.
“Everyone seems to mistakenly think I’m your protégé or as they endearingly call me ‘shark pup’” You air quoted the last part, and the various voices utter that name brought upon a distaste in your mouth.
The name was a bag of weights resting on your shoulders. Without intending to, they constantly reminded you of who you were meant to be serving, as if patients weren’t the top priority. It had you running in circles, finding some way to remain impressive and shine enough to be memorable. Dehumanizing the charity of your work for the sake of appeasement.
“Like I want to follow in the footsteps of ‘Park the Shark.’”
Park scoffed. He had never approved the name per se, but he didn't discourage the usage. You saw pride in the shimmer of his eyes as people used it to praise him. All it did for you was remind yourself how negligible you were in his shadow.
You sighed with resignation, your body tired from the neglect on your own behalf. The backpack hanging on your shoulder weighed heavier. “I’m going to be frank Dr. Park; I want to be nothing like you.”
“Is that so?” He proposed, barely flinching from the implication.
“Yes.” Your breathy voice trembled, but you nodded with assurance. “All I want is to be someone honorable enough to treat the people who come in here during their worst moments.”
“I can’t do that with you disparaging me with every mistake or browbeating me around every corner.” Your hands motioned out to the very hospital Park reigned. With his designated office and cushy salary, he’d always terrorize your waters. “Especially when you don’t trust my skill as your resident.”
Maybe this was giving in. You were aspiring to have the same pride in yourself that Park did swimming into the ED or any surgery he led. If you were meant to fail to become great, why did it always feel like Park worked only in perfection?
“I happen to like to connect with my patients as much as I want to treat them and see them recover positively.” Your hand pointed to yourself, emphasizing the obvious difference between his bite and your heart.
The tiny sadness in your eye made Park shift uncomfortably. With his attitude, he must have made dozens of female residents cry. He probably went home satisfied if he crashed and burned the dreams of his students with the daunting reality that life could always get tougher.
“I don’t need you invalidating that method because you’d rather we operate in mechanical-like processes, like we are all just cogs in the machine.”
There was a beat of silence. You wholeheartedly awaited him to laugh in your face. Tell you this was ridiculous, you were too emotional, or even that you just weren’t cut out for the medical profession at all. That was everything you had heard in med-school and more. Yet, here you stood barring yourself clean, no life preserver to fish you out.
“Being emotional costs patients’ lives.” He stoically retorted, as if it had been obvious.
“I don’t see it that way.” You shook your head, lips forming a thin line. This was the final act of whatever the two of you had going on. Whether he appreciated you in silence at all or not, it couldn’t make up for the moments that ruined the illusion of his knowledge.
Too brilliant to apologize.
“Which is why I cannot have you as my attending,” You concluded, as if the argument was always clear.
He straightened his posture, shoulder falling back like a soldier hearing his command. He must have felt some way. Rejected by a resident must have been first, not that it was some record to feel proud of accomplishing. You had mixed feelings. It was all wrong, yet, there was comfort in knowing you had enough of a spine to say something.
Your hands brushed away the small hair tickling your face, “I’m afraid your judgment may hinder mine, and I need to trust in myself if I want to be good enough to be considered for the next attending position.”
That did it. You’d never outwardly said that you sought out an attending offer once your residency was up. If you had, maybe Park would’ve been much harsher than he already was. That certainly would’ve had you considering withdrawing all together.
Park's hands moved to the edge of the desk, gripping on to it as he pursed his lips slightly. Sourness or disbelief in a future where you were making the executive decision matched what you saw in his eye. “We will have to work together. Regardless if you leave the day-shift and especially if you apply for any attending position at PTMC.”
“Together. As colleagues.” You clarified, “Equals. Where I am not just some student you’re expecting to roll over at every word and waiting upon a treat blessed by you.”
There was something snarky in the comment. His nose flared lightly as he bit his tongue. For once, he was speechless, in a way that was aware, you had a score to settle, and he was at a disadvantage. Your hands fell to your side, lightly hitting your thighs. “I’ve already spoken with the program and staffing coordinator. This was mostly a courtesy.”
Then, one curt nod. No fondness of a goodbye, no devastation of your tender disappointment, or resentment for finding some unique way of disappointing him once more. It was bittersweet to terminate what you had come to know, even if it was your form of preservation. This would be your test on whether you could survive without the oh-so-wise knowledge only Park somehow had.
Maybe you could be a good surgeon without him yet.
With one hand on the door, you nodded, as if he spoke enough with his silence. Turning your body slightly, you paused with the door ajar. When you turned halfway, you offered him a tight smile, “I hope by then, you will have accepted I’m not like you, Dr. Park, nor will I ever be.”
When the conversation concluded with a click of the door, a relief shored into your chest. Your muscles released its iron-stiffness that weighed like stones in your pockets. You worried you’d regret the decision, but, how would you know who you are if you weren’t acting as you?
When you peeled your hand away from the handle, you finally noticed the small tremble gone. It was the calm after the storm, huddling in shelter as your world rattled around you. There was work needed to be done to find stability and normalcy again, but you started favoring the future more and more.
Sitting under your own tree and basking in the fruits of your own labor. Sighing in the idea of no longer standing under a man impersonating a territorial shark on dry land. And you’d finally outgrow the ‘pup’ term, once and for all.
I pulled an all nighter. And its 5am, but this story is so well written. You did an absolute phenomenal job!!! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
This feels like a true slow burn, like if you didn't label this story Park x Reader I wouldn't know he's the love interest!! I definitely forgot to copy any quotes, but this is so deserving of a re-read.
OH!!! I almost forgot, the part where Reader's hand is trembling after she confronts Park!!!! 10/10!!! I'm so proud of her, confrontation isn't easy for everyone. Especially the medical field???
we’re working our way to anything romantic! i don’t believe brendon would be such an easy person to slip into a relationship with especially as a resident!
i agree about the confrontation! i avoid it at all costs but i give props to anyone with the bravery and courage to do so :))
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.
it’s ongoing but my god is it good. The FMC is standing up for herself after park one too many mean « teaching » moment and is shining through after that.
I really like that by becoming her better self once she break through from park it makes him rethink his position slowly but surely
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.
Ugh I’m currently home from work because I had surgery last week and this made me miss the OR so much 😩 I’m such a workaholic and I’m having withdrawal symptoms from cutting into people
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
bestie just read “can’t get much stronger” and i’m literally re-reading it again after writing this, absolutely amazing 😩 you truly have a way with words !!! slow burn is definitely slow burning 🥵 >>>> your honor i love the two of them sm !! ehh can’t wait to see what you have in store for them (if your thinking of adding more to this) if not i can’t wait to see any other pieces you have, i know it’ll eat !!! 1000/10 no notes 😩😩💗💗
AW THANK YOU ANON!!
i just love the tension that comes from a power imbalance and i want to build it up RIGHT for them! i will admit, i have a few ideas, but nothing official yet for them!
i have a couple project i’m pretty set on working on. i work on whatever calls my name first lol but thank you for the support!
Brendon’s fanfic has really blown me away. It’s been incredible to read about someone standing up to him in such an assertive, firm yet respectful way. You can’t hold it against her for making a scene in public (something he’s done time and time again), so Brendon can only look at himself and reflect on what he’s done wrong. IT’S AMAZING.
If at any point, however fleeting, you think about writing a sequel, we need to see it from his perspective, so he understands just how badly he’s blown it.
omg thank you anon!
i love strong and independent characters! as someone who wishes they were more assertive in their wants and needs, i’ve learned to live vicariously through writing characters who do just that.
anyways, i’ve been holding off answering until i’ve uploaded the next part because i did do a park pov!!! thank you for the suggestion :))
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ dr. brendon park had earned the notorious title ‘park the shark’ for reasons besides his chiseled facial structure and razor sharp eye contact. his bites aimed to make his victims bleed without warning or apology. everyone awaited his retribution to come. the last person he expected to humble him was his do-good third-year resident.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, grumpy x sunshine trope, hurt/comfort, slowburn, work-place tension, park being a bully & ass (but he's hot), park being territorial/possesive (if you squint hard enough), night shift (because I love them!!), competence kink, blood/gore & other reoccurring medical topics in 'the pitt', medical inaccuracies (i've only graduated from google med school),
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ y’all i genuinely foam at the mouth every time a shark fic on this app. there’s nothing that brings me more joy than fantasizing about dr. brendon park, so here’s my interpretation of this sexy man. also this is inspired by the song 'kill me' by hayley williams !! (i love that woman soooo much y'all)
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 13.6 K
If you were in the comfort of your own apartment and bed, wrapped in the sheets you had personally endeavored yourself to splurge on, you would probably be in a better mood. Even though you had racked up enough student loan debt to achieve the satisfaction of ‘following your dreams’ to the point of living scraping by, you’d consider your bed a prized possession.
If they had warned you about the lack of commodities as a resident while working an overnight shift, you may have reconsidered your career choices.
While this wasn’t your first night shift, it was definitely the roughest one yet. Lack of energy, constant back pain, and absolute discomfort in the resident on-call room did nothing to satiate your grumpiness.
You no longer could count the times you had tossed and turned on the bed. At the end, you had resorted to sitting on the office chair, with your head thrown back. It did nothing for your back, but it was less annoying than attempting to lay on the sad excuse of a bed. You caught a couple of hours of sleep, with your sweatshirt providing some comfort, but not enough to pass as high functioning.
Right as you had fluttered your eyes close; there was a ping from a phone. You shook awake, flustered and alarmed from the noise.
Shit. You stared down at the watch. 7:23 AM.
You immediately jumped from the chair, tripping over your own feet to your backpack placed by the corner of the bed. Your hands fished for the phone in the side pocket, and when the screen illuminated your face, your blood pressure dropped.
SULLY 1 min ag0
The shark is looking for his next meal.
Where the fuck are you?
There was no hesitation. Your hands moved like lightning. Backpack, water bottle, random protein bar you scavenged from the resident lounge. Slipping out of the on-call room, everyone saw you jogging down the hallways, towards the resident lounge where no doubt, Dr. Park was expecting you to hand-off the night shift.
Your futile attempt to reverse the dark spot under your eyes landed you right in the middle of the ocean. The ‘Jaws’ theme song played in your mind, and you knew he could smell your blood pumping from across the hospital. It was a sixth sense of his, able to detect a puny resident from a mile away.
The thumping of your heart rose to your throat, like a boulder you couldn't swallow down. Your breathing was caught each time you tried to pull it down to your lungs. You were a dead man walking. That much was certain when you saw the wide eye stare from Sully, your senior resident. The two of you had bonded from being your attending’s personal meals.
‘Park the Shark’ was how you all had met him when onboarding the PTMC’s orthopedic surgery program. It didn’t make sense to you how the simple mention of a name could make everyone’s back shiver, until you tried to introduce yourself, hand out a stretched and wide smile to the hunk of muscle of your attending.
“This isn’t kindergarten. Don’t waste your breath on first impressions. To be clear, there’s nothing you can do to impress me.” Park deadpanned, staring down at you as he brushed past, leaving your hand floating.
The same frown must have crossed your face as you halted, fixing your badge into the waistband of your plum scrub pants. Holding your breath, you tossed your backpack to the nearest available chair, dragging your hands down your face. Time to face the music.
Your senior resident sat at one of the workstations, eyebrows raised as recognized the unease of your shortcomings. Sully leaned forward, arms crossed as he stared at you. “Where the hell were you?”
“Trying to catch some sleep so I don’t snore my way through the rest of my shift.” You gritted back, tucking your stray hairs away. There wasn’t time to doll yourself up in a mirror and you were praying that you didn't appear as restless as you were.
This was the second double shift you were pulling, and your third year had just started. If you were being honest, you didn’t understand why you were the one doing it.
Park had come up to you during one of your lunch breaks a couple of weeks ago, and dropped a physical copy of the newly printed schedule. In the colored blocks, you found your name under two of the 12-hour blocks. You had stopped chewing the sandwich in your mouth, looking up at your attending with wide eyes.
“There’s been some changes. Your cooperation is assumed, so memorize the changes.”
You barely uttered a word until he stalked off as if this was scutwork he was dreading to get done. Safe to say, you weren’t pleased with the sudden change of schedule for the month.
Right now, you are suffering the repercussions of it.
“You should be glad Dr. Park got distracted by Walsh’s morning jabs.” Sully scoffed, standing up with a smug slump. “He’s feeling particularly hungry this morning and Walsh is only going to make it worse for the rest of us.”
You shrugged menially, rushing over to the fridge in the room, digging for the collective energy drink collection. The crack of the seal echoed in the room. “It’s about time Park dishes what he eats.”
Earnestly, you got along with Walsh—and most of the other surgical attendings and residents. You had worked around enough of them to garner a likable reputation, but working under Dr. Park worked against your favor socially.
It was different in the night shift without Park. There wasn’t a certain tension when answering consultations or in the operating rooms. Albeit, everyone was a bit looser during the nights, but it opened a space where you could take charge more freely without worry of consequence or doubt in your decisions.
“And you think Walsh is the one to do that?”
The bass in the voice was unique to one person only in which everyone in the surgical department recognized from the other end of a call or down the hallways. Unamused in his tone that never changed while his lips remained stiff and straight.
You almost choked on the acidic liquid you had started gulping down. Whipping your head to the point of stabbing into your muscles from the speed, Dr. Park stood at the doorway with his arms crossed. If you were a bigger idiot than you were now, you would’ve pretended he didn’t hear what you said.
To try to spare yourself, you quickly shook your head. “Dr. Park—“
“Save it, pipsqueak.” Park dismissed, barely paying you any mind as he stared down at his watch. With his head bowed the reflection of the gel-cast over his light brown hair shined right in your eye. Perfectly combed back, chiseling his piercing bone structure. “You missed pass over. I had to hear from a second year resident.”
Glancing at Sully, he shrugged his shoulders, eyebrows down turned. Quickly recovering, your hand gripped onto the can tighter. “Jones? He’s a bit overzealous—“
“Which in your case, wouldn’t hurt.” Park dryly interrupted, staring at you with hooded eyes. The ‘clean shaven’ look he typically had pronounced every twitch in his mandible and the other parts of his jaw. It was a good way of telling when Dr. Park had lost his patience.
You blubbered, your fingers numbing from the cold can as you refused to let it go. “I don’t want to see you dragging your feet.”
“Of course not—“
“Don’t tell me.” Park dismissed, stalking passed you over to the fridge. He occasionally stole from the resident stock; everyone assumed it was a test to see who would stop him.
No one dared.
He didn’t have to finish the saying for you to get the message. He needs to see it. As of now, you weren’t helping your case as you tried coming up with deflections of your mistake. If there was something Park hated more than mere incompetence, it was weaponizing it with the false hope it worked on someone as sharp as him. Acting a fool and being a fool were two different things, and regardless of what angle you chose to play, it was always a lose-lose situation for yourself.
And you still needed to survive another 12 hours around him.
You should’ve known you weren’t going to last the day. If accidentally sleeping through your alarms and missing hand off told you anything, it should’ve been a sign things were going to go astray.
While pushing through a pair of double doors, having scrubbed out of an open tibia-fibula fracture surgery, a yawn escaped you. Shaking your head and rubbing your eyes, you hardly noticed what was coming ahead. Head bowed and senses incoherent, you only lifted your head once you ran into a form of mass, sending you tripping backwards.
When you looked up, the heavy stare of Park shadowing over your entire body, you shrank into yourself more than you already had earlier. It was a miracle that Sully roped you into the surgery, long enough to endure half your shift and to avoid Park the Sharks current disfavor of you.
Sully did not intend to stay once his residency was up. He knew he didn't have the courage to battle up against Park over executive decisions, even if Park carried the ‘Chief’ title. He had other goals to look forward to that didn't include staying at PTMC.
You, on the other hand, were yearning for an attending spot. Upon matching into Orthopedic Surgery, especially at a trauma-1 hospital like PTMC, you knew you would fight vigorously to outperform the others. What you didn't expect was to be soul-crushed by an attending like Dr. Brendon Park.
In the three years you had worked under him, you had seen enough residents fizzle out with time. Half of them moved across the country for fellowships and attending positions, while the other stayed just far enough to refrain from having to mutually work with him again. No one dared curse his name, but he was the type of person you only wanted to meet once in your life.
Your plans of moving into a lively city like Pittsburgh and settling into the comfortable life of an orthopedic surgeon no longer felt like an achievable dream, and you were falling into the conveyor-like cycle as the rest of his former residents.
When you finally closed your slack mouth, you registered something clattered against the linoleum floor. Your eyes darted to the ground noticing his phone had fallen from his grasp. Immediately, your body bent down, examining the phone with anxious precision before holding it out again.
“I am so sorry, Dr–”
“ER needs an ortho consult.”
His words clipped your sentence again, the apology ignored. He brushed past you, and the cold brush of his arm brought shivers to your exposed skin. You stood dumbfounded, unsure how to interpret his stoic statement. Spinning in your heels, you watched his taunt, muscular back walk further from you.
He pushed the double doors with his back, sticking his phone in his pocket. The subtle sigh he let out didn’t go amiss. “What did I say about dragging your feet?”
You dashed over in his direction, pushing the door back as Park let it fall toward you.
The elevator ride down was nothing short of awkward. Park was never one for small talk. He found it a waste of air, especially when he considered most pleasantries as disingenuous. While standing behind him, your hands fiddled in front of you; grasping and releasing your fingers with easy rhythm, you chewed the inside of your cheek. You weren’t a talkative person necessarily, but you were now silently reminding yourself to request for some elevator music for ambiance later.
As soon as the elevator halted, Park wasted no time, briskly exiting the elevator once the sleek doors split open. You followed in his suit to Trauma 1 in the ED, slipping in behind Park.
When you first walked in, you saw the small bustling group of nurses and ED staff surround a gray-haired African-American woman. You could make out that much from the corner of the room as you stood back and watched. Although you had been in this room many times, you didn't always make yourself known while Park was around. Why would anyone trust a thing to slip out your mouth with someone like Dr. Park present?
With the fogginess of the lack of sleep and the last surgery you barely made out of, you hardly noticed the debrief occurring anyways. Words about the patient's vitals and chief complaints were being tossed from a resident off to the side. You were internally imploring Park to not dismiss him as he had you practically the entire morning.
Your hands fell in their customary position in front of you, folding into a ball as a form of self-soothing. Briefly closing your eyes, taking in a deep breath, you tried to call upon some energy to hit you like a wave. You still had the second half of your morning shift to go, and you barely got through half the energy drink you cracked open to sustain you. Don’t get in his way, and maybe he won’t sink his teeth into you–
“I see you dragged one of your pups, Park.” A deep voice ribbed from the opposite end of the room.
Dr. Robby stood with his arms crossed at the foot of the gurney, staring back at you with no shame. He cocked his head to one side, glazing at you with amusement, hiding in the corner like some meek fish. Some of the other doctors had finally noticed you, sparing you a smile that came off more like a grimace.
Your attention drifted to your attending, who glanced over his shoulder, back at you. So much for not being noticed. Your entire body tensed up, and the bored expression from Park secured another stamp of his disapproval.
“What does the X-ray show?” Park questioned, his tone even and bass-y while echoing in the sterile room.
Eyebrows lifted with a quick hum coming from you was the only sound that came from anyone breathing in the room. His piercing blue eyes didn't move from you, and you weren't sure whether to keep looking or to turn to somebody else he might have referred to.
Someone called your name in the distance. As if on a swivel, your head moved toward the direction of the call. Dr. Langdon scratched the side of his head, subtly nodding his head to the X-ray machine.
Suddenly aware the question was directed to you, a cold chill ran down your spine. Embarrassment and fear of reprimand for acting like an idiot while being a third-year resident clouded your mind as your feet shuffled to the machine. Peering down at the screen, your eyes distinctly measure every inch of the image.
Lifting your head, you looked to the side. A front-view of the patient, an older patient dressed in khaki capri pants and a blue, flowery blouse. She sat uncomfortable, and you noticed her left leg, shortened and externally rotated. Based on the current needles poked in her, she was sedated from feeling most of the pain she should be experiencing.
“What’s your name ma’am?” You asked politely, with a soft smile.
She let out a shaky breath, mustering up a quivering smile. “Mrs. Perry.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Perry.” You mused, straightening your posture and walking over to Dr. Park’s side, leaving enough space to not brush against one another. From up close, you could see Park pressing the hip area on the left side of her body, arms flexing with the movement. She’d visibly flinch, but withheld from yelping. “How did this happen?”
“I tripped over my living room carpet.” She scoffed, annoyed from the incident while shaking her head. Park removed his hands, reaching down to hyper-extend her leg. The reaction then was a hiss. “I should’ve listened to my daughter when she told me that old things might kill me.”
There was a slight grumble released beside you. When peering from the corner of your eye, Park was stretching his neck uncomfortably after finishing a physical examination he’d typically have his resident perform. His words ringed in your ear. Don’t tell me.
Turning your body to face him, you awkwardly avoided his pointed stare. “X-ray shows a displaced femoral neck fracture. Based on the pattern, a Hemiarthroplasty might be necessary.”
You saw the slight twitch in his face. Moving around you, he advanced towards the machine, needing to see the images himself. You filled the void he left as Mrs. Perry bedside. Smiling down at her shaken expression glued onto Dr. Park, you leaned forward to capture her attention. “The surgery is a very common one. Mostly recommended in cases like this. You’ll have a greater likelihood of being able to stand and move after 48-hours.”
“What is the healing process like?” She asked, the slight tremor in her voice resonating too deeply within you.
Carefully reaching over the gurney, you grabbed her cold frigid hand resting on the edge. She sucked in a breath, staring at your eyes as if they held in some precious jewel for her to find. “You’ll probably need physical therapy afterward, possibly at an inpatient rehab facility. Mrs. Perry, many patients before have recovered beautifully from this, with mobility returning to their standard before this injury.”
You noticed the brimming of tears in her eyes, nodding her head vigorously along with your words. Her frail hands found strength to squeeze yours, and you couldn't help but beam wider at her. You could hear Park speak with Robby and the other doctors, but you didn’t pay them much mind.
“Thank you.” She whispered, the air hitting your face. She lifted her other hand to grasp at her chest, as if you lifted a weight from her. “Bless your soul, sweet girl.”
“We will book the OR for the procedure.” Dr. Park spoke louder, stopping at the foot of the bed. When you turned your head in his direction, he nodded to Robby. “We’ll need blood work and an EKG done to plan accordingly.”
“Already on it.” Robby nodded, he glanced from Park to you. He tried to hide the subtle skeptical look in his eye after listening to you speak with Mrs. Perry with tenderness.
You certainly didn’t learn that from Park the Shark.
Park didn't utter anything more as he sauntered behind you. The snapping of his gloves as he pulled them off concluding your business in the ED. You spared Mrs. Perry one last look, before ushering yourself out of the trauma room. When the door sealed shut, Park had already pressed the up arrow for the elevator. You halted a couple of feet behind him, standing to the side like some kid in trouble.
Clearing your throat, you rocked on the balls of your feet. “Was I right about the Hemiarthroplasty?”
If you were Sully, or any other resident with much more confidence in their diagnosing skills, you’d assume you made the right observation. But you weren’t—especially with Park present—and with a patient's life on the line, you didn’t pretend to be either.
The elevator dinged, doors opening wide for the two of you. Park who settled himself in the center of the elevator box while you slipped around him. Once the button lit up for the surgical floor, the box rattled to move up, forcing you to grasp onto the railing.
“Do you really have to ask?” He asked, not concerned to see your reaction. His voice seemed almost annoyed by the need to ask.
You fumbled on words, mouth agape as you considered how to redeem yourself without sounding overtly desperate for his approval. He slightly shook his head, squaring his shoulders. “Next time I ask for you to do your job, I assume you won’t dally like you did now.”
You weren’t dallying.
If anything, you were trying to comprehend what injury Mrs. Perry had. Apart from the X-ray, there were still elements you could learn talking to the patient. Maybe your teachers in med-school were too ‘soft’ for Dr. Park's animalistic taste, but you found the traditional-method worked.
You furrowed your brows. “It’s all for the sake of patient-care.”
“Reacting promptly and avoiding delay is patient-care.” Park corrected, you saw the slight maneuver of his chisel jaw, now able to see your figure from over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have to teach my third year residents this.”
If you were paid every time he threw that insult, you’d have your student debt paid two-times over. There weren't enough fingers on your hands to count the amount of times he directed those words to you. It was profoundly glued into every fold of your brain, haunting you even in your sleep. The utter lack of gratification you gave him as his resident didn’t need words with the way he’d dismiss you like a prey not worth the hunt.
It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You’d be wasting your time and his if you sat around lulling, but sometimes the insults bordered on cruel.
“It’s his teaching methods. Be glad he even addresses you by name.” Sully painfully attempted to remedy the slight heartache you had a couple of months ago—sulking over the fact Park had ripped you a new one.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or whatever Nietzsche said.
Except, you weren’t sure that philosophy helped anyone who worked under the control of Dr. Park.
That much was assured once Mrs. Perry was moved into an OR after her necessary tests were conducted almost three hours later. You were half hoping you wouldn’t have to perform the surgery, finally running to your wits end after the double shift. There wasn’t anything to liven the zombie-like shuffle of your feet down the halls through consultations and pages. Your body was running on autopilot, and the connectivity with your brain no longer attached.
You hadn’t realized you fell asleep while supposedly “resting your eyes” from documenting patient charts. Without much thought, your brainpower fizzled and shut off at the first taste of silence and peace. You were only thankful there wasn't anyone else trying to cram in charting time.
With your body succumbing to the small grace, you hadn’t a clue of your surroundings and the last thing you expected to disrupt your REM cycle was the booming sound of a door slam shut. You shook awake, turning your head in either direction to find the source of the noise. When your eyes shot open in the direction of the door to the dictation room, you saw a grouchy Dr. Park standing at the doorway with his hands on his hips.
You tried to act like you hadn’t been sleeping, blinking reverently to shake off the drowsiness. Dr. Park wasn’t convinced. Humming you braced one hand on the desk, spinning the chair slightly. “Were you looking for me?”
“You’d know that if you’d answer your pages.” His stolid stare of your face was aware of exactly the position he caught you.
Your hands wandered to the pager on your belt. When you saw all the unanswered responses, you groaned, too aware of the fact you had managed to fail your attending, again. Refusing to lift your head, you shut your eyes in defeat. “I’ve been trying to catch up on—“
“Sleep?” Park interrupted, bracing his arms over his chest.
Blinking at him like a dog with its tail between its legs, you could see something beyond general annoyance over you sleeping on company time. You hadn’t exactly expected him to handle it nicely, but a pit was forming in your stomach. It felt like awaiting a death sentence.
Park ticked his head to the side, snarling like a shark tempted by insatiable fury. Too wild and ferocious to wait for his next meal to come. That didn’t make him forget his control, staring at you with the starching glare. “Mrs. Perry is ready for surgery.”
His hand gripped open the door, stalking out as quickly as he came in. You sat there frozen, unsure what to make out of the reaction. He wasn’t the type to yell. His icy demeanor and hooded stare said enough without an elevation in vocal volume. Yet, he didn’t elaborate more on the obvious inappropriate state he found you in.
Could it be a dream? Maybe your brain hasn't fully booted to life. There was no way Dr. Brendon Park would let your mishap slide, right?
After surgery, you walked around with less eagerness than you did before (if you had any). You downed half a pot of coffee you found in the break room before scrubbing in. It was no shocker Dr. Park had led the entire operation up until the end, where he left you alone to finish up the entire procedure after he removed the hip-ball to replace it with something durable,
When you left the surgical wing, you noticed you put in over an hour of overtime. Sully was more than likely settled at your shared apartment. When you glanced at the lock screen of your phone, you noted the missed message.
SULLY 1 hr ago
Bought thai and dessert. I know you’re going to need it after tonight.
The exhale that left you might’ve sounded like you had received the best news of your life. In hindsight, it was as luxurious as your life got.
You were mostly grateful you had managed to avoid Park since finishing the surgery. Some part of you dreaded that he’d be waiting out the double doors to hand you the list of all your faults within the one shift. When you found the halls empty, you thanked whatever higher authority there was that it wasn’t the case.
As you stood in the desolate, quiet elevator, your hands hovered over the buttons. You were desperate to run out of the hospital and forget the shift like a bad nightmare. Instead, your finger reached for the post-op floor.
Maybe it was in everyone’s nature to linger instead of pulling away without turning back.
You didn’t think the hospital could get any colder. You tugged your fleece jacket to wrap over your body as you walked over to where most of the patients were sedated and asleep. The nurse at the desk recognized you, waving her hand at you before turning back to the paperwork she was attending to.
Mrs. Perry's room was diagonal from the desk, even with her face turned away, you knew her from afar. Quietly pulling the door open, you slipped in, gauging her body for any sudden movements of her shifting awake. When you saw the soft fall and rise of her chest continued without lapse, you grabbed the marker on her patient-board.
She was a lovely lady overall, resembling a grandmother from childhood. You scribbled a small note to tell her surgery went well and wishing her a speedy recovery, finalizing with your name. When you slipped out, you made no more delay, hurrying to the directions of the elevators, typing away in response to Sully’s message.
You didn’t lift your head up when the door slid open, side stepping to the panel to click to the floor to the hospital parking garage. Too busy staring at your phone, awaiting a response from your roommate; you didn’t acknowledge the presence lingering behind you. Just another hospital staff trying to make it home.
The buzz of the elevator filled the silent atmosphere. You hummed lightly to a song you had stuck in your head, watching the three dots light up the opened message.
“How’s the patient?”
You jumped back, your head turning ninety degrees in an impossible speed that would leave a kink in your neck no doubt. The grip on your phone was ironclad as you stared wide-eyed at Park, leaning against the railing with one arm. Staring at him with a frightened look, no doubt the same look of surprise from earlier, your mouth clamped shut.
He raised his eyebrows at you, and with a careful step, back you nodded. “Mrs. Perry is resting in post-op. I’m sure she’ll make a nice recovery with some therapy.”
Park only gave you a firm nod. He didn’t need you to reaffirm that thought. He had looked at all the pre-op tests and results. She was an ideal patient for her age, low-risk of infections and complications. He knew everything about his patients. Therefore, his nonchalant and dispirited expression reminded you of that.
You peeled your eyes away, hoping the elevator would somehow move faster, so you didn’t die of shame. As the elevator continued to descend, you grimaced, choosing your next words carefully, “I’m sorry about missing the pages. There is no excusing my ignorance of my responsibilities. I just—“
Your words fell flat. How were you supposed to excuse the fact you fell asleep while charting, especially to an attending like Dr. Park? Anyone would have a better time wrestling an actual shark then to be forgiven by Dr. Park.
“All residents should be able to adapt to their schedules.” Park reminded you, like you were an intern who had yet to learn to struggle on a shift. You had worked double and overnight shifts before. Today just happened to be one of the tiring ones yet. “Do you think a patient wants you drooling over them while in surgery?”
He shook his head, which was the most you had seen him emote. After the face you had made some mistakes you should've grown out of. “I gave you one task today, and somehow you were incapable of managing that.”
You shrunk within yourself, hands clamming around your phone. The sharp inhale must have caught in your throat from the constricting chords. It was as if the air had thickened with the rising density of Park’s sudden reprimand. Of course, you couldn’t save yourself from drowning into the depths of the ocean, where most of the curious sharks lived. You were bound to be another fallen soldier in Park the Shark’s list of students who fell too short of the expectation.
“I need competent third-year residents on my staff. Ones who don’t need me to hold their hands and coddle them their entire way through this program.” He took one-step closer, and you wondered what was taking the elevator so long. “I won’t risk my patient’s life for your irresponsibility.”
The elevator dinged and the metal doors slid open. You held your breath the entire time Park stared down at you, like scum under his shoe. Without uttering another word, he walked out the doors, placid and unfazed by the confrontation, compared to you. Feet glued to your stationary position and blood running cold over your entire body.
Was that how Park saw you? Some liability he tried to tolerate, even when he preferred you separated from the patient with a ten-foot pole. The shaky breath you finally let out shook your core. Maybe all he saw you was the ‘pipsqueak’ of the group. Too mousy and self-deprecating unlike the rest.
God, you were a fool thinking you could impress anyone with your confident persona, impersonating a skilled ortho-surgeon instead of training to be one.
You stuck your hand through the sliver between the closing doors, activating the sensor once more. Stepping out into the fresh breeze, you caught the headlights of some luxury car flash in your direction. With one hand hovering over your eyes, you traveled to the side, remaining close to the edge away from the pathway. Right as the car passed by, you caught a glimpse of Park speeding away without turning back.
It sounded naïve to hope you could change his opinion of you. Didn’t mean you’d stop trying. He could stir the waters into a whirlpool, but you made your travel home planning to fight against it. If there was something you wanted Dr. Park to recognize most was you weren’t going to stand for the tyranny—even if he was the living impersonation of an apex predator in your habitat.
Some animals were made to be preyed on, and you’d climb the food-chain if you had too.
The animosity from Dr. Park had stopped in the shifts after. You made an effort to be assertive. Taking charge of consultations while instructing the interns. You weren’t doing it just to earn Park’s respect, but to also prove to yourself what you wanted to be capable of. If he happened to change what objective opinion he had settled on about you, then that was just a plus.
Thankfully, it had worked well enough to have Park only mutter the tame sarcastic remarks, which announced to everyone he wasn’t a fan of redundancy. He nodded at you when he ‘liked’ what you had to say about a patient and their diagnosis. Never cracking a smile, but whenever he'd examine you up and down once exiting a patients room, you knew he had no critiques.
It was nearing the end of the day shift. You had paid your farewells with most of your closest colleagues. Sifting through the fridge in the break room, you heard the door click open. Lifting and peeking around curiously, you assumed other residents were packing to leave.
Instead, Dr. Emmick, the night shift attending that relieves Park, greeted you with a casual smile. You had worked with her previously, enjoying her calm, playful nature. She had her black hair tied in a braid, framing her face. You always admired her youthful look, tanned color and clear skin.
She smiled at you while holding her packed lunch. The sweet ring of your name followed as she approached, “it’s nice seeing you around.”
“Likewise,” You mused, extending a hand out as you politely put the container into the fridge. She gratefully handed it to you, mouthing a small ‘thank you.’ Before closing the fridge, you grabbed the last of your energy drink, tapping the seal.
“I hope Dr. ‘Shark’ is treating you well.” She joked, and you caught the playful chaste in her words. She flashed a grin as she spun around towards the kitchenette.
You scoffed, shaking your head with a nervous smile. “As well as he treats all of his residents.”
She laughed at that, her cheeks swelling as her smile widened. She moved around, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. She rustled around the sweeteners and sugar for a minute. “I find it hard to believe you haven’t charmed your way into his cold heart.”
Squinting your eyes at her, you chuckled awkwardly, gripping the can tighter. “What do you mean?”
You froze as she poured the warm liquid in her mug. She moved around casually as if what she said hadn’t been news to you. While she shook her head, you continued to stare at her back with a crinkled nose. “I haven’t met a single person who didn’t have a single good thing to say about you.”
She shortly paused to take a brief sip of the coffee before she rustled with more of the sugar packets. “You have been monikered the most liked resident of the entire hospital.”
“That’s a lie.” You countered. When the tone came out more combative than intended, you retracted your head a bit, pressing your lips together.
“Don’t believe me?” she mused, glancing over her shoulder as she mixed the coffee with a stirrer. The grin on her face made you feel like you shouldn’t have doubted the observation.
‘Most liked’ must have been an exaggeration. Of the entire hospital? Impossible. Sure, you played nice with the surgical attendings and the doctors down in the Pitt, but they couldn’t have all thought that way. Not when Park found a way to rip up your efforts every shift. It is unbelievable that any of the attendings could like you if Park found flaws.
“Which begs the question as to why you stay on the day shift.”
When you lifted your eyes to level at her face, she was leaning back onto the counter cradling the mug. One foot crossed over the other and she smiled sincerely. “I know many here on the night shift who would appreciate you a little more. I know I would.”
“I could use a resident with your maturity.” She shrugged, pushing off the counter. You continued fiddling with the can, trying to ground yourself as she continued finding new ways to praise you. “Would take a lot off my plate.”
You hadn’t realized how silent you were until she raised her eyebrows at you expectantly. Shaking your head, you waved one hand in dismissal. “I’m sure you’re just saying that. I know most of my co-residents are moving once they finish residency and the hospital is in need of some positive turnover.”
She narrowed her eyes at you, like your observation was a point-of-view she hadn't been exposed to. With the slight shake of her head, she blew out a sigh, eyebrows raised. “Truth is it’s a lot harder to stay than it is to get in. It’s definitely not for lack of trying. But, I think if anyone has a solid chance, it's you.”
Before you could politely disagree, the sound of a phone ringing bounced off the wall. Reaching into her scrub pocket, Dr. Emmick pulled out her on-call phone, skimming the ID. She lifted her head, offering an apologetic smile. “Just consider it, at least.”
She swiftly answered the call, announcing her name. You waved her a small goodbye, which she returned, before you excused yourself out. Dr. Emmick was a good mentor from the times you had worked the night shift. She was swift with an edge of personality people felt Park lacked with all his glaring. She played music roulette while doing surgery, remaining the champion of the ongoing ‘guess that tune’ game.
It was hard to deny her forwardly when she charmed everyone with such ease.
You walked down the halls, towards the elevator where Sully stood by waiting, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up when he heard the footsteps, “What took you so long?”
“I was talking with Dr. Emmick,” You sighed out, leaning over to press the down arrow button. He stared at you skeptically, noticing the small shrug of your shoulders. “She tried to convince me to move to the night shift.”
He scoffed, stuffing his phone and hands in his pockets. He bounced on his feet, staring up at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
Your head spun to stare at him with down turned eyebrows and pursed lips. He stared down at you with a puzzled expression, “What? You’re not a morning person, whatsoever, and you hate working with Park.”
“I don’t hate working with Dr. Park.” You neglected, offended by the insinuation. ‘Hate’ was a strong four-letter word you disliked using.
‘Hating’ Dr. Park insinuated the one thing you didn’t want to relent to: that he was under your skin. If he was able to obliterate the part of you that made up the person enduring his personality, then you’d have to resign. There was no way you could objectively work with him—or anyone similar—without it affecting patient care. It wasn’t a justifiable means to an end; it was a disservice to the patients.
Sully mockingly nodded his head, pretending to believe your words. You noted the small eye roll as he scoffed, “Either way, I won’t be here to cover for you next year, and you could use someone like Dr. Emmick in your corner.”
When the doors opened to the elevators, Sully slipped in first, holding the door open for you to follow. You bowed your head, still fiddling with the tab of your energy drink, no longer needing to satiate the craving. All you felt was the small shake of the elevator as it began its descent. Sully stood diagonally, watching you stare at your feet.
His small huff caught your distracted attention, “If you're so determined on staying here, you better learn to play offensive with Park. Don’t the big sharks always dominate the small ones?”
You refrained from laughing, dropping your gaze to hide the crack in your expression. Once Sully got over the shark-induced fear, he played around a lot more than he should’ve. The others thought it was like dropping his blood in a tank of sharks. Sully had read up on all the shark facts he could, and during every hand-off while Park was present, he’d share it with him.
He swore that Park patted him in the back once, hiding the small curve on the corner of his lip.
“Wouldn’t turning over to the night shift just confirm what he already thinks of me?” You questioned, rolling your head to the side as the words rang in your head again. All you were was incompetent and juvenile anyways.
“Maybe,” Sully shrugged, readjusting the singular strap of his backpack hanging off his shoulder. “Or maybe he won’t care at all. If he feels that strongly about you, then why should it matter to him?”
Sully was usually right, which was why they titled him chief resident. He had made the last three years with Park more than bearable. If you hadn’t gone to introduce yourself to him in the parking lot, he probably wouldn’t have chosen you to assist him throughout most of his cases. He always noted that you were smarter than the rest. When they’d all make performances of them kissing ass, you’d do it in silence, without the need of recognition.
You thought he was being nice when he offered his spare bedroom. In reality, you were the only one he could fathom spending time with outside the hospital.
When the elevator halted, Sully gave you a grin. “I hope I wasn’t wrong about you, pipsqueak.”
“Seriously?” You groaned, dragging your feet through the lobby as you two wandered out the doors as all the other day-shift staff.
Sully led the way with more energy than when he came in. You didn’t know how he wasn’t drained from the work, or the bustling of Park pushing him in every direction. He was meant to be the right-hand man, after all. When the two of you made your way out, the sun was close to gone.
There was a chilly breeze and you shivered as it kissed your cheeks. “What is that supposed to mean anyway?”
“I just hope that all the hints I’ve been dropping Park isn’t for nothing.” He shrugged, trotting up steps to the parking garage elevator.
“What do you mean?” You pushed, letting out a sigh once the two of you made it to the elevator. Your hands landed dramatically to your sides, head tilted as you stared expectantly.
He shrugged first. Once he caught wind of your raised eyebrows, he chuckled. “Look, I get we’re friends, roommates, and honestly, we work on more cases together than with Shark combined.”
“Get to the point.”
He raised his hands, as a form of retaliation, while you deadpanned him. “But, you are more than a decent resident.”
Scoffing with an offended and jarred gaped mouth, you prepared to fire equally backhanded remarks. Sully put his hands on your shoulders, guiding you into the elevator first, leaning into your ear. “I’m messing with you.”
He let go once inside, and clicked the fourth floor. He turned to you with a sincere smile, crooked and charming. You had lost track of the amount of times other residents asked if he was single or in a relationship with you. “But, I don’t think I’ve seen Park so interested in anyone as much as he is with you.”
Throwing your head back gently, it thumped the elevator wall, trembling as it glided upward. “People say the same about you.”
“My point is if I see it, so does Park.” Sully redirected with a casual smile. Professional and honest, in the same manner he talked to patients. “So give him reasons he needs to be wrong.”
“And If it doesn’t pan out, I’ll hold you a spot in Chicago.” He winked at you and as if on cue, the elevator dinged and the doors revealed the dark parking garage .Walking backward, he widened his smile, all teeth. “Then he’ll regret ever doubting you, shark pup.”
You tried to keep Dr. Emmick and Sully's words in mind. It had started to feel like an omen you meant to keep an eye on. It never occurred to you that some people had formed strong opinions about you. Dr. Emmick had asked subtle questions about your consideration of the last conversation the two of you had. Sully had noticed, and even began to inquire about your next steps.
It had never dawned on you that the invitation was serious.
Not until you worked the next night shift block on your schedule. You had walked into the dictation room, zipping on your fleece sweater when you ran into Dr. Emmick. She looked up from her watch, stating your name with a smile. “Didn’t realize you were scheduled tonight.”
You nodded politely, offering a closed mouth smile in return. “I switched with another resident. It was a last minute thing.”
“Well, happy to have you here.” She somehow smiled wider. You tried to hide the sudden tightness in your chest. It was weird to be openly invited and welcomed into your shift by an attending. Park would have barely looked in your direction if this were the day shift.
She stood with her hands in her pocket, examining you up and down. “Have you done the hand off yet?”
“Just got back from that,” You point your thumb behind you, motioning to the door you came in from seconds ago. “Seems like a manageable workload.”
“For now,” Dr. Emmick chuckled, readjusting the pager on the waistline of her scrub pants. “Give it a few hours to liven up. The next trauma is yours.”
You should’ve known by now to take her words seriously.
While assisting her in a surgery that was when the call came in from the charge nurse. Trauma via ambulance. Motorcycle accident. Left leg deformity with obvious bone exposure. Dr. Emmick only hummed as she glanced at you from across the surgical table.
That’s what landed you in the elevator, gloves and gown doffed while now only sporting your scrub cap. When you landed on the basement floor, walking straight off the elevator and looking into Trauma-2, you saw the chaos within the glass. Pumping hand sanitizer and pushing the door open with your back caught the attention of most in the vicinity.
Walsh lifted her gaze across the room, a small smirk on her face as she announced your name amusingly. “Dr. Park’s shark pup. You finally turned to the dark side?”
You shook your head, grabbing a pair of gloves from the wall. “Hello to you too, Dr. Walsh.”
Approaching the gurney, your eyes immediately went to the splint holding his left leg in place. That when you saw the exposed bone from an open wound on the anterolateral shin. An intern was sitting, irrigating the debris into a pan. You then looked up to see the young, male patient, sedated on the bed. He was scattered with other wounds in his face.
“Present, please.” You proposed, eyes darting to the staff wearing black scrubs.
“A please? Are you sure you're one of Park’s?” Jack hummed from beside you leaning over the patient as he and Walsh worked on putting a chest tube and alleviating some internal bleeding near the liver. When you looked at him, you scoffed, shaking your head.
“Motorcycle accident. Flew almost ten meters away from the crash per paramedics. No knee fracture or joint surface misalignment.” Nazely spoke up from your other side, continuing to irrigate gently, looking much smaller as she donned her gown.
“Jesus” You mumbled, hands behind you back as you leaned in to examine the open wound with precision. “Did he come in unconscious?”
“Morphine and fentanyl will do that for you.” Walsh mumbled as she began to stand up straight. She tossed the small strands of hair that fell around her face back looking in your direction.
She watched as your hand traveled along the bone in his knee, then lowered as you felt the tissue. Nazely had retracted her hands, looking around anxiously as you stared at the leg like some prey on the hunt. “Keep irrigating. It’s looking like a subtype B and we don’t want to risk infection.”
“Subtype B?” Nazely questioned softly, looking up at you with her widen sunken eyes. She glanced around to try to understand the silent understanding everyone else had.
You nodded at her, a soft smile as you made your way around to where she was, stopping close enough to brush against her arms. “Gustilo-Anderson Type III.”
“Good old Ramon and John.” Walsh joked, shaking her head with a small huff. Jack glanced at her, an amused smile on his face.
The movement continued as you examined the patient in silence. Nazely kept cautiously peeking at you from the corner of her eye. She was paranoid of whether she was doing it correctly, adjusting her arms rhythmically. Your mind and body acted on your training, sensations alarmed from the previous cases you can recall that imaged the patient’s current situation.
When you turned to Nazely, she tensed up a bit, suddenly alarmed. “Was his upper leg always this swollen?”
Her eyes followed where you were pointing nervously. She furrowed her eyes, a bit panicked while shaking her head. “It looks worse than when he came in.”
“Before the medication he was in severe pain, even with passive stretching.” Jack informed, now stoic as he followed what you and his intern were concerned. He moved around the nurses and techs to assist with other continuous care in his upper extremities. “Felt numbness in his toes and pain continued up to the ankle.”
“Can I see imaging?” You called out, retracting yourself to step over to the machine where the radiologist tech stood with the blue vest still on. Peering down, you drowned out the sudden rise of noises.
Voices followed with consistent reports of heart rate and pressure, moving into a position that was no longer safe for comfort. Even while focused on your area of expertise, you could recognize the plan of care Walsh and Jack were announcing. Ischemic. Stiffness, swelling, and pain in the left leg. Tibia fracture.
“Acute compartment syndrome.” You called out, turning your head over to Jack and Walsh.
The trauma surgeon tsked as she busied herself with Jack looking over her shoulder. She lightly jerked her shoulder, pushing Jack back to block space between them. Jack lifted his head over Walsh, looking at the small intern sitting on the stool, attempting to shrink impossibly smaller. “What are the four compartments, Nazely?”
She blinked rapidly, pausing with her mouth open as her attending addressed her. While shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath out. “Anterior, Lateral, Superficial, and Deep posterior.”
“500 to Dr. Toomarian.” You joked, walking back to her side. She gazed up at you offering a trembling smile as she gathered her bearings again, focusing on her one task. You sighed, shaking your head. “He’s going to need a fasciotomy and reconstruction if we can salvage all the compartments. Hope he doesn’t lose his leg.”
“Any attending’s available in ortho?” Walsh questioned, finally taking a step back to speak directly at you.
You ripped off the gloves you were wearing, tossing them in a bin before sanitizing. While rubbing your hands you sighed, “Dr. Emmick will be stuck in a spinal surgery for the next couple of hours. I will proceed as primary ortho after checking in with her.”
“Without supervision?” Walsh clarified, an eyebrow raised. You could tell she had reservations, not of the work, but the ethicality of the procedure.
You shrugged, before crossing your arms and holding her attention. “You’d rather the patient lose his leg, Dr. Walsh?”
Jack snickered from across the trauma room. He shook his head, “Now I see it.”
Walsh followed your previous actions, doffing the PPE attire. Once she ripped off the gloves, she clapped her bare hands, an amused smile on her face. “You’re up, shark pup.”
When you finally scrubbed out of the surgery, it was nearing sunrise. Before walking into the OR, you kept repeating the case in your head, going over the steps you had done previously before. You weren't exactly secure until stepping into the sterile environment. Standing at the surgical table, along with Walsh and the other surgical techs, it was coming to you as easy as breathing.
Taking control of the entire narrative in a different capacity felt strange. There wasn’t the lingering presence of Emmick or Park, who typically didn’t refrain from giving direction, guiding your hands like molding clay. There was steadiness in your hands you didn’t think would be present without either attending.
You could hear Park’s constant reminders not to get too conceited. Cockiness never suits a wide-eye resident still learning to stand; he huffed out after assisting in your first major reconstruction surgery. He had surprisingly relied mostly on your directive than his own, asking questions and staring at your work.
There was still a buzzing sensation throughout all your nerves, like an adrenaline rush you didn’t want to come down from. It didn’t help that when Dr. Emmick did step into the OR, to check in with how the operation was progressing, she gave no criticism. The nod and approving hum that escaped her while wearing the mask, listening intently to you break down the steps you’ve taken, made it hard to not be proud of yourself.
Instead of gloating though, you sat in the break room, nibbling on the lunch Sully had prepared for you two for the week. You leaned back in the plastic chair, scrolling through your phone. You heard the door click open, but made no effort to turn your head to the sound.
When you saw a figure move around from where you were sitting, you caught Walsh looking down at you, much cleaner from the last time you saw her. She grinned at you, stopping across the table, “The patient was moved to the ICU for monitoring. Good job back there.”
“Thank you.” You replied, putting your phone down gently. Sitting up straighter, your braced both hands on the seat, smiling coyly. “Is it bad to say I was afraid of messing it up?”
“Don’t let Brendon hear you say that.” Walsh snickered, turning her back to scavenge the fridge. She pulled out a gray can, immediately cracking the seal and gulping down the cold liquid. “He’d have a gall if he knew you did the operation with no attending supervision.”
“You were there.” Your chin motioned to where she stood, one hand now braced on the kitchenette counter.
“I’m not your attending.”
Her grin widened as you playfully rolled your eyes. There was a beat of silence as you finally sensed the temptation to steal another nibble of your food. Walsh stared at you, taking another swing of her drink. “I heard you’re bored with the day shift. Is Park not living up to the hype?”
With down turned brows and a shaky laugh, you tipped your head to one side. “What are you talking about?”
Walsh looked back at you as if she had shared a secret she wasn’t supposed to let slip. Readjusting her back, she pursed her lips. “Marla said you were moving to the night shift with the rest of us nocturnal mammals.”
Dr. Emmick. Ardent to assume one good half-shift was enough to have you turning your current schedule upside down. Although, you could say pretty confidently you had never been as validated as you had this shift than any day shift, you still were considering the proposition. It wasn't entirely a decision you could rationally make with this one experience. You had yet to find out what struggling with the night shift entailed.
“I’ve yet to decide on such a big change.” You corrected, earning a hooded look from Walsh. “I promised her I’d consider it.”
Walsh booed, rolling her neck to glare at you with amusement. The playful grimace on her face eased the small worry in your chest. Has it really been that big of a disappointment?
She pushed herself off the counter, sauntering in your direction. “Here I thought I’d be able to rub in his face how we stole his greatest protégé.”
There was that word. Along with the ‘shark pup’ nickname some of the residents had heard a handful of times answering consultations. They were meant to learn from the quiet, calculated Dr. Park, and find some way to honor him with their skill, but Park wasn’t the type to look at that. He didn't care much for individuality either, but he preferred neither of you to paint yourself in an image that only suited him.
“Why do you guys keep saying that?” You questioned genuinely. Walsh stopped in her tracks, raising her eyebrows at your question. “I’m nothing like him, and if anything, he probably has a scroll full of things I could work on.”
For a minute, you thought Walsh might actually pull you into the insider information that every surgical staff knew–except you. A part of you wondered whether Park was secretly feeding into the ongoing perception as well. Walsh scoffed, the corner of her lips curling upward, pronouncing her cupid's bow. “I’m not going to spell it out for you. Takes away the fun.”
“Besides, if it keeps you from coming over to nights, I don’t think I want to.” She admitted, leaning in closer to come off as mischievous. You only nodded, defeated that you were left out.
She sighed, “You’ve got potential. I’d hate for ‘Park the Shark’ to be the reason you don’t explore that.”
She rolled her eyes at the title Park had been known for since you joined. Now you understood why Park always seemed to have a scowl after talking with Walsh. If she jabbed at him in his face as much as she was right now, that would explain everything. She straightened herself, sparing you one last smile.
“See you around, daredevil.”
To say Dr. Park was a tough person to impress was an understatement. You didn’t expect him to sing your praises the following shift after Dr. Emmick had prematurely gloated on your behalf. The only reaction you got was a huff of some sort, his head tilting to the side as he saw you checking in on the patient and mutterings of ‘doing your job.’
By that point, you knew Park was grateful the patient had survived long enough to offer you his gratitude.
It did get him off your back a bit.
He still picked on you to accompany him on the major trauma surgeries, but he stopped hounding over you. Most consultations in the ER were yours to attend, with the junior residents to teach and guide. The word must have traveled, because even a hunk of a chief like Dr. Robby had respected your professional opinion.
They knew to trust your opinion when packed under the pressure of a MVA, including up to five vehicles and six pedestrians. Some of them were as young as 12, just riding their bike on the sidewalk by a park, blindsided by the speeding cars. It was chaos in the ED, and the trauma alarms up in surgery didn’t go missed by anyone.
Gowns and gloves flew on with quick ease and stained with the crimson blood of those involved just as quickly. Right as you were working on the hip fracture of a 72-year-old woman, a passenger to one of the affected vehicles, Park had immediately switched you out with Sully to stabilize a 32-year old man's leg.
You had done the same procedure alone. When you watched Park walk out to dictate another surgery, a sigh of relief escaped you. It was hours before the hospital found a steady rhythm. Most of your shift had passed by with the blink of an eye, and patients transferred in and out like a manufacturing company. Now, most of the interns and second-years were attending to follow calls about surgery while you sat in the dictation room to finish charting.
Sully sat across from you, speaking quietly as he recounted the steps of his pelvic stabilization of a 45-year-old patient, waiting to follow up with the acetabular reconstruction. You preferred to type your way through the chart, even if you could barely keep your eyes open enough to see the words.
What did liven you up was the sound of your pager beeping. You groaned lightly, earning a scowl from Sully who didn’t falter with his words. When you glanced down at your pager, you read the room number feeling some sort of dread following.
The last thing Sully heard was the scraping of the chair as you walked out the dictation room.
You wandered up to the post-surgery wing, wandering towards the room number with alerted ears. Right as you were approaching the sliding doors, you halted as nurses were pushing the patient bed out of the room. Pushing yourself aside by a wall, you watch with slight horror as Jones, the small blonde second-year resident, walks out like a wounded puppy, followed by an infuriated Park.
Despite being the least expressive person in the entire hospital, there was an eerie distinction between his typical crabbiness and his frenzied authoritative side. This was the latter.
When Park’s eyes landed on you, he scoffed. The disgust was evident when he brushed past you with little acknowledgment. You tried to ask a question that fell short when Dr. Park finally spoke up with his back turned to you. “Nice of you to finally act upon your responsibilities,”
With a huff, you followed closely behind him, eyeing at Jones who departed down a desolate hallway. “What happened?”
“Your lack of concern for patient care is what.” He retorted, and from the angle, you caught him in, it was as if he was snarling his teeth with a low grumble. “Mr. Stevenson was your patient, and your lack of consideration for him has resulted in compartment syndrome.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. From the trauma interventions, the lack of fuel keeping you standing, and the endless work you still had yet to finish in the last two hours of your shift had all blurred together. The patients handed off from the night before had been lost in your memory, and when Park uttered his name with the sharp punctuation, it was like the thought was aimed straight for the center of your brain.
“Jones agreed to cover while we attended the incoming MVA patients.” You said breathlessly, now matching his pace. He still didn’t bother to look at you, which should’ve been the least of your concerns, but right now, it made you feel insignificant. Undeserving of a moment of his precious time.
“So I heard,” he reported sourly, shaking his head. The nurses lead the hospital bed in the direction of the elevator and if your body weren’t caught off guard, you would’ve realized exactly where they were heading in the first place. “I’ve already reprimanded him for his dismissal of the nurse's report of his increased pain after the intramedullary nailing and refusing to consult with a senior staff member.”
He paused, turning to stand right in your tracks. You stumbled back with a startled expression, craning your neck back to look at him. The bones in his jaw ticked as he clamped down. The shadow over his eyes made his crystallized stare sharper, like a pair of knives pointed straight at you. You finally had a moment to catch your breath, but hardly anything was traveling to your lungs.
“But with your seniority, it was your responsibility to supervise his actions and your patients, regardless of everything else going on.” He affirmed a finger point at your chest as he emphasized his point. “You learn to accept the workload. Do you think they care whether you’re tired or busy with their limb on the line?”
His voice was echoing now through the halls. The last thing the nurses saw was his muscles contracting under his plum scrubs before the elevator doors sealed shut. It left you in shallow waters, helpless under the unrestrained hunger of his wrath. You stood with both hands resting at your side, eyes fluttering with every stab of his words.
It was your responsibility, and you stupidly pushed it aside like scutwork.
“Now he might lose his leg.” Park pointed behind him, motioning to the elevator box the patient disappeared too. That reality was dawning on you with the emergency-surgery taking place.
Your body deflated; mouth agape as you attempted to reel in some courage to face him with dignity. The last thing you needed was for him to bully you over your lack of thick skin. That didn’t stop the wetness accumulating on your waterline. Accept the consequence of your inaction, god dammit.
“I can scrub in.” You pleaded, like a last attempt to beg for some form of life saving intervention. A boogie, life jacket, floating ring, something to pull you out of the depth of your despair.
With a flat palm right in your face, he snarled. “Don’t be an idiot. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
“I will fix your mistake for you, since you appear too absorbed by other duties.” His detached and swift examination of your diminished position tossed aside any ounce of consideration he had for you. The match he struck on you overturned all the micro-trivial actions you confused for tokens of his appreciation. Now, he was turning away as you burned and fizzled alone.
“Word of advice? Don’t waste my time if you don’t plan to take every challenge this program entails seriously.” The lash of his words didn’t need to be filled with profanities to make an impact, nor the heighten of volume like some may assume.
He was filled with quiet precision. A sniper with a scope and steady aim. “I’m not going to waste my time teaching a resident whose absurdity gets the best of them during dire moments. It’s not worth my effort and you’re not worth the aggravation.”
You were stunned, stapled into your position in front of him. It was like watching a bad accident unfold. Park was intact, emotionally stunted, but able to move on with his life without having to rerun the event. You were coming from the wreckage with all types of breaks and fractures. Your stability wiped from under you and recovery was a concept you were not sure could happen with due process.
Therefore, when Park turned around without so much of a glance in your direction as he stood alone in the elevator. You swore you saw the interaction slide off him, taking literally the last thing he muttered to you.
You’re not worth the aggravation. A third-year resident who needed to be coddled and instructed step-by-step on how to do their job properly, like you were a med student. Reprimanded and shunned all at once.
It was an embarrassment to yourself when you locked the door to the private bathroom, leaning against the door with a shaky hand covering your mouth. Truth was, you were frightened Mr. Stevenson would lose his leg after you incautiously neglected him. Not only would you have ruined an innocent man's life (along with yours), but Dr. Park might’ve used it for grounds of terminating your participation in the well-accredited program.
It wouldn’t have been unjustified, but you would never recover.
When you crawled back to the dictation room, night shift was making its way in. You looked around for Sully. Something familiar and safe to fall on to. As you were walking in, Dr. Emmick was walking out, alongside a night-shift resident. She smiled when she caught your eye. If she noticed the hesitation in your response, she didn’t mention it out loud, but she did furrow her brows in question.
Sully lifted his gaze, slight alarm when his eyes peeled from the desktop to the sudden sunken look in your face that was beyond the exhaustion of the shift.
“What happened?” He questioned, hands braced on the desk to push himself up.
You made your way over to him, sinking in the chair beside him. He turned to lean his body toward you, ear burning with anticipation. The subtle shake of your head and the wobble of your chin. He knew exactly what look that was.
Before he could ask a follow up, you sighed, “You’re right. I hate Dr. Park."
A week had passed. You let the dust settle for a week. You weren’t the idiot Dr. Park assumed you were. It didn’t settle because you were overly upset. Refusing to cry in your place of work, you saved the self-pity for your couch, a rom-com too sad to be comedic, and a tub of ice cream in the dark to self-indulge. It worked, because you came in for your next shift, coherent enough for Sully to understand you.
You let it settle to think clearly of the decision you conferred with your roommate about.
It only took you a week to decide with profound confidence because you didn’t want to cave into Dr. Park’s not-so-subtle mark of inferiority for you. Giving in to his brashness meant letting him win. If there was one thing you had decided against was losing the opportunity to prove yourself.
That’s what had you walking down the hall with the sheer determination of someone scorned. At least, you were pretending to be. Steadying your breathing and keeping your chin held high, you were confident enough to confront the current source of your uneasiness.
It was the end of your shift, hand-off concluded and Sully was currently waiting for you in his Prius. He had offered to stick around for moral support, but this was one challenge you had to endure alone.
As you rounded the corner, where most of the offices were, you felt the air thin too short to breath. You couldn’t turn back now—certainly not ten feet away from where Dr. Park was. So mumbling the affirmations, you spoke two feet from the mirror in the morning; you knocked on the door of the office.
“Come in.”
When you pushed open the door, Park sat in a comfortable office chair, desktop resting on a polished, and dark oak wood desk. His finger hovered over the keyboard, and when you met his eye, there was an unmistakable twitch from his nose.
Somehow, his gel combed hair shined brighter under the office light than that of the fluorescence in the OR and the ED. It was a visible recall of discipline and order. Nothing went unnoticed by him and he acted appropriately per his standard.
In the past week, he couldn’t ignore the fact you acted passive compared to your usual friendly demeanor. The very few consultations the two of you wounded up in, you were curt in your evaluations. You no longer sweet-talked conscious patients, and suddenly your reports were too concise. It was as if you were trying to wrap up any form of conversation with him as rapidly as possible.
He knew better than to assume the monologue he gave you hadn’t stung. That was the intention, after all.
You closed the door behind you, opting to respect him and your professional relationship to not blow this into departmental news to gossip about. Hands folded in front of you, it was like being in elementary school all over again. Addressing a teacher or principle with the dignity of an adult, that at the age of 12, was a foreign concept.
Clearing your throat, you offered a tight smile. “I wanted to tell you I have made the decision to transition to night-shift until the end of my residency.”
The glare he spared in return was still razor sharp, but once the words left your mouth, you instinctively searched for there to be something to deceive him. He peeled his arms away from the desk, folding them in his lap. “Admin will want a formal address as to why.”
“Dr. Emmick specializes in spinal and musculoskeletal orthopedics. She’s agreed to mentor me in those sub-specialties.” You explained with no hesitation. Once it landed, you noticed how rehearsed the statement sounded. You tried to seal it with a shaky smile, despite the stiffness in your posture betraying you.
Park examined you. His eyes narrowed and you silently pleaded he’d just accept the lame excuse, tell you to leave, and never have to face him again until the rare chance you’d have to work the dreaded day shift again. The last thing you expected was for him to stand, coming to stop on the other end of the desk. He sat on the edge, bicep muscles curling as he folded his arm over his chest.
If he weren’t so insufferable, you could see yourself drooling over them like some of the nurses did.
“You aren’t interested in spinal or musculoskeletal orthopedics.” He spoke directly. As if he had the faintest idea what you were interested in. You almost opened your mouth to derail his confident theory, before he shook his head. “You love pediatrics. You told Sullivan that in the first week.”
It was scarily true. The first pediatric case you worked on was a scared 7-year old girl who was going to need an amputation. She had strangely accepted the fact she would be missing part of her leg from above the knee and lower. That is what sold pediatric orthopedics for you. Except, Park hadn’t worked that case. He remembered that.
“Is this about last week?” Park sighed out, slight dismay in his tone.
You pursed your lips, hardening your stare. “If it was?”
“I’d tell you not to act so immature.” He remarked, like he was astonished by the fact you even asked the question. “You messed up. It will happen. I will chew you up about it. Grow up and just accept it.”
You dryly laughed at that. Grow up. What a concept?
Had you not matured in the three years from working under his supervision? He molded you under his guise, so much, so the other attendings only saw him in your image. Even with the tenderness you held on to. Meanwhile, he was stubbornly trying to beat it out of you, like a bad habit.
“What’s so funny?” He questioned, although he knew the laugh wasn't amusement. He wasn’t sure he had seen this reaction from the furrow in his brows. Somehow, his eyes were more hooded than before with that tick.
“Everyone seems to mistakenly think I’m your protégé or as they endearingly call me ‘shark pup’” You air quoted the last part, and the various voices utter that name brought upon a distaste in your mouth.
The name was a bag of weights resting on your shoulders. Without intending to, they constantly reminded you of who you were meant to be serving, as if patients weren’t the top priority. It had you running in circles, finding some way to remain impressive and shine enough to be memorable. Dehumanizing the charity of your work for the sake of appeasement.
“Like I want to follow in the footsteps of ‘Park the Shark.’”
Park scoffed. He had never approved the name per se, but he didn't discourage the usage. You saw pride in the shimmer of his eyes as people used it to praise him. All it did for you was remind yourself how negligible you were in his shadow.
You sighed with resignation, your body tired from the neglect on your own behalf. The backpack hanging on your shoulder weighed heavier. “I’m going to be frank Dr. Park; I want to be nothing like you.”
“Is that so?” He proposed, barely flinching from the implication.
“Yes.” Your breathy voice trembled, but you nodded with assurance. “All I want is to be someone honorable enough to treat the people who come in here during their worst moments.”
“I can’t do that with you disparaging me with every mistake or browbeating me around every corner.” Your hands motioned out to the very hospital Park reigned. With his designated office and cushy salary, he’d always terrorize your waters. “Especially when you don’t trust my skill as your resident.”
Maybe this was giving in. You were aspiring to have the same pride in yourself that Park did swimming into the ED or any surgery he led. If you were meant to fail to become great, why did it always feel like Park worked only in perfection?
“I happen to like to connect with my patients as much as I want to treat them and see them recover positively.” Your hand pointed to yourself, emphasizing the obvious difference between his bite and your heart.
The tiny sadness in your eye made Park shift uncomfortably. With his attitude, he must have made dozens of female residents cry. He probably went home satisfied if he crashed and burned the dreams of his students with the daunting reality that life could always get tougher.
“I don’t need you invalidating that method because you’d rather we operate in mechanical-like processes, like we are all just cogs in the machine.”
There was a beat of silence. You wholeheartedly awaited him to laugh in your face. Tell you this was ridiculous, you were too emotional, or even that you just weren’t cut out for the medical profession at all. That was everything you had heard in med-school and more. Yet, here you stood barring yourself clean, no life preserver to fish you out.
“Being emotional costs patients’ lives.” He stoically retorted, as if it had been obvious.
“I don’t see it that way.” You shook your head, lips forming a thin line. This was the final act of whatever the two of you had going on. Whether he appreciated you in silence at all or not, it couldn’t make up for the moments that ruined the illusion of his knowledge.
Too brilliant to apologize.
“Which is why I cannot have you as my attending,” You concluded, as if the argument was always clear.
He straightened his posture, shoulder falling back like a soldier hearing his command. He must have felt some way. Rejected by a resident must have been first, not that it was some record to feel proud of accomplishing. You had mixed feelings. It was all wrong, yet, there was comfort in knowing you had enough of a spine to say something.
Your hands brushed away the small hair tickling your face, “I’m afraid your judgment may hinder mine, and I need to trust in myself if I want to be good enough to be considered for the next attending position.”
That did it. You’d never outwardly said that you sought out an attending offer once your residency was up. If you had, maybe Park would’ve been much harsher than he already was. That certainly would’ve had you considering withdrawing all together.
Park's hands moved to the edge of the desk, gripping on to it as he pursed his lips slightly. Sourness or disbelief in a future where you were making the executive decision matched what you saw in his eye. “We will have to work together. Regardless if you leave the day-shift and especially if you apply for any attending position at PTMC.”
“Together. As colleagues.” You clarified, “Equals. Where I am not just some student you’re expecting to roll over at every word and waiting upon a treat blessed by you.”
There was something snarky in the comment. His nose flared lightly as he bit his tongue. For once, he was speechless, in a way that was aware, you had a score to settle, and he was at a disadvantage. Your hands fell to your side, lightly hitting your thighs. “I’ve already spoken with the program and staffing coordinator. This was mostly a courtesy.”
Then, one curt nod. No fondness of a goodbye, no devastation of your tender disappointment, or resentment for finding some unique way of disappointing him once more. It was bittersweet to terminate what you had come to know, even if it was your form of preservation. This would be your test on whether you could survive without the oh-so-wise knowledge only Park somehow had.
Maybe you could be a good surgeon without him yet.
With one hand on the door, you nodded, as if he spoke enough with his silence. Turning your body slightly, you paused with the door ajar. When you turned halfway, you offered him a tight smile, “I hope by then, you will have accepted I’m not like you, Dr. Park, nor will I ever be.”
When the conversation concluded with a click of the door, a relief shored into your chest. Your muscles released its iron-stiffness that weighed like stones in your pockets. You worried you’d regret the decision, but, how would you know who you are if you weren’t acting as you?
When you peeled your hand away from the handle, you finally noticed the small tremble gone. It was the calm after the storm, huddling in shelter as your world rattled around you. There was work needed to be done to find stability and normalcy again, but you started favoring the future more and more.
Sitting under your own tree and basking in the fruits of your own labor. Sighing in the idea of no longer standing under a man impersonating a territorial shark on dry land. And you’d finally outgrow the ‘pup’ term, once and for all.
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.
synopsis Jack was just looking for an easy night, a quiet drink, but what he finds is so much better. You, sat in a seat that's his, fresh, new and young to the area, starting a new job with your dad. Jack just didn't think to ask the right questions... (5.2k words)
warning Smut MDNI! younger reader, older jack! Robby's daughter reader! oral (f receiving!) making out, language, protected p in v, dirty talk, praise king, reader is described to have longish hair, reader calls jack solider, peep the quin audio hints
authornotei locked tf in with this if i do say so myself. had this idea sitting in my drafts had to write it, if you like i would love to do a part two, the idea of dads best friend has me with a chokehold. i made up a small, tiny backstory for jack as we know so little. the beautiful jack gif credits go to @lovebugism (her fics are so good !!!!!)
pitt masterlist! another Jack fic!
Jack didn't have a specific place at the bar, but everyone knew where he sat. He got half way across the bar, dragging himself across the sticky floor before he realised there was someone else sitting in his seat. He could tell it was his stool from the slight wobble it gave side to side, and he could tell it was a young woman sitting in his seat from the sound of her laugh.
Terry, his favourite bar tender who'd seen him at his worst and best, caught a look at him and grinned.
“Hey! Just the guy I was talking about!”
Jack didn't know he was territorial about his bar. But he found himself sliding into another bar stool with a sulk. “Usual please, Terry,” he said, letting his backpack drop with a heavy thud.
“You got it, boss!”
A whiskey would soon be slid over the counter, chased by another and maybe another till a small fuzz clouded the edges of his mind and he could sleep easier. He forgot just how gruelling days could be.
But then he spotted you.
You were still smiling with the remnants of a laugh. One finger on your right hand was chasing the condensation down your emptying glass. He did a double take at you, looking past the hair falling to the smooth skin, doted with a mole or two.
You were young. The sort of young you didn't find in a bar- at least not alone. But this bar also wasn't the busiest, exactly why he liked it.
You didn't look like you belonged there. At the same time, you looked like there was nowhere else you wanted to be. Your chin rested in your other hand, your jacket was slung over the back of the stool and you weren't shying away from anything around you.
Jack's whiskey was dropped off in front of him and finally Jack got a look at you. Beautiful. There was no other way around it. He wasn't going to judge a book from its cover but he had a feeling your beauty wasn't the last thing to surprise him.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asked you once he held your attention for more than a second.
Your eyes widened, as if you hadn't expected him to talk to you. “Oh no, thanks, I shouldn't drink too much tonight.”
“What?” said Terry, pretending to wipe over a 'dirty' spot on the counter. “I thought you were celebrating, huh?”
Jack's brows rose. “A celebration?”
“She just moved to the city,” said Terry.
You smiled, bashfully. “I got a new job.”
“Congratulations,” said Jack. “And welcome, this is Pittsburgh's finest.”
“Thanks,” you said.
There was a moment passed in silence where the both of you seemed to understand the two ways the night could go. If you mutually decided to keep it there, a polite congratulations and a kind offer of a drink maybe you'd just remember him as the kind, older stranger.
You turned to him. “If the offer of that drink still stands I think I'd like to take it.”
Jack moved his body to face yours. He glanced at Terry, who waited happily. “Another one for-”
You told him your name and it chimed a bell in Jack's head, as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear your name from your lips. He introduced himself and his fate was sealed.
“So, are you a native to Pittsburgh?” you asked, twirling a bit of hair between your fingers.
Jack lifted his shoulders. “Came her to settle down after some things.” He didn't want to get into the whole collage and tours and losing his leg and moving here after losing his wife. He didn't want to watch that pretty face of yours contort with worry or sympathy. “Are you new here, or?”
“Kinda. My dad's around her, parents divorced so I only see him sometimes,” you explained, flippantly.
“And now you got a job here?”
“Now I'm here.”
You told him where abouts you were living which had him worrying if he was any other random guy at a bar that you'd be telling him, putting yourself in (potential) danger. Or maybe Jack was special. It wasn't a very good area, the sort he never even looked at when he was moving, but he knew it was cheap.
“I passed this place driving in, looked good,” you said.
Jack chuckled and leaned in to avoid Terry's ears as he'd gone off to change the channels and some other guys requests. “Clearly your new around here. When I said it was Pittsburgh's finest.... it might have been an exaggeration.”
You laughed and Jack wondered what other stupid jokes he could make to have you laughing again. “Well, nobody's offered me the grand tour yet.” You took a swig of your beer.
There was an opening.
Jack didn't know why he was looking for one but it was out of his lips before he really understood what he was doing. “If you ever need a tour guide,” he said, gesturing to himself. Did he look dumb doing so?
You raised your brows. “You might regret that. I ask a lot of questions. I'm really into my history.”
“Good thing I know a lot about this place.” He did not, but he could read some stuff up.
“You know, you're quite the charmer, Jack,” you said, seizing him up.
He nodded his head side to side. “You've caught me on a good day. Any other day I'm an asshole,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he doing? “I- that was a bad joke. I'm not an asshole. At least I don't think so.”
“I don't think so,” you said. “After all you're keeping a lonely girl like me company.”
“You moved alone?”
You smirked. “Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
Jack usually came to this bar for a quiet one after work. At 6 am he'd nurse a whiskey, an un healthy habit he knew. Sometimes he was called in early and only had a couple hours to spare before his actual shift started he'd hang around, have a glass of water of a crappy cup of black coffee. He didn't come here to flirt with girls. Young girls who would probably attract some stares if he walked around with you on his arm.
Yet the idea of doing just that thrilled him.
“I guess so, yeah.”
A small dusting or blush rose to your cheeks. “Well, I'm alone. There was this guy back where I used to live but.... meh, he was stupid.”
Jack nodded, listening as if you were one of his patients. “He dump you?”
“He cheated on me.”
“Then he's the stupidest guy around.”
You smiled, laughing off your blush. “You know, you don't know me yet. I could be a massive asshole.”
“Well that's up for me to decide,” he said, as if he hadn't decided you were anything but.
It didn't take long for the place to fill up after that, people finishing work or deciding to end their nights of drinking there. It wasn't usual for Jack to be around at that sort of time, so the in flood of people surprised him, crowding the two of you at the bar.
That's how he ended up in a booth with you, an arm slung over the back of the cushioned seat as you sat in the ghost of his touch. You were almost leaning into him but keeping a conscious decision not to fall into his arm. The both of you were still nursing the same drink an hour later, sharing stories from each others lives.
Jack didn't ask about your new job and you didn't tell him.
“How long's your dad been out here?” Jack asked.
“Practically all his life,” you said. “But he moved when he met my mom, they separated when I was like five? He came back here so usually I'm just visiting.”
Jack nodded, briefly eyeing how close his hand was to touching you. So far he'd kept it polite. A hand helping you off from the bar stool (you did not need his help), a gentle hand on the small of your back as he led you to the booth, a finger brushing away lint that wasn't on your shoulder. He just wanted to touch you again.
“You close with him?”
You smiled, un-easy. “Well I'm about to be. I'm working with him.”
Jack made a wince and an O face.
Soon enough you were shuffling out of the booth, saying you needed to use the restroom. Jack knew stories about girls who went to the bathroom and didn't come back out, climbing through the window and leaving the guy to wonder what he'd done wrong.
He tried not to let his mind wonder. He checked himself, kept an eye on any guy wondering closely and tugged your drink closer to him, though the bottle was practically empty as well as his glass. He chucked a mint from his pocket into his mouth and chewed it down quickly.
He checked his phone once and then sat and waited.
When you got back to the table, you weren't alone.
Jack frowned as he saw the guy at your side, big enough to swallow you up and shirt so tight on him Jack had a suspicion he brought a size too small on purpose. He straightened at the pinch in your brows and purse of your lips.
The guy at your side was equally studying Jack.
The both of you stopped in front of him and you gestured down to Jack.
“Told you,” you said in answer to a conversation he wasn't apart of.
Jack didn't know what was going on and he wasn't picking up on any social cues. He lifted up a hand, grey hairs rising along his arms in a shiver. “Hi.”
“Oh,” said the guy. “That's cool, I guess. Maybe I'll see you around.”
You shrugged and took your seat next to Jack, this time tight into his side. He let his arm drape around your shoulder.
The guy took his cue and dismissed himself, wandering back to his buddies at the bar, looking back to you once.
“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking the guy one more time.
You didn't move from his side, only turned into him and he didn't move his arm. “Sorry, the guy was waiting for me to come out the bathroom. I told him I was here with... my dad.”
Jack had expected a lie you'd told the guy. Maybe you said you were already here with someone, a boyfriend maybe? “Your dad?” he chocked on his breath. Was he old enough to be your dad? Probably.
“I'm sorry, I panicked!” you said with a laugh.
It was infectious. Jack couldn't help but chuckle to, rubbing away at a wrinkle in his forehead. “I couldn't have been your partner? Or something.”
“C'mon, you think me saying I have a boyfriend will change him hitting one me?” you asked. “A guy like that?”
“You weren't interested in him?” Jack asked, looking over your shoulder to pass a small glare over to the guys. “Buff. Blonde. Young.”
You shook your head, pushing yourself further into his arm. “Nah. I like mine with meat on their bones. Darker... maybe greyer hair,” your eyes looked all over him, lingering at the lower part of his face. “Older.”
You were a treat dangling in front of him and Jack was starved.
He licked at his lips. “Well, I don't think dads do this-”
Before you could question him, Jack took a risk and kissed you.
You welcomed him warmly, your lips soft and eager against his. Where he tried to take it slow, you let him. His hand spread across your back, drawing you in as his head tilted, nudging you to be closer, closer, closer. His tongue traced the bottom of your lip and you opened obedient, tongue hot as you fought his, gasping into his mouth.
He felt the twitch of himself in his trousers, the tightening around his crotch.
Your mouth was warm, tinged with the bitter beer you'd sipped and something sweet on your lip-gloss.
He dragged himself away to catch a breath that his whole body burned for. Your lips chased his, body leaning into his.
Your lip-gloss was smeared down your chin and Jack was all too happy to swipe his thumb and wipe it off, savouring the sticky-ness of it and slight shine on his thumb.
Jack dared take a look at the bar where the guy and his pals stood. His mouth was slightly agape at witnessing the kiss and Jack was all to keen to keep his eyes on him as he kissed you again.
Jack couldn't tell which one of you was more ravenous. If his hands were fumbling with your jean buttons with more need than your own was trailing under his shirt and tugging it over his head.
He thinks it might be him but if you wanted the title he'd give it to you gladly, eager to please.
He had you leant back on the sofa left only in your pretty pink bra, your legs thighs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted upon you, boxes you hadn't un-packed building your own kingdom around you. He was a devout solider upon his queen, if anything.
Your chest heaved in a breath you just couldn't catch, gasping in the pleassure he was drawing out. “J-Jack-”
If he thought your lip-gloss smeared down your chin was a sight your arousal slowly making a mess of his face as he licked into you was a new delight entirety.
He wanted your slick mess to slide down his chin, down the greying hairs of his chest and all the way down to where his cock stood at attention under his trousers.
Jack's hips were bucking, chasing any small friction in his denim. “You like that?” he asked, flicking the tip of his tongue into you.
“Yes, yes, I do.”
He puckers his lips and slurps up your arousal, fingers digging into your thighs and keeping them open, supporting you as your hips bucked up helplessly.
He looks up, the bliss on your face a small indicator of your end coming soon. Jack lets you come, coaxes it out of you with avid sucks and licks.
You came on his tongue on gasps of his name. He'd heard his name yelled before, heard it whispered in dying urgency. Heard it snapped in anger but nothing was better than the sweet call of his name from your lips, drunk on your first orgasm.
He crawled back up you once your body had started to calm. Jack pressed his mouth into your own, sharing the taste of yourself as his hands were skilful in sneaking around your back and un-clasping your bra.
You sighed into him at the freeing feeling and his hands cupped you at once, messaging your breasts.
Jack kissed at you, moaning at the softness he felt in the palm of his hands. “You're so-mmph- so fucking beautiful.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder and look down to him, bringing him back up with your hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing into the palm of your hands.
He licked into you, groaning at the taste of your mouth. At every taste of you it was new, like he'd forgotten what you tasted like before and it was the first time.
“Wanna-” he said, breathless pulling away. “Wanna kiss you all the time from now on.”
“Is that a promise?” you said, grinning and pecking his lips.
Jack smiled too, your teeth clashing as he nodded.
He let himself be led like a dog to your room. There was a mattress on the floor, a suitcase or two pressed up against the wall and a box left open. Jack wanted to peak inside, wanted to see what else was about you. He wanted to know everything.
Your lips promised more, more, more.
Jack's hands fell useless at his sides as he felt the brush of your knuckles go to his belt. He closed his eyes, letting you work. He heard the clatter of the belt whipped off and thrown aside carelessly. He bit down on his lip with a smile.
He only opened his eyes as he felt you tug off his jeans, the fabric catching at his prophetic.
You looked at it for a second before looking up at him.
He hadn't felt insecure about his leg in years. It knocked on his consciousness then, keen to enter. He couldn't think of what to say. “Urm- yeah-”
He was calmed when you slowly sank to your knees and kissed over the lingering scars there, your nails scraping down his thighs. His cock twitched happily in his boxers and you could see the excitement leaking from him early.
“Come here,” he said with a rumble of his voice.
You were up on your feet and he was kissing you again, holding your mouth open to just taste you. He pulled off his boxers, kicking them away before his hands traced up the sides of you.
“I have- I have condoms,” you said, hands pushing him away lightly. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier.”
Jack was glad you'd turned your back to fetch condoms you'd packed luckily in the easy and already open box in the corner of your room. It gave him time to ease himself down on the mattress and watch as you bent over to find the condoms.
He was shocked he wasn't tasting blood as he bit hard down on his lip. If he wasn't so desperate to feel your warmth around him he'd have given himself a little tug, but he was too scared he'd come too soon.
Settling comfortable on your mattress on the floor, Jack tugged on the condom and sat himself up to brush your hair back.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
You nodded and leant into kiss him.
Jack wrapped a light hand around you neck and urged you back, looking in your eyes. You knew what he wanted.
“Yes, Jack. I'm very, very sure.”
He smiled and was ready to move when you stopped him with hands on his thighs.
“Can I... I want to be on top.”
Was Jack supposed to say no to you? You may as well have asked him to build your mattress, un-back all your boxes, re-paint your walls. If you'd asked, he would have done anything for you at that moment.
When you gripped the base of his cock he held his breath. When his tip was pushed into you he exhaled with a loud groan.
“Ssh,” you laughed. “I don't want to get noise complaints from the neighbours already.”
Jack held onto your hips, supporting you. “Fuck your neighbours.”
He focused on the feel of you as you lowered yourself all the way, his cock stretching you open.
“Oh shhiiiit... god,” Jack gasped, seeing where you sat flush on his lap, the head of his cock twitching inside of you.
Your head was leant back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
“No- look at me, look at me,” he said, lifting his hand to pinch your chin and drag your gaze back down. You opened your eyes that had turned dark with desire. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”
And you did as you leant back onto your hands, slowly dragging yourself from him and then back down, setting a pace you were comfortable with.
Jack let you take the lead, lying there and taking it with mutters of encouragement and groans of disbelief. He laid his hand upon the bottom of your stomach, almost being able to feel him inside you. That- or you were driving him crazy.
When the sound of skin on skin sounds you switch your tactic, leaning over him and grinding down.
Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, your mouth left open. You were still trying so hard to keep your eyes on him just as he'd told you to. “Oh fuck, Jack, it's-it's too much.”
“No it's not, honey,” he coaxed, brushing back your hair and holding your cheek in hand. “You're being so good for me. Just a- just a little longer.”
You whined, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in.
Jack didn't know where he was finding the restraint not to come from. It had been a while for him, since he'd talked to someone as pretty as you, since he'd been in a bed that wasn't his. Since he'd had something other than his own hand to come onto.
Your grinding became un-stable, your thighs squeezing around him. “Jack, I think- I'm gonna come.”
He wrapped an arm around you and drew you in till you were held against his chest. The sweat against your bodies rubbed and mixed with the saliva shared between your mouths in kisses where you both fought for dominance.
At the angle of you pushed down on top of him his cock was deeper. He was so close to you, so close in more ways than one.
Jack groaned out your name, his cock twitching inside of you, begging to be released. “Come for me, honey... come for me-”
With a loud moan into his neck you let go around him, walls clamping down on him.
Jack let go of his restraint, planting his good foot on the mattress and thrusting up into you at an odd but delicious angle, once- twice! Before he came, slumping down on the mattress.
The both of you laid there, his hands brushing down your back and bringing out shivers.
“I have never come like that in my life,” he panted, catch his breath.
You looked at him. “What? On your back, on a mattress on the floor with boxes piled up. Or was I just that good?”
He hummed and pretended to think about it. “How about all the above?”
The both of you laughed.
Once you'd both used the bathroom and had returned to your room Jack was still naked while you'd thrown on his shirt, drowning in the smell and feel of him. He'd never wished he was younger and could get it up quicker than in that moment.
You fell back down on your mattress, nodding and inviting Jack to lie down next to you. To stay the night. So, it wasn't that kind of one night stand. Good. He wanted it to be an every night stand.
Jack got down on your mattress but resigned himself to the bottom, slowly pulling apart your legs, taking his time like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do out in your living room.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “Jack, what are you doing?”
“Ssh,” he said, finding himself between your legs again. “We don't want noise complaints from the neighbours, already.”
Jack woke with his body like soup. His body was drifting in bliss, the sort one got after swimming all day, leaving limbs sleepy with exhaustion and the activities still sat in your bones.
His body ached with you. With the feel of your hands tugging at his hair as he had you coming on his tongue a second time, your hands on his chest as you moved on top of him.
He reached for you, finding an emptiness with nothing but the smell of you left on your pillows.
Jack inhaled sharply before he heard the shower turn off and door thrown open. A cloud of hot condensation and the scent of your shampoo hit him as you stepped out, wrapped in a towel.
Jack rolled over, peering at you through sleep. “Morning.”
“Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was hoping to let you sleep in for... like, ten minutes,” you said.
“Don't worry about it. I'm an early riser,” he said, checking his phone for the time. Half six in the morning. It wasn't technically a lie. He was up at this hour, finishing his shift. “First day at the job today?”
“Yes, and I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.”
Jack pushed himself up, finding his boxers. “You get ready. You want me to make some coffee? Providing you've un-packed it.”
You rose a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You trying to make a wife out of me, Jack?” you teased.
He smiled down at you when he stood, almost challenging.
“Coffee pots on the side, it was one of the first things I un-packed.”
Jack kissed your cheek before sleepily making his way through your place, manoeuvring with far less grace than lust had him moving the night before. He flicked on lights, started the coffee and took the extra couple minutes to peer into boxes that had been ripped open. There wasn't much, clothes, a couple trinkets and such. Text books that were so large and piled up he couldn't make one from the other.
He'd just caught a glimpse of you as a kid, hands in between two other people. One, a woman he assumed was your mother and the other he didn't get to see before he heard your trainers squeak on the floor and was backing up from the boxes.
He poured you a coffee and handed it to you, watching you take large gulps.
“Thanks. I'm sorry, I wouldn't usually do this but I really got to run,” you apologised.
“That's fine, I'll dress and I could give you a lift in?” he offered. “I'd really like to see you again.”
You smiled, cheeks popping. “Well, I'd really like that too. But you don't have to give me a lift in, I'll drive myself, otherwise I'd have no way of getting back.”
Jack was seconds away from offering to pick you up too. Any excuse to see you before he realised he was back on nights tonight. Would it even be plausible? To be able to spend more time with you?
He'd move heaven and earth to make it possible. He'd got his first sip of you and was addicted.
“Take your time,” you added. “Shower. Eat left over takeaway in my fridge. You can steal from me if you want but I warn you I have very little worth taking.”
Jack sighed playfully. “I'm sure I can think of something you'll miss. You have your phone?” he asked, holding out his hand.
You handed it to him, un-locking it first.
Jack typed in his number, adding his name as a contact and in brackets added- guy from bar/a good lay. Just in case you forgot. “You can call me when you want that tour of the place,” he said, as nonchalant as possible, wishing at once he'd slid his jeans on just to be able to slide his hands in the pockets.
You read what he saved himself as and laughed. “A good lay, you were a bit more than that, solider.” You slid your phone into your jacket pocket, hiding your inform or something underneath.
Jack smirked, leaning in. “Really?”
“Really.”
He leant in and kissed you. He wasn't forcing your mouth open, he wasn't grabbing at you although he wanted to do both. He knew, maybe more than most, the importance of getting to work on time. But he could almost imagine this was his life. Waking early to make you coffee and food, kissing you and sending you on the way to work. Coming home to find you waiting for him, his name laced on your lips.
“I really have to go,” you mumbled against his lips.
“Then go,” he said, kissing you again.
He walked you to the doors, quick kisses being shared, small touches he dared tempt himself with before you were fleeing, practically running away to not regret leaving.
Jack did take you up on your offer and had a very cold shower.
The rest of the day Jack thought about you, teased himself with you. He'd never felt so infatuated before. He returned to his place in the late afternoon after spending time just breathing your things in. His apartment felt shockingly empty, too neat even though Jack hadn't cleaned in a while. It didn't feel lived in, loved in. It was probably painfully obvious it was a bachelor pad.
However he didn't have to linger long. He showered again and dressed in scrubs, checking his phone once and finding a text from you.
I've been thinking, a good lay really doesn't cover it, a solid nine out of ten.
He smirked down at his phone, tutting.
Only a nine?
Your reply came almost instantly.
Well, there's always room for improvement.
I'll show you improvement. Maybe a nice dinner would get me to an 11/10?
Already got yourself a 9.5 solider :)
The smile that wasn't an emoji tugged at his heart strings.
Jack didn't know how he was supposed to take you to a dinner when he worked nights and your job was a day thing apparently but he'd work it out. You wouldn't have to worry a thing.
By the time he was clocking into work that evening he was so distracted in checking the best restaurants around (what had the best food, or the best views, which played nice music, which were expensive...) he was so distracted he didn't even notice he was in early.
“Brother!” Robby called, greeting him with a wide grin and hug.
Jack was slow in hugging him back. Hiding his phone in his back pocket from your texts before hugging him back, worry pulsing in his veins. A happy Robby always worried him. “Hey, you're cheerful.”
Robby pulled away, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Nobody die today?”
“No, two people dead.”
Jack frowned. “And we're happy about that?”
Dana called his name from the nurses station, urging him over.
Robby's hand was steady with a firm grip as he led Jack over. “Glad you could make it in early, there's actually someone I want you to meet.”
“Someone, huh?” Jack wondered if Robby had finally decided to ditch his seven week itch thing and maybe try seven months, maybe even get to a famous seven years. Had he been waiting till it was serious to introduce him to the special woman?
“Picked them up from the airport yesterday while you covered my day, thank you.”
Jack had only just dropped his back at the counter when your name was called.
And suddenly there you were- glancing up at Robby in a way that gave no shock to hear him call you.
You looked at Robby then found Jack.
Scrubs. You were in black scrubs just like him, a navy top underneath. Your hair was scraped back from this morning, showing the expanse of your neck that he remembered nipping and licking the night before. Your eyes were plain, expression dropped as you stared at him, feet carrying you over to Robby on autopilot.
Jack watched as Robby's hand laid on your shoulder like it was always meant to be there.
And I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.
Oh, god no.
“Jack, this is my daughter,” said Robby, saying your name with practised ease and a proud grin. “This is Jack Abbot, night attending. My best friend.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ michael robinavitch x psych fellow!reader
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ there had been a shift between your relationship with robby. you weren't sure what to make out of that. it wasn't until trouble had stirred up at the PTMC, with you at the center of it, that you came to terms the type of man michael robinavitch was.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, no use of y/n, workplace violence, medical assault, discussions of violent assault, workplace harassment/verbal abuse, mentions of anxiety/ptsd/depression, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, trauma aftermath, slow burn, protective!robby, enemies to lovers, colleagues to lovers
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ OKAY this is just a blurb reallyyy...wanted a little filler between the last part and what i have planned for the next, longer part. plus, this might set up this dynamic well (if it works out the way i want it to lol). also tried something new with the format…
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 14 k
the slippage in the system >> a mirage on sand
8:00 AM
"Are you doing better?" The voice rang familiar to your ears. While typing at the workstation down at the Pitt, you didn't even see the figure strolling up from behind you.
Craning your head to the side, looking past your shoulder you noticed Caleb rolling up, parking his wheelchair to angle in your direction. Pausing your typing, you pushed the chair back, one hand still holding the edge of the desk. You gave him a smile, letting out a deep sigh, "Alright as I can be. Haven't exactly cleared it out of my system, but I'm here."
A stomach bug was no joke, you supposed. The last thing you expected was for it to keep you locked in your apartment for a week. It was an unsettling week, but you somehow survived. Walking into the PTMC this morning felt like riding a bike. Breezing in all while your feet did most of the work.
"You sound better. I was worried I would need to make a house call the last time we spoke on the phone." Caleb chuckled endearingly. The small grin was amused, but as he looked you up and down, he really was relieved it was milder than he thought.
“I had a friend drop off some things to ale me.” You stated, hoping to calm his worry.
Which was the truth—you wouldn’t dare lie to Caleb at this point. He was right about most things, and you were comfortable enough to relearn trusting your superiors. What you were omitting from him was that the particular friend was one he had a special interest in as well.
And as if the world enjoyed playing tricks on you, that ‘friend’ came strolling towards you, hands in his green fleece jacket pocket. His eyes landed on you before shifting to Caleb, your names slipping from his mouth with ease. He had dropped the ‘Doctor’ title from your surname a while ago, since the blind-dinner-date.
He looked you up and down, eyes crinkling with familiarity. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Shoot away, Robby.” Caleb welcomed with a grin on his face as he examined you both.
He must have noticed your controlled expression. You were attempting to obscure the small, hesitant smile on your face with a quiet ‘hi’ as Robby stood across the workstation.
Truth was, you weren't sure how to act with Robby anymore.
The floodgates of your past had been opened, and at this point, there wasn't much Robby didn’t know about you—and that thought alone was chilling. You had never been this exposed, and with him having your home address, the urgency to run over rolled around your mind.
“I have a teenager in Central 14 whose mother is expressing concerns about her sudden lack of energy and inconsistent mood.” Robby shared, careful with his volume as he scanned around the department floor. “Mother stepped away for coffee. She was hoping someone could come down to talk with her.”
You hummed, nodding along with his words. Craning your head to the side, you smiled. “Let me finish up my notes for the patient in south 20, and then I will meet you with your patient.”
Robby gave you a silent nod, rubbing his hands together. “Thank you. It’s good to see you back.”
Clearing your throat, you agreed frantically, accepting the newfound compassion from him. Weird, you thought. Robby spared Caleb one last look before excusing himself. Without second thought, you bowed your head, typing away on the chart, hiding the heat rising on your cheeks from Caleb.
Caleb leaned one arm on the desk, bearing his weight to his left. You missed the not-so-subtle look he aimed at Robby who was standing by the nursing station, talking with Whitaker. “You never told me how the dinner went.”
You scoffed, playing it easy and cool. Internally, sirens were going off. It had been a couple of weeks, and you were still digesting the conversation over the meal. You both lasted longer than you had anticipated, laughing even, over your personal embarrassments like a couple of college friends—not that you knew what that felt like.
Since moving to Pittsburgh, you didn’t allot yourself time to socialize. Upon landing, you always assumed this would just be a stepping-stone to where you wanted to go. Now, it was settling too deeply in your heart for you to abandon it so mercilessly. Something too good to say goodbye to.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked Robby yet.” You coolly deflected, your eyes laser focused on the words you were typing. Your fingers were moving fluently, but your brain was spiraling elsewhere.
It was as if the fogginess from being sick hadn’t completely left you. At least that is what you hoped it was. At least then, you could excuse yourself, more so than some sad excuse to hide your preoccupation. Why would it matter if Caleb knew? He’d be gratified that two coworkers he was invested in could mingle and bond over fact beyond their personal missions to improve patient care.
Caleb chuckled, his body rattling with the vibration. “Who’s to say I haven’t? Maybe I just want to hear it from you.”
“You make it a habit to set up people on blind-dates?” You rhetorically asked, not expecting any reply. Saving the changes on the chart, you swiftly logged off, and scooted the chair back across from Caleb.
“You made me resort to those methods.” Caleb shrugged a proud smile on his face.
God, you hated to admit he was right, especially when he was aware of the positive reaction of his actions. You rolled your neck, preventing him from reading your expression entirely. Caleb thought for a beat, before wheeling himself back. “Think of it this way: the likelier he is to endorse you, the likelier admin is to keep you. It’s convenient and logical. I thought that might appeal to your senses.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “You chose logos over pathos. Well played, Dr. Jefferson.”
Caleb bowed humorously, gracefully accepting the sarcastic compliment. You stood from the chair, playfully rolling your eyes. While looking up at you and preparing to wheel in the opposite direction, he called out for you. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“See you later, Dr. Jefferson.”
As you began walking by the nursing station, you sensed a taller presence strolling beside you. With practiced ease, you glanced beside you to see the device handed to you. Robby stared down, sporting his round glasses. “Jenny McGuire, seventeen, came in presenting abdominal rigidness. Mother expressed concerns over lack of appetite.”
“Apparently, the family experienced something traumatic, and Jenny has been secluding herself more than usual.” Robby swiftly shared, watching your fingers scroll through the annotations made by Dr. McKay.
“Did you or McKay get anything out of the mother about what happened?” You questioned, eyes peeking between your eyelashes, to guide your way through the bustling halls.
Robby hummed, shaking his head. “Nothing in specific, but she seems distraught from it, per her mother.”
You stopped before approaching the room, turning to stand in front of Robby. Eyes flicking across the floor, watching nurses and other ER personnel pass by briskly. “Based on that, it could be signs of depression or some form of PTSD, but won’t know for sure until I talk with her. Would you like to be present?”
Robby’s eyebrows shot up. His hands were on his hips and despite the green Patagonia he had, the muscles in his biceps flexed subconsciously. He stood there slightly puzzled. It wasn’t an odd question, nor a jab at the last major conflict the two of you had, but you did find value in his involvement.
Upon the blossoming trust you were slowly conforming between you and him, there were small epiphanies you had about the wise doctor he was. He was older than you were by a decade at least, which gave him an advantage you yet to have. While observing him (even sourly), there was a command he would always have in a room.
While speaking with the residents and med students, you have always noted the respect they had for him. The similarities in some of their forms of treating could be traced back to him. So even when you wanted to escape him, it was near impossible.
“If you’ve spoken with her before, I have no problem with you present. She may feel comfortable if you introduced us first, anyway.” You shared, offering some reassurance for his hesitancy.
After a beat, Robby allied with a closed smile. Mimicking the action, you spun around walking in the direction of Jenny’s room. Robby maneuvered around you, approaching the threshold of Central 14. Stopping at the door, he knocked lightly, putting on a soft smile and stepping aside once the door was wide open.
“Hi, Jenny, how are you holding up?” Robby asked softly.
Jenny, a small frail, blonde girl sat up on the bed, both hands bracing around her stomach. She tried to hide the grimace in her face, but you immediately noted the action. She shrugged, making no effort to vocalize her current condition.
While pulling up a stool at her bedside, you introduced yourself, mirroring the soft and mellow presence Robby emitted. You rested your hands still holding the tablet on your lap, providing your undecided attention to Jenny. She scooted over, staring at you with wide eyes.
“I am a psychiatrist here at PTMC. Would you like to tell me why you came to the ER?” The question came out inviting, ignoring the fact, you had already read over her chart. You figured if she could put into words what was wrong physically; it would be an indicator of whatever else was wrong.
Jenny sat there, her eyes observing you up and down. It was like she had seen a ghost, and when you turned to Robby, he caught the same vibe from her. Robby leaned forward, hands folded. “I know it seems intimidating, but sometimes talking to someone can help.”
The silence was deafening. She didn’t peel her eyes away from you, even as Robby tried to slip his presence in. Staring at her eyes, she was fixated on one physician; as if the only person that existed worth acknowledging was you. Right as you were about to continue speaking, you noticed the quick shift in her demeanor, sitting taller, face tightening.
“You were a part of my sister’s case.” She mumbled, trembling on the hospital bed. “I saw your name in an article.”
You furrowed your brows, straightening your posture. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Diana Richards.” She croaked out, her voice firmer as it bounced off the room walls. “My sister had acid thrown in her face right before Christmas.”
Your body froze, hands tightening around the device in your lap. Shit. You hadn’t expected your name to make national news, considering the court personnel was small, and those sitting in the viewing gallery were family and friends affected. Too distracted by the question thrown from both parties, you didn’t distinguish anything past the prosecution and defense tables.
When you double-looked the chart, ‘McGuire’ on the header, you never could have assumed relation.
“I did testify at the trial,” You confirmed, nodding your head cautiously. The palpable tension between you and the distressed teenage girl was something buzzing all around your body. With the weight like a ton of bricks, the pressure in the small exam room was crushing. “I am sorry about what happened to your sister.”
“Are you?” She quipped up, her furious glare firing up as she leaned towards you. The tension was no longer concerned over what to say, it was contemplation on how to deescalate a growing fire. “The man who did that to her should be in jail. You’re the reason he’s not!”
Before you could react, she aimed cold saliva at your face, landing below your right eye. You flinched from the action, your hand instinctively reaching for your face. Completely focused on the emotional teenager, you didn’t realize Robby had moved around the corner.
Hurriedly, he pulled you up from the chair by your shoulders. Without another word, Robby led you to the direction of the door, calling out for Princess passing by. As she saw you hunched forward, she rushed over, taking you in her arms. “What happened?”
“The patient spat in her face.” Robby hurriedly mumbled, standing in front of the room, turning back to look through the window. Jenny was now sitting back on the inclined bed, staring off to the side.
“Why?” Princess questioned with obvious apprehensiveness as to what might lead a meek teenager to act as vicious as some of the grown adults they have treated. This was abnormal and out of character for a patient of her demographic.
Robby sighed, watching you carefully as Princess directed you to an office chair. He followed along; close enough to remain a reachable distance to the patient’s room. She immediately grabbed a tissue, carefully wiping away the residue on your face. “It’s a long story.”
The soft plushness scratch the surface of your skin, causing your body to shiver. Stuck in daydream, it was a bad case of Deja vu. Instead of a man insufficiently aware of his actions in one of the behavioral rooms, a disturbed teenager was trying to consolidate with the current events of her life. Regardless, you were losing both fights.
Princess craned her head, standing right in your view as she furrowed her brows at you. “Did any of it get in your eye?”
Fumbling over words, you lightly shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not sure. It happened too quickly.”
When you were able to flutter your eyes open, Robby was standing from the distance, watching Princess work vehemently. His expression hardened by the events that just unfolded. This was the most emotional you had seen him at work.
When you walked out the behavior room with blood pouring out your nose, his natural caregiver instincts kicked in. He was ordering test and examining the integrity of the bones in your face. Although he was only monitoring from the distance, the natural instinct kicked into gear. You skittishly turned away, avoiding the darkness in his eye.
As if on cue, McKay was making her way around, casually waving her arms as she strolled around the desk. Princess and a couple more nurses gathered around you. McKay’s steps faltered, and before she could utter a word, Robby called her over.
You’d flutter your eyes carefully in their direction, mostly focused on McKay’s back. You could see the hush exchange of words. She craned her neck, peeking back at you with her face scrunched in confusion. No doubt, Robby was trying to form some intervention.
If this were any other moment or patient, you would have fought against being pushed aside. Tell Robby there was no need to coddle you or deem you incapable of staying committed to your work. Sitting with Princess still gently trying to wipe away the excretion from your face, you still tried to convince yourself this was something you could overlook.
Instead, you were succumbing to the idea you had screwed up.
Some girl was sitting on a hospital bed, completely overturned by the actions of a stranger whose paths crossed hers. It didn't have to be Dianna Richards, nor her family, but it was. You had unluckily been stuck having to repent for your involvement in the matter.
Your eyes caught the dirty blonde woman, approaching Central 14. With the coat she was wearing, two disposable coffee cups in her hand, you sense your stomach drop. It was a surreal moment from the second she peered into her daughter's room to the slightly panicked expression when she looked at Robby.
With his hands on his hips, he turned to whom you presumed was Mrs. McGuire. McKay stood back, eyes flicking between the two like she was preparing for a bad movie. You sat up straighter and Princess took a step back to follow your line of sight.
“You should stay here. Robby can handle it.” Princess whispered to you, one hand on your shoulder as she pressed her lips in a thin line.
You didn’t argue or make any sudden movement. Suddenly, you were in a state of catatonic shock.
Everything was blowing up in your face. A record of your actions suddenly taking a turn for the worse. A man who you had a conflicted relationship with was managing to interfere in your life even from miles away. What you had thought was a good idea was now souring like milk.
The patience Robby was displaying made it clear he was trying to calm her down. You had suspected she was overtly distressed as her daughter from the chair you were sitting in. It wasn’t until the voices started growing louder.
Everyone in the vicinity heard it.
“I don’t care what you think about what happened to my family. I don’t want her involved with my daughter's care.” She stated definitively. You could see her motion to you in the corner and you knew your entire cover was blown. “Find someone else or we will leave.”
If her eyes were daggers, you’d be bleeding on the linoleum floors. The glare of pure fury and disgust she sent your way was enough to bury you where you sat. Without another word, she made her way into the room, sitting at her daughter’s bedside.
Your eyes remained glued to the room, suddenly cold, enough so to elicit chills down your spine. Tugging onto the cardigan you were wearing, you crossed your arms over your chest. Robby spared Mrs. McGuire one last look before slowly approaching you. There was a hesitation in his steps, as if he were approaching a stray kitten starved and scared.
Standing a couple of feet away, hovering and obscuring your figure from the room, you flicked your eyes at him. “The mother?”
He confirmed with tight lips. Rubbing his hands together, his eyes roamed over you in the similar fashion as when Mr. Richman lashed out at you. It was only saliva, but he still examined you like he would any patient. He sighed, “Look, for your safety, I think it’s best we find someone else to cover the consultation.”
“We’re a bit understaffed today.” You mumbled, sagging your shoulders as you leaned back in the chair. Princess standing behind you excused herself. You could sense she didn’t want to be caught in any animosity between you and Robby.
She knew better than to intervene between two doctors who dominated their respective fields.
“We’ll find someone.” Robby assured, glancing at McKay who was fiddling with the zipper of her gray jacket. She remained quiet yet observant of the entire interactions. You noted the small narrow of her eyes, but made no effort to ask her about it. “Things seem tense enough. You probably shouldn’t go back there.”
You opened you mouth to speak, before shutting it completely. Was it worth it? Fighting nobly over the tired out issue when forces outside were telling you otherwise? You work was meant to be charitable, but you were finding it harder and harder to give it up so willingly.
“Let me make the call. I’ll explain it to whomever I find.” You explained to Robby. Willing to listen to his advice while you were still in a place to do so.
You stood up promptly, breezing by Robby and McKay and heading straight for the elevators. With your head down, you avoided the questioning side-eyes from those who were tempted by the scene. It was as if you were sacrificing your dignity every time you came down to the Pitt. You were barring yourself to every challenge, which was starting to chip away the brick wall around your heart.
It didn’t help that someone like Robby was watching the worst of it. From the argument over patient care and the revelation of your condition. Robby was finding his way through you blindly, but he was much closer than some.
Standing in front of the elevator, it had hit you that you were losing control of the separation you meant to have from your work and personal life. The life you were trying to preserve, sensitive to the details, was merging into the professional life meant to compartmentalize. Everything was hitting you like tons of bricks, and you were only hoping things change before they get worse.
10:00 AM
If you had more to do, you wouldn’t have felt the day drag. Considering Caleb was occupied with the patients in the behavioral health ward and you had been condemned to the Pitt, it wasn’t like you didn’t have work. There were patients popping up throughout the morning rush that needed menial attention from psychiatry. Basic consultations that didn’t require follow up.
However, your mind wasn’t as focused on the patients as you should be.
You stood at the workstation, digital chart in hand, as you wrote notes from your last consultation. It appeared as you were busy, but your eyes kept wandering over to central 14, like something was called upon you from inside.
It has been over an hour since Dr. Malek had entered; a fourth year psych resident who was more interested in forensic work than critical-care. You were gnawing away the inside of your cheek, practically mutilating your mouth from the riddle of anticipation. It wasn’t your place to judge whether Malek was capable of doing the work, despite having a year of experience over him.
Caleb was solely responsible for putting the residents in line, but that didn’t stop the doubt you sensed.
While staring intensely at the door, you caught it clicking open. Malek slipped through, gently closing it behind him as he whispered farewells to the McGuire’s. Your body jolted up. Waiting like a lion on the prowl, you joined Malek as he walked past you, stepping in harmony.
“How did things go?” You asked in a hush tone. He didn’t flinch as you settled beside him, shoulders partially brushing against one another. He was expecting the ambush from the small flex of his jaw.
He barely looked at you, preferring to scroll through the device in his hand. He kept trying to advance, swerving around people as he searched for someone other than you to speak with. “I don’t know if I should be sharing this with you.”
“Consider this as consulting a colleague.”
The quickness of your comment had him halting in his steps. He turned to you, slight frustration in how you pushed for the answer. Although being a few years his senior, he exuded an energy that was fit for someone your age. He let his hands fall to his side, exasperated at this point. “The girl is depressed. Hell, the mother too.”
You tucked the device under your arm, staring at Malek with desperation that he didn’t understand. It must’ve made you look pathetic from an outsider view as he rolled his eyes in frustration. “Jenny was with her sister and her husband when the assault happened.”
The deep breath you sucked in was stuck somewhere because the tightness in your chest didn’t decompress. Your eyes darted across his face, trying to make out more with the silence. It couldn’t have been a joke, that was distasteful, even for him. He had spoken it intentionally, trying to give you what you wanted while also warning you to stay away from where you shouldn’t be.
That was your fault.
“Thankfully she didn’t see anything, but she heard her sister screaming.” He sighed, pretty devastated even while he put up the front. “Imagine having to live with that sound for the rest of your life.”
“Outside of the fact her sister won’t be able to see or recover from the injuries on her face.” The vile taste in his mouth was evident as he scowled, personally hurt by the offense.
You faced away as he narrowed his eyes at you. With the tension, you were wishing Robby would suddenly need you for a consultation or pick a fight. Something of that sort would be better than the scrutiny of a colleague who was treading towards a scarily esoteric farce.
“None of us understand why you defended that man.” Malek shrugged, lips tightening in a thin line. His nostrils flared and he shook his head.
Lifting your head, you looked at him with a blank expression. What the hell? Cocking your head to the side, you scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“He assaulted a woman, and you, let us not forget.” He all but spat at you.
It was a reprimand for having come to ask questions. For lingering in a space, you knew better than to test. You should’ve known the repercussions of being a recluse, of not putting in an effort to be friendly enough was going to come back at you.
He took a step forward, and the hallway you two stood in started feeling stuffy. Retracting your neck slightly, you futilely attempted to put a boundary. Malek's forehead creased, “He had to pay for what he did.”
Smiling sarcastically, you chuckled dryly. “Because suddenly you care about my well-being.”
Malek chuckled coldly, the same detachment you had heard from Robby before. At least now, you assumed there wasn’t that animosity between you two. Malek had a fury that was unrecognizable, like he had spent time repressing that only you could pull out of him. “I think sometimes you forget you’re not as brilliant and perfect as you mistakenly think you are.”
“All because I refused to let a sick man go to jail? For a mental condition he has little control over?” You retorted. It felt obvious. All the reasons you could’ve possible defended anyone who put their hands and weight over you shouldn’t have existed,
Except, it wasn’t for you and everyone was missing the point, just as Malek was opening up wounds again.
“Because you believe you’re so virtuous. Too virtuous to put aside your beliefs and worry about how they might’ve felt about the verdict.” Malek motioned his head back to where the two of you came from. Where the McGuire’s were, confined in the same hospital Mr. Richman had unleashed a ruckus in.
Malek pointed a finger to his head, eyebrows furrowed down. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe he wasn’t the right person for you to enact your crusade of righteous indignity?”
Your head was telling you to walk away. With the sudden rise of his voice, uneasiness settled in your weak stomach. The fogginess from before was more than just brain fog from being sick. This wasn’t the typical arguments over patients and who presented the most competent plan of care. This was quite unsettling. Malek, who had kept his honest opinions about you hidden under sarcasm and cocky grins, was finally laying it thick.
“All of us tolerate you because Jefferson dotes on you, but you’d be surprised to find out how few of us want you as an attending after your fellowship is up.” He bluntly stated with no shame as he stared you in the eyes.
He was suddenly closer in proximity. From the tunnel vision you were experiencing, your body was suffocated by his .You urged your feet to step forward. To react as quickly as you did with Robby. Witty and decisive leaving no doubt of your confidence within yourself.
It was like being stuck in paralysis. You mind kept wandering at a hundred miles per hour but your body was tossed to the side of the road like a carcass.
“Dr. Malek,”
You welcomed the voice, turning away from your colleague to meet Robby’s hardened stare. Pulling yourself away, you stood meekly in between both men. If your legs hadn’t stiffened, you would’ve taken the chance to run. Instead, you stood there, in the midst of the silent standoff the two were having.
“Please show yourself out of my ED.” Robby ordered, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “I will not tolerate you degrading a fellow colleague in a department full of staff and patients to hear.”
Malek glared over to you, the tightening of his indifference to the entire situation. Chilling from the physical enmity, you learned Robby cutting swiftly through was a worse idea than you imagined. Robby inclined himself further, pushing his overbearing presence and standing prominently in Malek’s line of sight. “You can debrief with Dr. McKay once you get your fucking act together.”
Robby didn’t relent, and you were thankful once Malek resigned, huffing away with an agitated pace. You kept staring at his back, almost waiting for him to turn back and enforce himself again. When he disappeared behind the walls and into the rest of the chaos of the ER, you let a shaky breath go.
When you turned to look at Robby, he was already looking down at you. His eyebrows furrowed in the same effort he’d examine patients, sitting on a hospital bed, laying their health in his hands. You didn’t want to play that role. You weren’t defenseless as much as he saw you at the moment.
“I didn’t need you to save me.” You muttered, heading in the opposite direction of where Malek went.
Your arm barely brushed by him, and he swiftly recovered by maintaining an equal steady pace behind you. “I was mostly sparing him. I sensed you weren’t going to tolerate that shit for much longer.”
With a sour chuckle, you tried to hide how breathless you suddenly were. The stack of issues in the past three hours were losing its foundation. It was like the mountain of what was wrong with your life was crumbling with time, and you couldn’t hold up the front you had worked on for years. “Sounds a lot like an unwelcome intervention to me.”
With the speed you were walking, everyone could tell you were trying to evade Robby. Except, he was tailing you. A dog with a bone. Your eyes darted around, effectively trying to find some escape for the ER and everything reminding you of the shit-show.
“This is my ER, anyways. I should be entitled to cut bullshit when I see it.” Robby pointed up, still trailing behind you. It wasn’t a remark or sarcastic. It was a reminder that he was always aware of his department, and he didn’t take disruptions lightly.
Finally looking ahead, the elevator beside the trauma rooms was right in front of you. Stopping in frustration, you bowed your head. Your hands clammed up beside you and the weight over your chest as you tried steadying your breathing was like lifting a boulder. It came back down with each exhale unsteadily.
After a moment, you turned around carefully. Your eye landed on Robby’s feet, trailing up the dark cargo pants he wore. Eventually, when you stared directly back at him, you crossed your arm, hiding the trouble you had breathing correctly.
Shrugging, you scoffed. “He's probably right, you know?”
Robby narrowed his eyes at you, suddenly confused from the immediate switch. You let him think it was a deflection. It was easier than trying to explain why you froze up in front of a hostile colleague, when you had encountered worse patients. “Maybe I’m too holed up in my personal world to acknowledge the damage of my intentions.”
“About Mr. Richman?” Robby questioned, trying to make out from the cryptic look in your eye. He couldn’t make out anything at face-value, and you were hoping he’d just walk away. “I’m sure the judge based his decision on different testimonies made. None of us know what truly sealed the deal for him.”
“But I defended him, inside, and outside the courtroom. Morgan, you, even Jefferson warned me what might happen if I spoke out too much.” You explained, reminiscing over every occasion where you could’ve avoided this.
Mr. Richman was the catalyst for all these interactions. From Robby, to the McGuire’s, to Malek. You would never regret treating a patient, but you weren’t sure you wanted to go out on a limb ever again.
You frowned, holding onto the strings in your heart tugged into all directions. There was too much at stake, and the last thing you needed was for Robby to pull at them like a puppet master. With a shaky smile, you let your hands fall to your side. “I just wanted someone to walk away from the entire process with something positive.”
The rattle of your body scared you. It had you turning away, trying to hide in plain sight from Robby. He stood still, straightening his posture. His hands were now on his hip, and you caught the slight air stuck in his throat.
“I haven’t been able to stop looking over my shoulder since then.”
Your hand extended lazily in the direction of the patient's room. “But that girl and her sister may never be able to go out in public without fearing something of this magnitude may happen to them again.”
Robby’s stoic expression didn’t pave anything for you to rely on. It gave little insight of whether he opposed Malek’s words or found you amateurish in the face of conflict. You were hopeless. Standing in front of the one man who could ruin your position apart from Jefferson. He was right.
It was practical to play nice and feed into the role Robby would need you to act. You didn’t want to conform to giving into the challenge of the chief attending for the simple necessity of keeping a job. It was the only reason you had fought about Mr. Richman before, during, and even after the trial.
“Is it selfish to have wanted Mr. Richman to have the help he never did have?” You questioned, your wispy voice barely scratching through the noise of the ED.
Robby didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure you were searching for one. This was the one time he had seen you out of your depth in your facilitation in his department. Apart from the dinner, where you tested how close you could inch into the deep well of suppressed emotion, there wasn’t anything personal of you in your work.
There was no way you could treat patients if you were stuck in the flawed aspects of your life. Today was making all of that evident.
“The hospital where I did my residency has an outreach program. “ You explained quietly, reluctant to tell Robby.
You pursed your lips, and the heat in your cheeks contradicted the shivering down your spine and the frigid coldness of your fingers. “Their mission wasn’t just to treat- and-street patients but to meet them halfway for them to have some continuation of care no matter their circumstances.”
Robby shook his head, “Has anyone—“
“That’s beside the point.” You interrupted, fluttering your eyes close briefly. The raise of his eyebrows finished the question you cut off rudely. You didn’t need this to turn into another ‘bonding’ moment. “I was willing to do that no matter the danger of it.”
“That’s what I tried to explain to the judge and prosecution and they made it sound like I had some hero-complex I hadn’t resolved.”
The groan that escaped you was the subsided disappointment of your composure. Everyone around you had seen too much. There wasn’t much to hide from Robby at this point, and once this shift was over, you were committed to the idea of planning where to run once your fellowship was done.
Your ears were tingling from how quiet the ED became. The department was attached to your soul, which only knew how to prioritize patient care. In your years of training, you heard all about compartmentalizing as well as the consequences of burning out. You thought you had mastered the first part enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about drowning in a lake; but the rocks in your pockets were finally weighing you down.
“So, the incident with Mr. Richman had been the first time a patient had assaulted you?”
When he gauged your reaction, he had a wide eye stare that tried to hide the intensity of his personality and role in the ED. It worked with patients well enough to foster a safe space for them to grieve or release what they’ve kept inside them.
It worked on patients–but you weren’t one.
“I hadn’t been punched, pinned to the ground, and choked before if that’s what you're asking.” You scoffed, your lips curving upwards, but it missed the same sarcastic wit you would usually deflect him with. “Even when they spat, yelled, and fought the treatment, I reminded myself they were just scared people who needed help.”
Sacred. If you were treating yourself, maybe that would be the one word scribbled all over your chart.
Afraid of further repercussions from the Richman case. Frightened of how the rest of the staff would see you after Mrs. McGuire and Malek painted you out as a self-absorbed health-care worker unable to make out an indescribable debt. Terrorized by the idea Robby might concede to what he thought of you when you initially transferred to PTMC.
Months of unraveling to be burned by a spark and caught aflame.
The dinging of the elevator ringed behind you. Turning to the sound, you found a couple of respiratory therapists walking out, laughing at the conversation held. You pulled yourself aside, letting them past before stalking to the elevator.
When you faced Robby’s direction, he stood stiffly, uncertainty in whether to approach or forget the conversation occurred. You made the decision, pressing the button of your assigned floor. “Maybe, you won’t have to worry about me overstaying more than I'm welcomed.”
As the doors closed, the last thing you saw was the slight twitch of his eye
12:00 PM
In the last couple of hours since you spoke with Robby, you were almost hoping not to work with him for the rest of your shift. Not because you were offended or mad about his course of action earlier. With the buffer since Mrs. McGuire’s blowup to that of Malek’s, you came to the realization Robby was sparing your dignity from worse.
He could have thrown you into the wolves. Make you pay for all the times you blew up in his face over the executive action of patients in his ER, but treated by you. A part of you believed he should have. Maybe putting you in ‘contempt’ would teach you a lesson.
Instead, he was handling you like a box with a ‘FRAGILE’ label on the side. Wanting so desperately to open the gift, but too afraid to break it before he was safely able to.
Sitting in the ED, it was like an animal in a cage. You knew the staff passing by were likeliest engrossed in their jobs, patients, and lives to be distracted by you, but that didn’t stop the onset paranoia; sensing eyes pitying you while behind your back.
You tried to focus, rolling your shoulders rhythmically as you typed away at the workstation. Every time a resident came by to grab a device on the docks, you would flinch before refocusing on what you were doing. As McKay stopped, putting the tablet on one of the slots, her eyes found you. Attempting to hold onto the current train of thought, you continued flitting your attention across the screen.
“Mrs. McGuire is wondering when they can be discharged.” She mentioned casually, moving aside to not stand directly in front of you. She leaned forward on the nursing station counter.
When you lifted your attention from your work, she gave you a polite smile. You peeled your hands from the keyboard, which spent the better part of an hour stuck together. Returning the action rather stiffly, you tried easing your tense muscles. “I don’t know. I’m not the primary psychiatrist on their case, nor have I been updated on their plan of care.”
McKay stood there silently, letting her weight sit on the counter for a beat. She glanced around warily for anybody who might be looking for her. “I heard Robby kicked out Dr. Malek.”
Her words didn’t prompt a visible response, but from under the desk, your leg was bouncing. She leaned in closer, her voice huskier as she spoke in a hushed tone. “And I also heard what he said. What an asshole. And he’s supposed to be the girl’s psychiatrist—“
“I have another patient to check in with. Sorry.” You interrupted before McKay could utter another word.
Standing from the desk, you sauntered away as if your worst nightmare had walked into the ED. Hastily curving around McKay, you kept your head down. Your feet were practically guiding your decision. If you no longer wanted to face the music, they were moving before you could doubt the action.
Except, your feet weren’t your brain.
When you did finally bother to look up and across, you noticed they brought you by central 14 again. You cursed under your breath when you noticed the glass exposing the department outside the room. Before Jenny or her mother could assault you with their eyes, you turned your back towards them, opting for a stealthy escape.
Your brain said to ‘move forward.’ If you left up to the behavioral floor or found some other passion project to screw up, you would forget them long enough for them to leave. The hospital. The forefront of your mind. Your life.
Cutting them out like a weed in your garden.
However, your feet halted you once more. This time, you weren’t just stuck in place, you were turning back around to cross paths with central 14. With your feet moving disorderly with your brain, you hadn’t made up your purpose for having to confront the situation. You knew you had to decide once daring to step into the room.
It didn’t run as smoothly as you recklessly planned once confronted with Mrs. McGuire coming out of the room and running into you. Reacting rapidly to the intrusion, you stopped, stepping back a couple feet to provide space.
She firmed up in front of you, taking in your attire. Her eyes zeroed onto the badge clipped to the waistline of your black slacks. Hyper-aware of the conclusion she was reaching, you tried not to fuel the fire. You finally decided this wasn’t worth the fight.
“When can my daughter be discharged?” She questioned brusquely while crossing her arms.
Her stare was just as hardened as Malek’s was. A warning. You shouldn’t poke the bear and you shouldn’t have put yourself in this position again.
Clearing your throat, you shook your head. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I am not familiar with your daughter’s case. I can try to locate—“
“So, unless my daughter is a deranged lunatic, she won't be receiving immediate care here?”
Your mouth remained agape, words slipping from your mind completely. Your defenses had been at an all-time low. Every chance to defend yourself–where you would have shut down coolly and responded with the rapid professionalism Dr. Jefferson admired in you—-was just another trap to drag you through shrubbery and dirt.
This shift may just ruin you before you even make it to the end.
“With all due respect, the case was a little more complicated than that.” You mumbled in return, defeated over the same skipping record. It was painful having to remind yourself why you took an opposing stance. You could not cave in now.
Her sour scoff had you flinching slightly. “Actually, it isn’t.”
“You’re the reason that son-of-a-bitch is locked in some cushy mental hospital instead of prison.” She enunciated, one of her fingers wagging at you, like she was scolding a child. “The integrity of my daughter’s face was completely burned off by acid.”
“And all you see is some poor sick man? What about my daughters?” She begged, her voice trembling.
There were tears welling up in your tear ducts. You strained your jaw, containing the raw emotion. It had been reckoning brought by you. How dare you be sad now? Before you could open your mouth, respond with a weak excuse and weaker voice, you heard your name called from behind you.
“Is there a problem?” Robby questioned coming around you. He stood by your side, providing a shadow over your shorter stature.
You kept your eyes ahead, opting to let Mrs. McGuire paint the image. There was no repairing the damage to your reputation. It would have to linger and exist in the area, leaving everyone in the prerogative to make a narrative you had no control over.
She retracted herself, letting her arms fall to her sides in defeat. “I just want to take my daughter home.”
Knowing Robby, his eyes shifted towards you, hoping to read into the situation or possibly check in with you. The exhaustion had to feel as palpable as the bags under your eyes when you walked into the department. Avoiding his gaze shamelessly, he nodded to Mrs. McGuire. “I will go ahead and start the paperwork once I check in with behavioral health.”
Mrs. McGuire’s fury and desperation must have simmered as she dragged herself back in the room. Your body succumbed to the action of Robby, who was turning around and leading you gently away from the room. You sensed the presence of something lingering on your lower back, only hovering and not touching.
“You shouldn’t have been talking with her.” Robby warned, bringing his head closer to your ear. He remained even in his expression, just two colleagues conferring with each other closely. “That could’ve gone a lot worse.”
“I can control my emotions.” You muttered, flickering your eyes side to side. At this point, you were depending on Robby like a north star—allowing his burly body to hide and guide you elsewhere.
“That’s not what I was referring to.” He motioned softly, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not concerned over your objectivity more so her apprehension in a busy ER. You’ve dealt with enough for one shift.”
When you stopped by the elevators, the coldness of his hand coming away made you cower. It was as if the only form of physical protection from your mishaps was tearing itself away. You were a soldier stuck in a landmine without Robby. Sniffling slightly, you nodded in understanding. The meekest you have probably been taking something adjacent to a command.
“You should stay up there. I can handle whatever consultation comes in with Caleb.” Robby suggested politely.
He stared at you, taking in the daunting expression. You felt like a ghost, stumbling around the halls of the hospital, equally haunting anyone in your path. Everything you touch turning as sickly as you are. After a beat, you nodded cautiously. “This doesn’t make me incapable of doing my job.”
“I never said it did.” Robby assured quietly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
He reached over to press the up-arrow. With the glow of the button, he stood in wait with you. He was now sporting his black scrub top with a gray long-sleeve under top, stuffing his hands in the pocket. A silence settled. If this were any other person watching you slowly decompose, you would have escaped away and ran for the stairs.
Except this was the same person who you debated and reasoned about a plan of care for patients. Who, at times, made you feel alienated enough to push his buttons. You treated him with sarcasm and embittered his fizzling emotions, evoking responses unsuited for an attending physician who should have better governed his reactions.
He didn’t owe you kindness, and yet he was extending an olive branch for you to make peace with.
When the elevator dinged, he outstretched his arm, holding it open for you. Once settled inside, he reached in to press the numbered floor for you. Standing on the opposite side of the threshold, he smiled earnestly, lips curling upwards, crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Take care of yourself.”
Then the doors shut.
You weren’t sure that was a task you were capable of. If it were, you would have protected yourself from all the previous heartbreak. From your failed attempts at becoming a neurosurgeon, to coming to terms with your illness, to moving across the country with little emotional support. The lack of practice you had regulating your mind and body outside of working was making itself obvious and you hated the sensational need to be comforted.
When at the behavioral health floor, you walked around like a zombie straight from the ground. You beeline for the dictation room. At least you had enough charting to be done to keep you away from the public eye for the second half of your shift.
Situating yourself in the far corner of the room, you opened your laptop and went straight to the full inbox. Most of the messages you had been ignoring were requesting professional statements of Mr. Richman in a medical and observational sense. News outlets and publishing journals begging for statements to contradict one another.
You knew neither were worth participating for, with the current rising waters you were drowning.
The rest were administrative notices you’ve missed since you were gone. As you scrolled through the latest of your e-mails, you eyes landed on a new chain of a previous conversation that hadn’t existed before.
JEFFERSON, CALEB 6:46 AM (unread)
FW: INTERNAL REVIEW W/ ADMIN
Whenever you have the time, review the testimonies. Robby and I discussed scheduling a time to sit down to review timelines and order of events. With your unexpected absence, we were waiting until you came back to plan that out accordingly.
Do not fret over the logistics. This is customary when an incident occurs, especially with the arrest of a federal crime. The objective is to protect other staff from this type of violence. This shouldn’t affect you finishing your fellowship (not if I can help it), but you will be interviewed alone with the compliance and risk management panel.
They will reach out when they have the schedules available.
STILES, MORGAN 4 days ago
To: ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL, JEFFERSON, CALEB
42 attachment >>>> click to view all
Attached are the current translated transcripts for the upcoming internal review. (I happen to know the stenographer closely, so appreciate this favor.) Please be made aware you will be asked about all aspects of the decisions made while Mr. Richman was under the hospital's care.
Brace yourself for questions regarding the testimony of the victim and witnesses as well as those relating to the assault of hospital staff. Their testimonies were included.
Thank you,
Morgan Stiles, MHA, J.D., CPHRM
PTMC - COMPLIANCE HEALTH ATTORNEY
ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL 4 days ago
To: STILES, MORGAN, JEFFERSON, CALEB
Thank you, Morgan. Is there any legal repercussions either the ER or Psychiatry should expect up to this point?
STILES, MORGAN 3 days ago
To: ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL, JEFFERSON, CALEB
The internal review is an evaluation of the course of events to analyze flaws in the plan of care for the patient (and defendant, in this case), in which the hospital may improve on. A compliance-focus meeting handled through the course of a few days by interviewing the involved personnel. The hospital will not contradict the judge’s ruling. As of now, they seem agreeable to the reason for the ruling.
There are current discussions of the family suing the city for their failures during and after detainment, specifically in their failures to contain Mr. Richman while here. You will need to answer questions of the test, examination, and protocols applied regarding the incident.
The hospital has been receiving criticism publicly for treating Mr. Richman. I do advise you and your staff to refrain from making public acknowledgment of the ruling, the defendant, or the actions whether they occurred in this hospital or not. I do not believe any explanation needs to be given about the matter.
JEFFERSON, CALEB 3 days ago
To: STILES, MORGAN, ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL
All is appreciated, Morgan. We are mostly pleased Mr. Richman will be receiving the care he needs.
We will be awaiting further instruction from admin regarding the reviews.
Your fingers scrolled up towards the attachments Morgan included. Each labeled with the name of the witness and the date of testimony. The ‘McGuire’ name stood out on the document titles. Jenny had testified a few days after all the expert witnesses including you, Robby, Jefferson, and the court appointed psychiatrist to reevaluate Mr. Richman.
The cursor of your mouse hovered over the files warily. Reproachfully, you swallowed a lump down your throat. To have access to all the testimonies as if they were secrets made you shift.
All court records are public, you reasoned.
After a beat, you decided on starting with what mattered most to the hospital admin. You did not need an awful replay of your amateur display of defensive strategy.
Your mouse moved to the right of your testimony, clicking onto the file ‘ROBINAVITCH_M.’
3:00 PM
To say your eyes were sore was an understatement. Two hours behind a computer screen, reading and logging every small detail you could devour through words was bound to do that. You hadn’t bothered to get up and do much. Once for the restroom, once to grab water, and the rest of the time you spent it stationed in the corner.
Some of the younger residents and interns came in, charted for a few minutes before leaving again at the sound of another page. None of them made too much noise to distract you, just a shy greeting as they walked in and then busied themselves with their work.
You had lost track of time as you stared down at the last few pages of Robby’s first testimony. You would have assumed you would be much farther in your preparation for the internal reviews, but the line of question and responses had you glued to the particular file.
It wasn’t questions regarding Dr. Robby’s ability to lead a department let alone his credibility as an emergency physician. They were punitive judgments they disguised as questions for Robby from the prosecution. All judgments made about you and the testimony you had given a week prior. With that understanding, you couldn’t just look away while the judge and the rest of the court had to listen to the prosecution tear your credibility without your knowledge.
Robby hadn’t bothered to bring it up either. You rubbed your eyes lazily as a way to reboot its ingrained focus. Scrolling towards the next page, you started on the first line.
MR. FOWLER: In your professional opinion, did any course of action taken by the psychiatrist involved with Mr. Richman’s care raise concern of her judgment?
MR. HUDSON: Objection. Beyond the scope. Dr. Robinavitch is not a psychiatrist nor the chief of psychiatry.
MR. FOWLER: Your honor, the witness is an emergency physician. His professional judgment is still pertinent to the psychiatrist involved. She is a fellow, who is specializing to work alongside the department Dr. Robinavitch supervises.
THE COURT: Prosecution may proceed, but tread lightly, Mr. Fowler. Witness may answer.
THE WITNESS: No. She presented reasonable judgment when she requested nurses to remain as witnesses while evaluating Mr. Richman. She consulted with the arresting officers before entering the room–
MR. FOWLER: Whom she rejected the request to have inside the behavioral room the defendant was in, is that correct?
THE WITNESS: I am unaware if the officers made an offer to be present. Whatever executive decision made complied with the type of care provided to any patient who comes into that ER.
MR. FOWLER: But not every patient brought in is detained for a felony-level crime. Nor are they prone to having an outburst, which results in the assault of a healthcare worker, correct?
THE WITNESS: Violence against healthcare workers is an ongoing issue with no resolution. Staff in my department do constantly fear the next time a patient may punch, scratch, spit, or shove them. It happens more often than I would like.
MR. FOWLER: Please answer the question, Dr. Robinavitch.
THE WITNESS: [pause] No.
MR. FOWLER: So, did you agree with the approach taken with Mr. Richard, understanding the circumstances he came in? As you said, violence against healthcare workers is of utmost concern to you.
THE WITNESS: I do believe that what occurred in my department was unfortunate, but it wasn’t an error on the decisions made in the plan of care.
MR. FOWLER: [pause] Isn’t it true you and the psychiatrist involved have had previous conflicting opinions about patient care?
THE WITNESS: Yes.
MR. FOWLER: Enough so to question her judgment or her psychiatric opinion?
MR. HUDSON: Objection. Beyond the scope, again, your honor.
MR. FOWLER: Rephrase. Has it made you doubt whether the plan of care for patients, who have come to the ER needing a psychiatrist consultation, is in their benefit?
THE WITNESS: No. My conflicting opinion isn’t a question of her competence, as you allude to. It is to challenge her recommendations, as I would any resident or consulting physician. That’s how we all learn. It is how I ensure enough consideration has been put in all aspects of a case.
MR. FOWLER: So Mr. Richman, is what, negligence on her part? So much to ignore precautions in order to prevent the assault? What if it had been one of your doctors or nurses?
MR. HUDSON: Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence. Prosecution is arguing with the witness over lack of foundation.
THE WITNESS: Mr. Fowler, you are making a judgment from words on paper and images you do not have the comprehensive knowledge to understand. This delicate case was handled by someone who has more experience with patients of this caliber than you and even I have.
MR. FOWLER: Your honor—
THE WITNESS: Mr. Richman is an individual deemed to be in need of care from someone whose professional opinion I respect. If she sees it that way, so do I. What concurred from that was unpredictable, but in no way is it a representation of what she is incapable of doing. It should be a wake-up call about the issues in our healthcare system from those inside as well as outside the hospital.
THE COURT: Please contain yourself, Doctor. [pause] Mr. Fowler, you were warned to tread light. Either move along or rest your case.
Before you could scroll to the next page, something vibrated on the table beside you. With the screen of your phone pointed up, you simply turned to the side to view the incoming message.
DR. KYLE MALEK now
There are a couple consults down in the ER. Got tied up with Jefferson.
Dr. Robby couldn’t reach you.
When you opened the call phone, you noticed no notification except from Malek. Pausing, you stood from the chair, wandering to where you had left your backpack across the room. When you pulled your personal phone out from the side pocket, you found the missed messages from Robby.
ROBBY 15m ago
I didn’t want to bother you unless necessary, but Caleb got caught up in an emergency upstairs.
Have a couple of other pediatric psych consults. Nothing urgent or serious. Just some concerned parents.
You knew it must have been a last resort if he messaged you privately. From the verbiage, he was probably agonizing whether to finally pull you down to the depths of the ER after two hours of solitude. It was considerate, which was more than anything you had received now and days.
When you made your way down, you headed straight for the nursing station, starting the manhunt for Robby. Stopping by the station, you picked up a device. Glancing around, your eyes caught Dana stalking around the station, glasses propped on the lower bridge of her nose.
She smiled when she looked at you, moving towards you. “Well, thank goodness you’re here. I have patients in need of a psych consult and we need beds.”
Trying to muster as joyous a smile as she had, you chuckled nervously. “So I heard. Who’s first on the list?”
“Central 12 is a 13-year-old boy. Dr. Mohan is the primary, but he is all yours, honey.” She instructed with a small wink.
You nodded, listening to the information. When you lifted your gaze, you noted the illuminating patient board. Fractured wrist was the primary complaint. Your eyes went further down the list to Central 14. Still occupied by the same patient.
Taking in a deep breath, you composed yourself to head in the dreaded corner of the ER. You were hesitant, hoping another altercation of some sort wouldn’t occur. That your paths would not cross to forsaken you again. Keeping your head down you thought would be a worthy way of disguising your presence.
From McGuire's accusatory stare. From Robby’s genuine concern. You needed to stay concentrated on the patient you could help. You were no use if you couldn’t unscramble your brain enough to do that.
However, to curse your already terrible day, you caught the exact people you were hoping to avoid exiting central 14 together. Slowing down your pace, you watched with careful eyes as Robby stood facing Mrs. McGuire, one arm draped across her daughter's back, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They must have been discharging as Mrs. McGuire carried her purse with her and a packet in her hand.
Something told you there was no reason to linger. She had said her piece and there was no way to explain yourself to them. It wasn’t gallant to stumble over your words and teeter on the edge of breaking down when you came off vehement in court.
Except, despite that new look that you were sporting since then, Robby hadn’t changed from the time you met him. You had been focused too much on everything else to realize he extended that warmth towards you.
That’s when Robby’s voice cut through your indecision. His furrowed brows were trying to understand why you stood alone in the hall, device in hand. He instructed with his head to come closer, and when you woke yourself from the daydream, you approached cautiously. You tried not to zone in on the McGuire’s staring at you like a prey approaching a much smaller, weaker predator.
“Mrs. McGuire’s here wanted to speak with you.” He initiated, scratching the side of his beard. With one-step back, he let the attention be centered on the two of you, but he remained in the background. You could sense his presence like a bug on your shoulder.
Mrs. McGuire, with wet eyes, cleared her throat. She looked at her daughter before facing you with her chin held up. “I wanted to apologize early. What happened was uncalled for. You’re here to do a job.”
“Earnestly, I signed up to do this job regardless of what came with it.” You responded, hands gripping on tighter to the device.
If that hadn't been the case, you would've quit after Mr. Richman, and you wouldn't have willingly stood in front of her and Jenny--who was shrinking the pink hoodie and avoiding obvious attention on her.
She hummed, eyeing you carefully. Your body tensed, as if bracing for some blow yet to come. Your shoulder sat up higher as the silence fell. With your mouth agape, the words stopped as Mrs. McGuire sighed. “We won’t see eye to eye on the verdict made, but I am sorry he did that to you."
"In our grief of what occurred, I’ve forgotten that you also fell victim to his hands. I’ve been recently reminded of that.” Her eyes flicked to something behind you, and you knew she was staring appreciatively at Robby.
You put on a shaky smile, nodding in gratitude. The skin where the punch landed and his hands squeezed around your neck heated up. It was like his life marked you, but you did your best to hide the grimace. “Likewise. I am hoping for the best for you and your family moving forward.”
With a stiff nod, she glanced over at Robby, indicating a conclusion with actions only. You stepped aside, putting on a polite smile as Mrs. McGuire guided her daughter to where Robby was motioning. While he stepped behind them, he looked at you over his shoulder. The encouraging smile that was gently reminding you that it wasn’t ill will. There weren't huntsmen coming for you and your strong sense of identity in your work.
They were people who were confused and hurt, similar to how you were after the assault and with the reminder of the trial. He was still here telling you there was nothing wrong with you or the work, and you didn’t have to feel let down by the reaction alone. You sighed, before clearing your head once more to approach Central 12.
8:00 PM
“I don’t need to be safeguarded.” You sighed out, sitting across from Caleb in his office. You had managed to catch up with your charting at a decent time. If it hadn’t been for the emergency on the behavioral floor, you would’ve gone home an hour ago.
But you knew Caleb would need the help after sending home one of his residents.
“It’s not pity. He acted out of line for a fourth year resident and I won’t tolerate harassment in the workplace.” Caleb spoke definitely, staring at you from above the rims of his glasses. He was typing away on his computer. You didn’t want to know if it pertained to the discussion at hand.
You groaned lightly, uncrossing your legs while sitting up taller. “It's fine.”
“No, it isn’t.” Caleb emphasized, stopping his typing. He repositioned his wheelchair, before slipping off his glasses and letting them fall against his chest. “I wish you would stop pretending it is. It’s okay to be mad or upset over what he said. It was uncalled and unprofessional.”
“And he’s a fourth year resident with one foot out the door! It’s not personal, whatsoever.” You joked, chuckling tiredly as you stood up. Grabbing your backpack from the floor, you slung it on your shoulders. “His residency is almost over along with my fellowship. After that, neither of us will have to worry about the other ever again.”
Caleb sat pensively, hands folded in his lap. From the small scrunch of his face, you knew another question was brewing. He pushed his thumbs together. “And what do you plan to do after your fellowship?”
You scoffed with a tight grin on your face. “After the shit-show today? I don’t think you or Robby need me as a liability, let alone this hospital. I’ve brought on enough issues.”
“Is this about what Malek said? Or the McGuire’s?” Caleb questioned his voice softer as he probed. The same technique you used on Jenny that morning. It was a sad reminder of failures you should have been able to control on your own.
“And if it was?”
“I’d tell you not to fixate on these lapses alone.” He suggested firmly. “They are in no way an accurate representation of the type of character and work I’ve seen.”
You glanced away, the attention too centered on you for your liking. It wasn’t bad attention (compared to the scrutiny from earlier) but it was attention that focused on the part of you that didn’t belong in work. The insecurity you had walking PTMC that you had managed to keep wrapped under the fold of your personality. Cold and calculated while protecting the intimacy of your thoughts.
Or at least, what was once protected.
“I should probably head home. I have a night shift coming up soon.” You excused yourself by making your way to the door.
It was a somber conclusion, like you might never see him again. Your depleted energy had no effort to give to anything else--especially regarding your emotion convocation.
“You are good at what you do. Inside and outside of here.” Caleb announced, like it was a doorknob concern you joked patients always had. One last anchor thrown into the sea like a redeeming feature. The difference between walking out of the office with nothing and walking out with salvation from ailment.
Your hand grasped the doorknob, not turning back. You silently nodded, gesturing to him that you were listening. From the small twitch of your lips, you knew better than to turn around and worry him with your fractured emotional boundaries. Instead, you wished him a quiet ‘good night’ before closing the door behind you.
Your brain was running on autopilot and before you could process your decisions, you had taken the elevator down to the Pitt instead of the main floor to head to the parking garage.
When the elevator doors open to reveal the chaos of the night-shift settling in, you cursed under your breath. You had been too exhausted, bone-dry for too long, that you were questioning if it was a good idea to drive.
Thankfully, it was enough to obscure you from any lingering day shift. You merged around like high-traffic, curving around nurses and other ED staff. Whenever you catch wind of a night-shift doctor, you lower your head further.
Your eyes landed on Shen, who waved at you lazily while holding a Dunkin’ iced coffee. That’s when you scurried out towards the ambulance bay. As wide automatic doors slid open, the breeze hit your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered from the heaviness of the wind kissing your face.
The red lights from the ambulance glowed sitting stationary on the driveway. You proceeded carefully; making sure a couple of paramedics weren’t going to jump out the vehicle with some trauma patient. Looking around like a kid lost, you turned your head to the right.
Kneeling down, craning his head to the side, Robby was fiddling with something on a motorcycle. Despite the body of the two-wheeled vehicle, Robby taunt muscles still seemed wide in comparison to his ride.
“Do you wear a helmet with that thing?” You asked aloud, stopping away from the emergency entrance.
Robby looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. You flashed him a playful smile, tired albeit, hardly capable of synchronizing with your eyes. He still chuckled hoarsely. “Yes. I am an emergency physician. I know better.”
Tossed aside, you could see the durable backpack. Clipped to the handle at the top was the helmet in question. You hummed, nodding lazily. “So what? Your ride broke down on you?”
“Yeah. Perfect way to end a 12-hour shift.” He huffed out. “First time I test drive this thing and it fails on me.”
He cursed under his breath at the same time something clattered on the ground. You inched forward, standing beside the wall of the hospital, you could see the ratchet on the ground glinting against the light.
Scrunching your nose, you sat yourself slowly on the small ledge wide enough to sit. “This is your first time taking it out for a spin?”
Robby had grabbed the ratchet again, twisting it against something in the body. With a heavy sigh, he let go, letting his elbow rest against his one lifted knee. “Longer distance than from my house to my local grocery store. Figured it was about time to see how it ran before commuting over hundreds of miles with it.”
“You’re still adamant on that spiritual journey of yours?”
When Robby turned to look at you, he hesitated on his response. He put on a charming smile, even when his body would heave with every breath out, as if the weight of the shift was dragging him. “It’s the only thing close to a vacation I have to look forward to.”
Scoffing unconvinced, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Most people go somewhere tropical or at least choose not to bet against the odds.
“What odds?” He questioned the back of his exposed to you as he continued tightening something. His hands reached up toward the ignitions, twisting the key, the motor came to life. The low grumbled emitted loudly from where you stood. Robby smiled appreciatively at the sound, before shutting the ignition.
“The odds that the only thing guaranteed for us on this Earth won’t come get them first.” You crossed your legs, leaning forward slightly as your voice lowered. You knew the wind would carry the vibration of your voice, and Robby’s body gave him away as he squared his shoulders. “You should know the statistics of motorcycle accidents by now, Robby.”
“I’m a safe driver.” Robby assured, groaning as he pulled the ratchet off. He secured whatever area he tinkered with, standing up slowly. He reached down for his backpack, resting it over the seat of the motorcycle. “I wear my helmet. I don’t speed.”
“That’s not the point.” You mumbled. After putting the ratchet away, he slung the backpack on one shoulder, holding it up naturally. He turned his body in your direction, staring at you absentmindedly.
Sighing, you rolled your neck. It wasn’t the type of night to be picking a fight, not that you had the energy; but you’d shelf the conversation for another day when your mind wasn’t exhausted. Robby tapped one foot on the ground, watching your body slump back into the wall. “How did the rest of your shift go?”
With eyes closed, head pressed against the brick of the building, you snickered. “Fantastic. I’m excited to come back and do it all over again.”
When you opened an eye to gauge his reaction, he shook his head trying not to appear amused by your sarcasm. From the way he slouched, you assumed he felt the same after today. Playing mediator while running a department was not for the weak. You had proven you weren’t up for half the responsibilities he currently had.
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t much help today.” You apologized, while wiping your hands on the side of your pants. “I know I brought on more problems for you.”
Robby stood silently, the small crease in his forehead giving him away. He softly negated the statement with his head, “You couldn’t have predicted how today would go. I’m sorry this is how we welcome you back after being gone for a week.”
Your hands ran down your face, laughing out tired and still in denial of the entire day. Even if you had a magic eight ball that could warn you of the choices you made up to this point, you would’ve made them all over again. “I wouldn’t have expected it to go any other way.”
Cocking his head to the side, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack while the other he stuffed into his jacket pocket. “Are you starting to see the appeal of this place?”
When you pulled your hands away, you stared at Robby with furrowed brows. Over dinner, Robby had inquired of your plans. He knew you were planning to stay in a clinical setting, considering the fellowship you chose, but you made no affirmative decision of where you wanted to work.
You made it clear California was no longer an option, despite the fact you did your residency there. You could go back to Boston, where you went for undergrad or settle back in your hometown trying to remember old stopping grounds. Whenever you thought of the projection of a life like that, it didn’t align with what you had envisioned before.
Pittsburgh happens to have the best emergency-psychiatry fellowship. Even though you have spent less than a year establishing yourself, it felt more like a sanctuary than all the places you’ve been.
“I think I’ve dug myself a hole too deep to climb out of.”
Robby resonated with the statement. He examined you carefully. You were certain you looked exhausted. The bags under your eyes weighed heavier as you delayed your trip home.
Before Robby could follow up with some smooth distraction or deflect from your current disappointments, you sat up taller. “What did you tell Mrs. McGuire?”
He paused, inhaling a sharp breath. Glancing around warily, he considered his words. You chewed the inside of your mouth, bouncing the one foot on the ground rhythmically. The night was filled with dying anticipation, which sat much thicker than smog.
“You must have told her something. She was cursing my existence in the morning.” You tried to lighten the mood, but the joke didn’t land the punch.
There was a timidity in Robby as he stared down at his feet. He wasn’t the assertive chief of a bustling ER department outside under the glowing lights of the ambulance. He was irresolute because you were sitting in front of him about something. You feared he thought this was some ploy to dig venomous fangs in him.
“She asked me what I thought about your position during the trial.” He clarified, lifting his one free hand to rub the back of his head.
“And what did you tell her?” You questioned with a meek voice. The shaky breath released a clear indicator of the lump forming in your throat.
He let his head hang, the disheveled top of his head now clearly visible. “I explained that as someone who has worked with you for the few months I have, I don’t need to question your judgment.”
When he peered at you through his eyelashes, he saw you unravel your legs. Both hands grabbed the edge of the wall you sat on. You lean forward, eyes darting across his face. “Mr. Richman’s state of mind is complicated, and if anyone was more than capable of making a clear evaluation of his needs and rationale, it would be you.”
Instead of giving in to the misty sensation of your eyes, you composed yourself, glancing at a rock on the ground. “How did she take that?”
“The wound is still fresh and she may still hate him for what he did, but I think she came to terms we are all flawed individuals.” Robby’s words were melodic. It was like reading off a fortune cookie. A well-rested you might’ve made that joke out loud, instead you caved into yourself as Robby readjusted his backpack. “It won’t necessarily make sense now, but maybe in the future, when the tensions have settled.”
It was ironic, if anything. After what Malek said, it made it clear that Robby’s incessant indifference came from what he interpreted as defiance. The perfectly educated persona you put on while in the hospital to make patients trust your easier was all he saw.
He had found a weak spot, though. Even through the immaculate professionalism, he realized there were attributes within yourself you let weigh you down. It somehow didn’t confine you to the ‘FRAGILE’ box. It made him more attentive and invested in watching you succeed.
“I saw Morgan’s email this morning.” You mentioned casually, standing up tall. You inched one-step closer. “I read over the transcript.”
He simply nodded, making no indication he noticed the hints you were dropping. I know what you said about me. I know how you truly see me. “I read over the transcripts of your testimony. Most of the prosecution's questions, at least.”
With the truth out in the open, Robby straightened himself, curtly nodding. He awkwardly chuckled, finally understanding the subliminal message you were sending him with your wide, eye gaze. With his silence, he was inviting you to criticize him, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted honesty.
The part you read was familiar to the Robby you faced while in the ED. Unrestrained when pushed. Brutal honest if necessary. Except, he wasn't fervent. He didn’t tell you he pushed you while fully convinced of your training and competence to treat patients. That he never questioned whether a patient was safe under your care. He trusted you to enact respectably, and he let the court know that too.
“You shouldn’t have stuck out your neck for me.” You scolded gently, sighing in defeat.
“I didn’t do it just for you.” Robby countered, as if attempting heroism while too overworked and beat by the day would convince you both of the noble effort. He meant it though. The way the corner of his eye crinkled while his cheeks flushed a color too crimson for the spring air.
“And the stuff with Mrs. McGuire? Malek?” The questions came out like digging with desperation. You had to find something more, because you couldn’t accept the charity from a man whom you tortured for his respect.
It was as unethical as lying on the stand, swearing an oath to attest to the truth of the facts and events. You knew Robby wouldn't have lied about that. He was aware of the risk to himself and the hospital if he tried to spin what occurred, because he had thought about being in the room with you.
And if you had known what you did now, you might've initiated that conversation.
“Dr. Malek was out of line and frankly, I’ve never liked him.” Robby laughed dryly, his shoulder shrugging. You rolled your eyes at him, head cocked to the side. He scratched the side of his beard, eyes fluttering lightly. “And I was simply having a conversation with Mrs. McGuire.”
Simple. Nothing about that was simple, you thought. When you finally reached a point to be professional partners, it was like the universe was reminding you that ‘partnership’ wasn't in your vocabulary. Trusting so blindly to let yourself guide by the reasoning of another man. You hadn't given Robby an inkling of that impression. He must have known that from the times he stared at you once something else blew up in your face.
He considered turning his back and looking the other way, but some line and hook sunk him into the cold waters of your pond. It was temperatures he was learning to survive in, and you were adjusting to sharing the vast, sparse space with something other than your thoughts.
You turned to the hospital walls, scaling the sides with your eyes. He classified you the most competent person to do the work. Even when you doubted it, and even after admitting psychiatry was never your first choice. Despite that, your judgment was the one he relied on without your realizing it. “You’re making it harder to settle on where I want to go once I’m done with this fellowship.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, noticing the grin. His eyes sparkled, playfully wounded by the words. “Would it be so bad if you stayed?”
“After today, it might be.” You tried not to mellow the energy. Maybe he took it as a joke, but you knew he was reading in between lines to understand your shrewdness.
“I disagree.” Robby responded automatically. It was instinct. After spending most of his shift listening to the strong superficial beliefs of your character and intention, he must have been too used to speaking nicely about you.
Clearing your throat, you started slowly making your way closer, wrapping up the evening to just rot in the same bed you had been forsaken to a week prior. Reaching towards the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out your keys. “We shall see what the hospital review brings. Maybe then I’ll change my mind.”
“It won't be as bad as the trial, that’s for sure.” Robby assured you. With the red lights still flashing, his freckled skin stood out more with each crease and wrinkle accompanying every time he stretched his lips into a smile.
“Like I said, we shall see.”
You flashed him a tight smile, the fabric of your cardigan brushing against the thicker, canvas material of his dusty, brown jacket. Before you could disappear into the darkness of the side of the hospital, you spun back around.
Robby was already looking at you.
With your hands clasping onto your keys, you tried focusing on the smell of the metal and the cold material stabbing into your skin. “If it doesn't pan out, I still appreciate all of it. Just thought you should know.”
You didn’t clarify what ‘all of it’ was. In eight months, Robby made an everlasting mark. Whoever was supposed to follow him wouldn't get to taste the bitter sweetness of your inner soul. Robby fought for that satisfaction, and you didn't think anyone except him could attempt to do so again.
He stifled a boyish grin on his face. “I hope it isn't the last of it.”
Hooooly shit, okay literally so much happened in a chapter you've decided to call a blurb/filler 😆 I feel like it's a pattern with the story that I read it in one go the moment I get a notification, and then I just need to sit with it for a couple of hours (or in this case, a day) to fully comprehend and articulate what I was feeling and thinking while reading the chapter, lol.
That said—these two falling into a new rhythm is lowkey very surprising, but also not at the same time...? I don't know how to put it exactly, but them finding this cordial middle ground between vulnerability and guardedness makes sense for who they are, while the reader being confronted with her trauma and the fear attached to it makes just as much sense. I'm so glad they didn't immediately find a natural pace with each other. It felt much more like: "This happened. Not acknowledging it would be an insult to both of us. I'm going to start by giving you more grace, because I see this for what it is"—which feels so much more true to two characters who consistently butt heads on principle.
And the way the case keeps taking different shapes, almost as if to re-traumatise the reader. I can see now why it plays such a pivotal role in her fellowship. Because it isn't just a question of morality or the publicity of it all—though it is that too, to an extent. So much more is feeding into this. It genuinely feels like the whole thing is designed to be a trial by fire for her. Not in an endurance sense, but more in the sense of: she needs to confront her insecurities and doubts before she takes that next step into becoming an attending. A final shedding of skin.
I'm so deeply fascinated by the questions you pose here. Of how the reader is shaped, and by how she and Michael feed off of what they each give and are willing to receive in return.
Honestly, I can't WAIT to see what the end of the fellowship looks like for her!
i KNEW i was being ambitious calling this a blurb, but in my head, it is lol
i really felt this was developmental though in their relationship and in reader’s new becoming of something other than a ‘subordinate’ as a fellow/resident. i wanted the POV to be as meaningful as i have done with robby’s in the other parts.
there are some ideas i am coming up with for the next part for their relationship and her fellowship…we shall see what becomes of both
୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ michael robinavitch x psych fellow!reader
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ you and michael had an agreement: you both would treat patients cordially, and nothing more. that didn't stop the lingering glares and quip remarks from either of you. you both assumed you had dr. jefferson fooled. you both were mistaken when he separately invited you both to dinner with the other sitting in his place.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, no use of y/n, mental illness, references to self-worth struggles, emotional repression, mentions of assault, mentions of chronic illness and disability, professional misconduct & workplace conflict, trauma (physical & psychological), healthcare burnout, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, forced proximity, workplace rivals, accidental date unresolved sexual/romantic tension, miscommunication, robby being and ass
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ i'm so glad to finally be posting this!! this is the second part to 'the slippage in the system' !! i was excited to work on an enemies-to-lovers but with a lot of tension...hopefully this lives to yall standards.
i strongly recommend reading the first part if you haven't yet <3 also still trying to figure out a theme, so bare with me lol
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 15.7 k
prev: the slippage in the system >> next: two against three
The elevator dinged, a totem toll of dread Robby had personified. He wasn’t typically caught in the upper levels of the hospital, not unless he had some sort of meeting with Gloria or another admin. With his position, all he knew was the chaos of the basement floor. He resigned himself to that environment since.
Outside the Pitt, Robby was out-of-place internally. It was somehow colder and bleaker as he was walking down the hallway to the Behavioral Health unit. The thumping of his feet echoed louder on the ground, even as staff passed him.
The chaos didn’t end as patients transitioned further up the hospital.
If anything, worse came up to the behavioral unit at times. He had to admit he was glad he didn’t settle on psychiatry after the nightmare of his first ER rotation during clinicals. He does applaud their efforts, considering the type of work Jefferson has done in the time he’s known him. However, on some occasions, he wondered if they weren’t as unhinged as their patients.
He knew you had him questioning that judgment.
Since the incident with the detainee and at the bar before Christmas, you both had made well on each other's vow. He didn’t act like you two were anything but coworkers. You didn’t psychoanalyze him. So far, you two have managed to make it work.
You swoop into the Pitt like a hawk staking prey and when you finished speaking with a patient, you’d flap away with wide wings. He rarely spoke to you now because of it. You handled the cases with whatever doctor was assigned and if it warranted his attention, you’d find him. All talk was about patients, and anything else was just for the act.
Occasionally, you’d be roped into conversations that Robby happened to be a part of. Since everyone witnessed you sucker punched by a man completely out of his mind, everyone had greater considerations for you. They didn’t exactly pity you or act overtly nice to alert your sirens, but they made more efforts than before. A simple question of your day or cracking more jokes in your presence.
Things were definitely different from what Robby noticed.
Although you only still felt comfortable around Shen, you were more relaxed than you had been before. He thought the holiday spirit made you soft. After more consideration and observation of your nature, he was sure you were just an anomaly.
You smiled wider, sat around to listen to Javadi’s nervous rambling or Santos’ defenses over certain patients. There was a new calm overcoming you after the New Year began, and Robby thought he was paranoid.
When the double doors to the behavioral unit clicked open from his badge, he made his way around the nursing station like he was familiar with the area. It wasn’t the Pitt, but it was set up like most of the units in the hospital. Wide counters, curved edges, and bright lights.
He glanced through the rooms of patients, similar to that of the behavioral room in the Pitt. Wide glass windows and sparse space. The patients inside were mostly sedated, sitting or sleeping on the gurneys, but he couldn’t imagine what they were going through psychologically. It was strange how humans could hide their true intentions and instincts.
Robby opened the wooden door, revealing an open working station for the staff. Some of the night residents were sitting, dictating notes. He saw the tired expressions, practically drooling over the keyboards. Chuckling to himself, he welcomed himself to the direction of Dr. Jefferson’s office.
He halted his steps when he heard the conversation happening inside.
“I know you’re not happy about this, but there was bound to be a trial.” Caleb’s voice rang, loud enough for everyone else to hear from the crack of the door.
A displeased scoff followed, “Doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for their punitive hunger.”
With Robby’s hands stuffed in his pockets, he listened intently. From around the corner, the voices came louder. He heard one of the residents tsked, motioning disapproval of the conversation. “I don’t get why he pushes it so much. Maybe putting her in contempt would teach her something.”
Robby furrowed his brows at the comment. This was the current ongoing issue. No one was pleased when the hospital legal team had sent out professional correspondents summoned for the trial of Mr. Richman v the People. It was bound to come, but no one puts ‘testifying at a trial’ on his or her New Year’s resolution.
However, it was the exact reason Robby had come to work earlier than his staff. The hospital's legal team needed you two to be on the same page of the assault—to agree it had occurred.
“Do you speak that way with Dr. Jefferson present?” Robby’s voice boomed a bit from the suddenness. The resident who spoke, some young, blonde muscular man–who could pass as an ortho jock–turned with raised brows. Robby stared down at him, a sarcastic smile on his face, “If I were your attending, I would have HR remind you of appropriate conversation in the workplace about colleagues.”
“It’s a good thing you aren’t then.”
When Robby turned his head, he saw you standing with an annoyed look on his face. Except, for once it wasn’t meant for him, instead for the blonde resident now leaning back in his chair with a smug look. You shook your head, “He’d never survive a day working for you.”
“I’m made with thick enough skin for the ER.” The resident pointed out, a smirk on his face. Robby stood back with his arms folded, staring skeptically between the two of you. From what he could see on his badge, Dr. Malek was sickly photogenic. Full, bright set of teeth visible on the badge.
“So, you’re helping mentally ill people out of the kindness of your heart? Cute.” You simply stated a tight lip smile on your face. Dr. Malek scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Robby,” Dr. Malek stood from his chair, grabbing his energy drink in one hand. Robby shook his bowed head, scratching the back of his neck. “I know better than to disrespect women. I was raised right.”
Dr. Malek spared you a look, which you ignored, shooing him. Robby finally looked at your attire. You were wearing a long black dress, pleated at the skirt. It covered most of your legs, but left enough space to show off the shine on your heels. Despite the brown blazer covering your arms, the V-neck of your dress showed modest skin, enough so to bring some attention to the dainty necklace you wore around your neck.
“Michael,” Dr. Jefferson announced with amusement, calling for his attention with the sharp pronunciation of his name. He must have caught Robby examining your different business wear by the raised eyebrows and quirk of his lips. “How may we help you so early in the morning?”
Robby instinctively stared down at his watch; it was barely 6:30 am. He stretched his neck, offering a close-mouthed smile. “I am here to talk about the prosecution’s case against Mr. Richman.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” You quickly remarked, crossing your arms, which did nothing to stop the fact he couldn’t stop acknowledging the fact you were dressed differently than usual. “Actually, I think the prosecution might get the wrong idea if they caught us talking about the case.”
Robby cocked his head to the side, keeping his expressions minimal. Civil. “Well, the hospital’s legal team seems to think otherwise.”
You frowned, shoulders shrugging. “I already spoke with them.”
Robby silently reminded himself to not lose his patience. With an audience of your peers in the dictation room, they’d be able to sense the tension if he spoke too curtly or sharp. Especially so with Dr. Jefferson.
You must have kept your word that night at the bar because Caleb no longer herded him in your direction. When you weren’t around, it was easier for Robby to fake pleasantries. He’d ask how you were holding up after the assault, listen to whatever Caleb had to respond, and the two could continue with business.
It was a bit trickier when you were around while in Caleb’s presence. The two of you knew he watched with a keen eye, not that he had any reason to suspect anything, but it wouldn’t be misplaced skeptics. You give him enough of your attention to appear interested, but when Robby looked back in your eyes displaying a taut smile, there was nothing on the surface.
Robby was uneasy by how detached you were to him. Enough so when you spoke, it felt more like monologues than conversations. He agreed to those terms, but it only provoked him more.
“They felt you didn’t actually listen to what they said.” Robby folded his arms, leaning forward from the hip. He hadn’t even started his shift and the balls of his feet were already sore. “They just want to make sure we are both on the same page over his medical care here.”
“That he isn’t suffering through severe psychosis, including audible and visual hallucinations, which removed his ability to rationalize his actions?” You rhetorically asked, lifting a finger for each comorbidity Mr. Richman had. He saw the small tick in your jaw, inching to laugh over an argument you felt was pathetic and ridiculous.
Robby sighed, pulling his shoulders back. “I agree that Mr. Richman was not okay to the extent beyond his external injuries.”
He paced his words carefully. Robby wasn’t known to be a mediator. Years training under Adamson and becoming an ER attending taught him what he knew, but occasionally it blew up in his face. Adamson always warned him he was so short-tempered, bordering passionate with certain causes.
‘Being human isn’t bad, it’s how your reaction affects everyone else that needs to worry you’ Adamson once told him after Robby let his frustration fluster a second year resident during a code.
“But Morgan is afraid they’ll paint you out as a cynic on the stand.” Robby explained, staring at you pointedly.
Regardless of how he worded it, he would bet it would still earn him an eye roll and a scoff with disturbed annoyance. Robby's eyes landed on Caleb, who was gripping onto the wheels of his chair. He chuckled, tutting his chin upward, “Why don’t we let you speak privately? I have rounds to do with the residents anyways.”
You glanced at Caleb who gave you a firm assurance. The other two residents sitting off in the corner pretending not to listen stood up promptly. One of them, gingered curls on his head, aimed straight for the door, opening it to let Caleb through. The smaller, blonde residents with doll-like features offered a small departure wave before stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. Both of them trailed closely behind their attending, ear red and hot.
When the door closed, you stalked off, heels clicking against the freshly polished floors. Robby stood silently in the room, unsure how to proceed. He couldn't exactly ask you if you were nervous about confronting Mr. Richman, because that would be too personal.
He heard the clinking of the coffeepot, watching your arms move. The splash of the liquid hitting a paper cup confirmed his suspicion. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when you glanced over your shoulder. “They’re afraid I’ll be too politically expository for the hospital liking?”
Robby raised his eyebrows in amusement. In so few words, that suspicion was correct. He wouldn’t tell you exactly how they interpreted your defensive emails, even quoting one of the jabs you sent in response. He had to refrain from laughing in Morgan’s displeased face.
“From my understanding, their concern is protecting your reputation and ability to continue your fellowship.” Robby responded stoically, shoulders squared and lips pursed.
Your furrowed brows caught him off guard. The cup you were bringing up to your lips stopped midair. “Did the prosecution insinuate they’d be gunning for my license?”
Robby didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to note the small gulp or strain in your voice. He adjusted his stance, staring pensively. Sure, he had made it obvious that you were a standoffish person. Sarcastically witty and defensive in nature, but he’d never testify you were a bad physician—enough so to prevent you from practicing.
“It’s a criminal trial that resulted in irreversible facial tissue, nerve, and vision damage on a 26 year old woman.” Robby recalled. He obsessively read over the case reports of the woman who transferred to Presby. He was silently grateful worse hadn’t occurred while you were evaluating Mr. Richman. “The assumption is they will exhaust every option to make their case.”
While drinking your coffee, you visibly relaxed. That didn't stop you from raising your eyebrow as a challenge. “Even if that means incarcerating a man who is the textbook definition of an insanity case?”
He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he did agree persecuting him for the sake of making a career felt ethically wrong. The media publicized Pittsburgh’s district attorney as a gunner, looking for any chance to make a name for himself. Robby raised his hands, wiping himself clean of the arguments. “Look, I’m not here to argue over the law. They sent me as their messenger. I’ve accomplished all they asked me to do.”
You nodded slowly, the corner of your lip twitching. Respect or maybe amusement for his reluctance to argue with you. Not because he’d lose, but because that required caring of your opinion. Staring down at your cup, you swirled the liquid around. “When do you testify?”
“Next week.”
Robby watched as you grabbed a bag from a nearby office chair. Tossing it over your shoulder, you approached his direction. You spared him an up and down look. When brushing past his shoulder, a small snicker came from your throat. He couldn't help but look back as you headed straight for the door, not bothering to look back.
“Good luck.”
Anyone reasonable would take any excuse not to come in for one more grueling shift at the Pitt. God knows none of them get enough consistent days off. But, when you spend it at the courthouse, stuck in a stuffy suit and tie, trying not to lose patience over the redundant questions of lawyers and judges–Robby would pick the Pitt every time.
He had testified in plenty of medical lawsuits, responding to his own depositions, grilled over procedures and processes in the hospital. Robby tasted the hunger of vultures wearing four-figure suits as they hungrily clawed for gaps in the tapestry to shred. It was no different in the courtroom. The prosecution was stubbornly pushing for incarceration, and the pro-bono defense attorney was not letting them manipulate him into relenting.
Robby sat on the witness stand like a child witnessing a messy divorce. The legal jargon they threw out every time he testified became a game on who objected the most during his examinations. He wondered if the stenographer ever had the urge to stand tall and tell them to slow down or shut up for a change.
He wouldn’t have minded the whole shakedown if they stuck with questions based on his medical expertise or professional relationship with the defendant. The last thing he expected was for it to become an interrogation of your character.
Your testimony was a mystery to Robby. He didn’t know whether you headed the warning of the hospital’s legal department after all, but based on the questions he was asked from the prosecution, something made them doubt your credibility.
How would you describe her work ethic? Has she ever made questionable judgments on patient care? Do you trust her course of action while treating Mr. Richman?
If the case were tried with a jury panel, Robby was sure the line of questioning would have them questioning who was really on the stand. He knew his reluctance was clear to the prosecution from his stoic expression. They both wished they were not in this position together in very few words.
He was acutely aware the stenographer documented every single word for evidence. Not that he’d have anything improper to say in regards to the case, but he did think a lot harder before answering some of the questions.
Robby breathed in the antiseptic air of the Pitt, allowing himself to assimilate in his natural habitat. Jack asked him questions on how the trial was going, but everyone else acted according to their role. The heaviness of his formal responsibility slowly drifted as he could put the thought of expert testimonies away. He walked around the ER with newfound determination to get back to work.
He belonged in the disruptive nature of the ED, not playing political chess at the courthouse.
Except, he didn’t truly escape the split banter. In his world, he was finding ways to live in peace with you. He hadn’t spoken to you since your appearance at court. All Robby knew was you had survived the questioning (even summoned the next day). He overheard Caleb tell Mohan that you were working nights for the week, but when shift change came along, he barely saw you. He didn’t actively search for you per se, but he was slightly intrigued on how you fared with the lawyers.
Right as he walked by Central 7, he heard Dana call him over for an incoming patient. The snapping of gloves and the announcement of chief complaint and vitals followed as EMS brought in a middle-age Asian woman. A biking accident later, and she was suffering different fractures or breaks along both arms, a grade 1 concussion, and obvious fracture of the thighbone.
When brought into the trauma room, Whitaker and Mohan worked on examinations, checking her neurological abilities, mobility in the obvious fractures and breaks, as well as pain tolerance. Robby stood back, staring at her vital signs, watching nurses administer medication for the pain. Radiology moved quickly enough to capture images and despite Ms. Chen being in obvious discomfort with her arms, distraught from her unfortunate accident, she was still alive.
Calls were made, and in no time, the atmosphere in the department was chilled with anticipation that came with the most intimidating predators. Therefore, when the doors flew open, and Dr. Brendon Park glided his way inside the trauma room with a reputation that could not be replaced, everyone remained silent. While he never paid any mind to the students or residents, he did flick his chin upward to Robby, who earned his respect as a colleague just up to that measure.
“Present.” Park commanded as he stalked the patient, staring intensely at the obvious comorbidities.
Robby allowed Whitaker to take center stage. If he wanted a position in the next year’s residency program, he needed to command equal control. He tried to hide the tremor and wide-eye stare he gave the orthopedic surgeon, which did nothing to appease his stoic expression.
“Where are the images?” Was the follow up question, cutting off Whitaker’s anxious ramblings. Robby motioned to the X-ray captured. Dr. Park leaned over the machine, examining the femur followed by the displacements of the wrist and fracture involving the elbow.
“I should’ve known better.” Ms. Chen breathed out, her head thrown back as she held in the welling of tears. “I’m a physical therapist. I work with athletes. I’m so stupid.”
Mohan offered a sympathetic smile, “I understand your frustration, Ms. Chen.”
“Dr. Park here is our best orthopedic surgeon.” Robby followed up, posting himself beside Mohan. He stared down at Ms. Chen, too embarrassed to make any contact. “You’re in good hands with him.”
“Don’t get all sappy around me, Dr. Robinavitch.” Park spoke from the opposite side of the bed. He continued staring at her arms, gloved hands masking over her leg to map out a better understanding for a surgical approach. He leaned down; making what he could from the debris Whitaker was working on flushing out.
“Moving ahead with reduction and fixation.” Park announced, standing up tall with his back straight and shoulders squared. “I’ll book the OR.”
Park didn’t wait for anything, immediately heading for the same door he walked out of. Robby took one last look around the trauma room, noticing the relief that came from Dr. ‘Sharks’ departure. He nodded to Mohan who silently understood her assignment.
He walked out the trauma room, hands in his pockets as he glanced around the other end of the Pitt. As he turned his head to the right, he almost missed the peculiar sight of plum scrubs still lingering. Robby stopped in his steps, eyebrows furrowed as he stood and watched. When Park took a step to the side, burly arms crossed over his chest, he finally saw whom he was conversing.
You stood across from him, head cocked to the side as you looked as stoic as him. Could you be old friends? If you were previously involved in the surgical world, maybe your paths crossed, the way Shen’s had before. Robby hung beside a wall, attempting to mask his presence that stood out without much effort.
While watching your body language, the most he could make out was you were peeved. Park kept talking (which was the most he had seen him talk to anyone), but you kept staring around as if you would rather be anywhere else. The heavy deflate of your chest as well as the fiddling of your necklace told him as much.
Robby knew he was in a visible spot considering the area wasn’t as congested as it could get. And as if the world was screwing with him, you happen to glance to the elevator, visibly frenzied, spotting a nosy Robby already staring at you.
Silently cursing under his breath, he pretended the moment was a coincidence, frantically looking for some other place to look. If the universe decided to swallow him completely, he’d be beyond grateful; but instead, he was welcomed with the oncoming panic of you striding in his direction. His instinct just so happens to fail him this time, giving him no reasonable escape off the top of his head. He glanced through his eyelashes, Park tailed behind you, his voice quieter as you gained closer.
You paused in front of Robby, offering a polite smile. Robby provided it back (albeit it was stiff and confused), before looking back at Park brushing behind you. He nodded once at Robby before his eyes instinctively landed on you. “OR should be ready within the next hour.”
“Thanks, Shark.” Robby responded, following his figure to the elevator, held open by one of the RTs. Park pressed a button and the door slid closed.
You released a breath you were holding, hands crossing tightly around your chest. There was uneasiness that settled between you and Robby, not the typical pressure of your subtle distaste with each other’s presence. Robby stared down at you, avoiding his obvious looks, and he couldn’t ignore the discomfort in your stance.
“Did Park mention anything about the patient?” Robby asked his voice low as he tried to decipher what was going on with you.
“What patient?” You questioned, face scrunched, finally staring him in the eyes.
Robby motioned in the direction of the trauma room. Through the glass of the windows, you barely made out the patient who was sitting up on an incline. You shook your head, “I know nothing about her.”
Robby made an ah sound, attempting to hide his increase in confusion. If it wasn’t regarding a patient, what could you and him have talked about? Robby crossed his arms, craning his head lower, “I assumed you two were talking about Ms. Chen. She suffered multiple fractures, breaks on her tibia, and arms. As a physical therapist, she seems to be taking it pretty hard.”
“She’s in distress. I’m sure she is aware she will require some PT or OT coming out of here. Nothing that won’t resolve with time.” You simply said, shrugging your shoulders as if the situation were menial. He knew it was anything but from the way Mohan and Whitaker were both gazing at Ms. Chen with sympathy and compassion.
Robby stared at you, puzzled by the sudden distance in your voice. You continued looking at the scene inside the trauma room, but from your side profile, your vision was unfocused and distracted. He must have been staring more intensely than before because you noticed and shook yourself from the daze.
With a careful step back, you stiffly excused yourself at him. The distance reminded him of your opposition and he suddenly felt the tug to be pulled elsewhere. “If there isn’t anything you need from me, I’ll be heading upstairs. Page if you need me.”
Rubbing his hands together, he silently agreed, letting you leave with grace. Your back turned to him, and instead of walking with profound confidence and comfort in the Pitt, you walked with your head down. His eyes twitch watching your hands clam together, grasping onto each other. He was confused from the entire interaction.
Between watching Park speak purposefully with you to you running off to him for an escape was all strikingly odd. You and Park. Was there something beyond professional? Certainly, Park wouldn't advertise a relationship with another hospital employee so shamelessly. He never entertained the gossip train, but he knew better than to be caught speaking with anyone comfortably beyond one-word sentences and sharp, bitter analyzes.
Maybe Robby's dissection was based on his paranoia; obsessing over the strained relationship every time you crossed the forefront of his mind. Even if he opposed every curious instinct to make sense of all your nuances, he couldn’t let it go. With time, maybe the itch would go away.
Yet, that all failed almost three hours later.
Trauma after trauma wheeled in through the ambulance bay, and Robby wouldn’t have thought of you through any of it, until one particularly agitated man came in. He didn’t know what to expect with the patient, but he knew it was out of his league when he tried biting Princess.
Robby approached Dana at the nursing station who was speaking in hushed whispers with Perlah. Dana sensed the looming presence of Robby, especially when Perlah looked behind her, promptly stopping. Spinning around, she flashed him a tense smile. “How are you holding up, cap?”
Lightly groaning, he shook his head. His hands instinctively rubbed the back of his head and neck, hoping to alleviate the mass of stress settling in his muscles and pushing against nerves. “We have a problem down in South 16.”
“So, I’ve heard.” Dana mused, turning her back perfectly in front of Perlah to allow her to slip away. Nodding her head slowly, she took in Robby’s disheveled look. “What’s your plan? I don’t want any of my nurses losing a finger because of that man.”
“They won’t.” Robby chuckled dryly, reeling in his growing agitation of the issue.
“Why haven’t you moved him to the behavioral rooms?” Dana motioned to the currently empty rooms.
Robby’s hands fell to his hips, turning away from the sight of the rooms. “Because I don’t want to call unnecessary attention.”
Dana gawked at him, watching Robby walk away to the other side of the nursing station. She followed without missing a beat. “Hate to break it to you, but he already did it himself.”
Whilst craning her head to look at his face, she could see the jarring tenseness in his posture. Rigid and disciplined, but overwhelmed. Robby's chest was heaving as if something weighed on him as he attempted to inhale a sharp breath. “We need someone from psych to evaluate. I’m afraid he might be suffering from paranoia.”
“Perfect.” Dana announced, hands clapping together. She immediately searched around her view, speaking your name aloud. “She was around here. I’m sure she’d be happy to assist.”
“I’ll call Dr. Jefferson down.” Robby intervened before Dana could finish her thought. She stared at him with raised eyebrows, offended and confused. He barely spared her a look as he began dialing a number on the phone. “Make sure nurses are accompanied when in the room.”
Dana took the instruction silently, standing still as she listened to Robby speak through the line. She could make out the muffling sounds of someone responding on the other end. Pretending to depart, she slowly strolled behind him, rubbing her earring.
“She’s busy with another consult, and I’d really like to expedite Mr. Murphy's care to prevent an incident.” Robby tentatively spoke through the phone, watching the staff pass by in front of him.
Dana didn’t understand some of the decisions Robby made, and even if she didn’t question them vocally, he was aware of her hesitations. She didn’t try to fish out an explanation when she watched him wait for Dr. Jefferson, who met him at the nursing station no more than ten minutes later.
“Michael, you have a patient for me?” Jefferson mused, wheeling in tandem with Robby, who held a tablet in his hand.
“Thirty year old male who suffered a mild-concussion after running into oncoming traffic. Presents moderate neuro functions, but has persistent agitation and paranoia.” Robby listened, his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed the notes put in by McKay.
Jefferson hummed, following smoothly beside Robby. Before approaching the room, Jefferson pulled to the side, hand stretched out. Robby passed the device permitting Jefferson to read the information for his own accord. “How did testifying go the other day?”
Robby hummed, arms resting on his hips. He awkwardly shook his head, actively looking elsewhere. “As per usual. Too many suave jabs made between Harvard law jocks with ego-complexes.”
Jefferson peered at Robby through his eyelashes, the corner of his lips curling upward. He lets out a scoff, “Not something you’re entirely unfamiliar with, it seems.”
“Oh, come on, Caleb.” Robby snorted, arms crossing over his chest. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he softly grinned. “We both know this is some lousy attempt for the district attorney to build a campaign off of cleaning the streets overseeing the root of the issue.”
“You’re starting to sound like someone I know.”
Robby tensed his smile, upholding the facade he had built brick-by-brick. There was a method to the madness you compromised on. It wasn’t a hostile-free environment, but the two of you remained civil and respectful. He knew from the look of your eye when he was pushing it, and you never spoke more about what you saw in him.
He was acutely aware you were observing him methodically, as if he was a patient in the wild, but you kept it to lingering stares. The way you silently analyzed his every movement made goosebumps rise on his skin. Even if you both hardly spoke during a shift, he could sense when you were across the floor, watching him from a distance, especially when he was especially exhausted and irritated.
You saw past the mask of his low moments. Many would miss the small laps of his wrath and self-worthlessness blend in his professional life, but you somehow caught it all.
Robby shrugged, his head moving up and down along with Jefferson despite his mind wandering elsewhere. “Let me know what you make out of Mr. Murphy.”
When he walked away, he couldn’t ignore the deafening chill of doom he sensed. He was no fortuneteller, but he knew his actions had consequences. Especially those he made on behalf of others.
His job as an attending was to let his resident and med students learn through their own methods. Examine each case and turn over diagnosis until they landed on the correct piece. That didn’t go without his discretion at times, but they needed to learn what he already knew as well. Robby was used to inserting himself, guiding the process with his two bare hands to get the job done.
That didn’t work all the time; especially when he was navigating the decisions of someone who was a colleague, not a student.
Therefore, when Robby stood across from the nursing station watching Caleb speaking with Mr. Murphy nearly an hour later, spotting you staring confused from the sight, he panicked. It was a decision of his own making, but he thought that maybe the universe would grant him this one favor.
You were passing by the room, a device in your hand. You happen to look up to see Caleb through the glass of the door, speaking with the patient. The surprise caught you, stopping you in your tracks with a slight alarm.
As the current emergency-psychiatrist on-call, you were always notified when patients needed evaluations, regardless if you were predisposed. You certainly would’ve heard if Caleb was assisting to cover the workload. You worked hard and tirelessly to make sure that wasn’t the case. There was enough happening upstairs as it was, and you didn’t want to pull Caleb down because you couldn’t handle your one job.
You dragged your feet away, still dumbstruck. When you lifted your gaze, Robby was standing across the room, inadvertently watching you instead of Jefferson. With a calm demeanor, you bee-lined for him at the workstation. He leaned forward, bracing himself for the impact of the storm. You had a greater composure to your mask, and he almost resented you for it.
When you stopped beside him, you pretended to be reading off the chart, scrolling slowly. “What is Dr. Jefferson doing down here?”
Robby hummed, putting on a strained smile for McKay who was passing by. She glanced at you before disappearing elsewhere. “We needed a psych consult for an agitated patient.”
You raised your eyebrows, continuing to scroll through the device, clicking drop down tabs. “Strange. I didn’t see you or anyone put in a request.”
“I heard you were busy.” Robby smoothly explained. When he looked down at the movement of your hands, he noticed you stopping briefly in-between actions, stretching your fingers uncomfortable. “I called down Caleb to assist.”
You stared at him from the corner of your eye, skeptical of his explanation. Your fingers continued scrolling through the device, “Mr. Murphy came in with a concussion. Excelled neuro exam, but persistent agitation and hesitation with treatment continued.”
When Robby leaned over to read what you were looking at, you had already skimmed through all the recent notes and updates on the patient. Caleb had yet to submit his notes, but he knew you were aware of that. You finally looked up at him, adjusting the oval glasses on your face. “I fail to see what I couldn’t have assisted on.”
Robby scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. Somehow, his honorable efforts of avoiding a conflict landed him in a landmine of troubles. You stared straight at him, expecting an answer no doubt.
He fixed his posture, “It wasn’t a question of your capabilities. I was trying to prevent delay of treatment, which in turn could allow opportunity for him to lash out on my staff.”
You furrowed your brows at him, eyes shifting to look at both of his dark irises. Your head barely shook as you tried to deny what your ears were hearing. “Seriously? This is about Mr. Richman?”
The sharpness of your tone sounded like hissing as you lowered your voice. You leaned forward, head cocking to one side as your eyes narrowed into slits. “Is this all some ploy between you and Morgan to keep me out of ‘trouble’?”
“No, this is about actively fighting against a nationwide issue that will continue costing us staff if we let it continue to happen.” Robby punctuated his words with a matching condescending smile on his face. His hands were now curled around his hips, gripping onto the skin and muscle as a release of the current storm brewing in his head.
You scoffed, sounding amused from the irony only you found humor in. “So, you think I can’t handle an agitated patient?”
Robby pressed his lips, grumbling within himself. It was like arguing with a teenager over why they couldn’t do certain things all their friends were doing. Stubborn and relentless—it was going to cost him more than his sanity.
“I can’t have another incident in my ER that will result in more strain and insecurity in my staff and their job.” Robby hurriedly spilled, leaning forward on his feet, imposing his height over you. With your menial glare, the scene looked almost normal for anyone passing by. “I was trying to protect you along with everyone else who is my responsibility.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me, Dr. Robinavitch.” You spat back, positioning your body to face him entirely. If you took a couple of steps closer, your chests would be touching. “Or making calls about what patients I am capable of treating alone. Maybe I haven’t made myself abundantly clear.”
Robby’s chuckle was merciless and detached from any professional respect he held for you. His current shades that hide the detest he had for your attitude were being ripped off as his pupils dilated right in front of you. “Oh, I wouldn’t want you wasting your breath. I know you don’t like wasting your time.”
“Among other things.”
You spun around, looking down at Caleb with wide eyes. Taking a careful step back, you stood beside Robby who was sucking in breath. It was a comedic sight to see the two of you brushing shoulders and holding in the fright of being caught. Robby had less to fear from you, but even Caleb’s amused glances brought him unease.
Caleb swiped off his glasses, letting them rest against his chest held up by the strap. His hands folded gracefully on his lap along with the device. His careful examination of the two of you took place quietly, the bustling of the Pitt filling in the silence. “Am I interrupting something?”
Robby fleetingly attempted to quip up, refiguring his domineering command, one you carelessly stripped every time you pushed his buttons. Yet, you beat him to the punch. Repositioning the tablet, you smiled down at Caleb. “Robby was just informing me of Mr. Murphy. If you’re done with the evaluations I can proceed with follow up.”
Caleb raised a hand, waving it lazily. “All good. I am glad Robby called me. I found out some interesting information from him that I’d like to personally follow up on.”
“Well, I know you’re busy—“
Caleb announced your name, a soft smile on his face that interrupted and politely stopped your rambling. Robby stuffed his hands in his pocket, tucking his chin in as a foolish attempt to hide from you. He didn’t need to be ashamed of his decision if Caleb agreed on its benefit, but your subtle disappointment didn’t go unnoticed.
“Mr. Murphy exhibits signs of OCD that I’ve experienced with other patients.” He explained, returning to the posture of your attending. He was your friend a lot of the time, but he didn’t demean his responsibilities as your mentor for the sake of getting to know you better. “I know some resources that could be of use to him. Plus, we both have fondness for ‘80s rock.”
Disheartened, your shoulders sagged along with the escape of air. Robby glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and the tension in your jaw and temple were prominent. He had never seen you shrink up so much in front of Caleb. You, who had always stood firm and proud in your position in his department, were turning meek like one of his junior med students.
You stiffly agreed, readjusting your grip on the device. Robby would have missed it if he hadn’t turned to look at Caleb at that moment, but something clicked in his eyes. Robby saw the shiftiness in his gaze and the turning of gears in his mind. Caleb offered Robby a polite smile. “We have to head up for a meeting, but I will catch up with you later on Mr. Murphy.”
Robby stepped back, allowing a space between you and him. It allowed Caleb to proceed straight without much maneuvering. You stood still, staring at the ground. When Caleb wheeled past the both of you, Robby caught the small glimpse you took of him from your eyelashes.
You had hardened your expression, barely letting any once of your reaction to being dismissed through. Robby caught the flicker from before, but whatever he saw before, you had tucked away under lock and key. Watching your back as you began putting distance, he saw Caleb look up at your direction, muttering something with a concerned tone.
Cursing under his breath, Robby rubbed a hand down his face. Right when he thought he could ride things through without conflict, debates, or heated remarks, you’d topple over his plans of surviving whatever was left of your fellowship.
A lot was still a mystery on whether you’d seek a permanent position at PTMC in emergency psychiatry. Caleb could use the help, and he didn't seem to hate the idea whatsoever. But, Robby still counted the days. Truth was, he was already planning an escape, coinciding with the time in which you may or may not return as a permanent physician.
At least, if things become official, he may buy himself a little time of bliss before the incoming storm of your indefinite practice with him. Robby could pull his hair out at the idea. Just make it to the sabbatical, he reminded himself—it’s only a few months away anyways.
A couple of days had passed and your slight energy had gone amiss. Maybe Robby had jumped the gun, completely hay wiring your momentum and stability in the department. He had scrutinized your decisions and pushed for explanations, but he had never jumped over your authority.
He thought he made his bed over your constant presence in his department. One could even argue you worked under his discretion more than Caleb’s from how often you consulted with him. Yet, that didn’t erase the impression you made on him.
He was officially hitting the noon mark and all he had was half a protein bar in his stomach. Sneaking off to the break room to eat the leftover sandwich he had in the refrigerator for the past couple of days sounded appealing at the moment. Right as he was about to, Dana had stopped him, as he was bristling past the nursing station.
“Robby, have you seen anyone from psychiatry?” Dana questioned, pulling off her glasses as Mel stood beside her.
Robby rubbed his hands together, thinking with great effort. He did recall Dr. Jefferson planned to take the day off and he had seen you and psych residents wandering from patient to patient. He hummed, mumbling your name. “She was supposed to do an evaluation for a patient in North 5. Concussion and road-rash patient from an e-scooter accident.”
Dana let her hands fall to her sides. “Dr. King has a patient waiting for an eval.”
“30-year-old mom suffering from second-degree burn wounds.” Mel recited, awkwardly fiddling with her hands.
Robby nodded, inhaling sharply with a tired smile, he reached over and grabbed a device from the dividers. “I will go find her.”
“Thank you, Cap.” Dana exclaimed, patting Mel on the shoulder as she pushed her to continue working.
Robby shook his head to himself, trying to muster professionalism for the interaction to be simple and passive. All he needed to do was check in, alert you of a patient, and move on. Maybe it’d be easier said than done, but some things were always simpler in concept. He almost considered the plan perfect until he heard something approaching the pulled curtain of North 5.
“Have you ever felt like you have no control? Over your body or your mind?” A female voice asked, different from yours. She seemed exhausted, her voice breathy and sad.
He took a careful step back, preparing to turn away, he in no way was supposed to listen in on the conversation. He was a physician, but the atmosphere felt too intimate for him to intrude. He stared down at the girl’s chart, finding a reason to prompt the consultation.
The accident was caused from a lapse of focus. The 20-year-old patient had been distracted from nearby music playing while riding the scooter. A song triggering a state of catatonic shock–which reminded her of the events at PittFest.
As if his feet controlled his mind, he found himself stopping before taking a complete step away. Just the sight of the words had his body halting in place. He heard the faint sound of humming. “As someone who suffers from a chronic disease, I know exactly what that feels like.”
Chronic disease? If Robby were in your situation, he would expect you to turn away without much though. He almost expected from how little you seemed to be interested in his personal affairs, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Morally, he had mixed feelings about his decision.
“How do you live with that?” The girl, Savannah from the chart, asked. From what Robby could hear, she was hesitant to ask, afraid to impede a doctor’s life. You had opened the door, casually, which sounded unfamiliar to Robby. “Sometimes, I can’t help but hate living like this.”
There was a pause, and the sound of the Pitt filled it from the outside, but he couldn’t envision the heavy moment of vulnerability between you and Savannah. “You know, psychiatry wasn’t my first choice as a specialty.”
Yes, Robby thought. Which was about all he could say confidently. That information was no-thanks to you, and neither would anything else he learns from eavesdropping on your conversation. You chuckled, and he almost would describe the sound as melodic. “I wanted to become a neurosurgeon.”
“I joined a competitive program in California.” You shared, and Robby imagined sitting across from you as you spoke. With your voice ringing loudly from the other side of the closing, it was easier to see. “During my third year in residency, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that was attacking my good tissue, which affected the joints in my hands.”
Robby held his breath. He sensed the devastation from the weight of that news. Being young and aspiring to join a field recognized for its meticulous work, the two could never be compatible. You had made it through half a residency program with the hope of accomplishing a dream–suddenly ripped from you.
“It changed the entire trajectory of the plan I had for myself.” You mumbled, but Robby made out what you said. Despite his bowed head and the screen illuminating his face, he was paying little attention to the words. “I almost quit medicine entirely, until I remembered I still wanted to help people, even if it wasn’t my first choice.”
This was wrong. The sudden rush of guilt that rushed over Robby was instantaneous. Regardless of his intentions with the information about you, he should have reasoned how inappropriate listening to a conversation from a psychiatrist and a patient was. Savannah was obviously distraught over her situation, the wounds still raw and tender, and he should have at least considered her dignity of the situation.
Slimy and disgusted with his choice, he started tuning you out, shaking his head and excusing himself. Before escaping the vicinity, he heard the scraping of the curtain rings. With it pulled back, he met you staring back at him. Your eyes were wide and your face scrunched from the confusion and surprise of his presence.
“Dr. Robinavitch,” Your voice was sharp, and he noticed the tightness in your lips. “Did you need something from Miss. Lorence?”
Robby, caught off guard, quickly shook his head. He glanced back at Savannah sitting on the gurney with her knees bent close to her chest. She wiped away the few tears that had escaped her eye, avoiding Robby’s gaze. He cleared his throat, “No. I was actually looking for you, if you have some time.”
His voice was hoarse. Nervously aware you caught him, burning holes through him with your steely eyes. You glanced back at Savannah with a soft smile, “I’ll be back.”
Robby opened his mouth, before screwing it shut. Fuck. He had messed up big time, and he didn’t need to see the clinch in your facial muscles to confirm it. In your hand was a gray cup and without any more delay, you pulled the curtain close, brushing past him with a newfound anger.
Fuck his life.
He didn’t waste the time, following your tail. Your shoes clicked against the ground and the sound was like a hammer hitting the head of the nail. He followed you to the corner of the Pitt where the industrial ice and water dispenser were for the patient. With your face obscured, he couldn’t make clearly what you were feeling, but the displeasure was clear from your silence.
When your name escaped his lips, curt and professional, you scoffed, gripping the cup away from the sensors so as to not activate them. “One of my residents needed a psych consult, and I was looking for you. I should’ve walked away once I heard your voice.”
The sound of the water splashing in the cup fulfilled your response. You stared at the cup slowly reaching the brim. “You have a lot of nerve trying to excuse yourself.”
“It’s not an excuse,” Robby whispered, leaning forward to hide the rising color on his face. He was beyond flustered. He didn’t expect the sudden turn of events. He didn’t know why he stood in place to hear you share details of yourself you were using to connect with a patient. It wasn’t within his right. “I just want you to know I don’t listen to your conversations for the sake of scrutinizing you.”
“We’re beyond that at this point.” You exclaimed, a bit louder as you spun to face him. Robby retracted from the escalation. He gripped the device in his hand, grinding away at his teeth. “This is about your blatant disregard of respect for my patient.”
You let the cup sit on the dispenser tray while crossing your arms over your chest. As he stared down at you, he could see your pupils dilate. It was strange to see you lose the control of your expressions. The faint grins and displeased looks you sent him was something he welcomed at this point. He knew this side well without delving his over pour into your cup. Without the mess of knowing you, and vice versa.
“You’ve made it clear that you don’t like having me around your department, but you couldn’t even respect the integrity of the job for the sake of patient care?” You rhetorically asked with your eyes narrowed at him.
Robby made the mistake of glancing around and the peculiar stare sent your directions fueled something in him. Nurses were sluggish in their movements as the raised voices interrupted their task and conversation. He even noted a couple of his residents staring. Public humiliation in what he knew was a disgraceful move.
Shaking his head, he scoffed. “Actually, you don’t know anything. So don’t presume to know what I am doing in my department.”
Agitated and pushed to a line Robby didn’t know existed, your hands fell to your sides with aggravation. “You scrutinize my judgment, dismiss my capabilities, and then invasively listen to my consultations.”
“I recognize what I did was inappropriate, but we don’t need to be having this fucking conversation right now.” Robby emphasized, dark eyebrows shadowing over his eyes; this added darkness might’ve frightened his underlings.
He motioned his head to the staff standing feet away, evidently listening to the argument. You followed his direction from the corner of your eye, which immediately alarmed the rest, forcing them back to their current tasks. When you looked back at Robby, he couldn’t ignore the way you gnawed at the inside of your cheek.
Maybe he overthought the action, but he saw the same anxious glancing from when Dr. Jefferson dismissed you. He didn’t do it in a punitive fashion, or even rudely, but something about your work seeming unimportant hit a nerve. Your fingers waved nervously by your sides. “I fooled myself into thinking we could work together. Treat patients mutually, but I see I was wrong.”
“We only have to endure this for five more months. Think you can manage that at least?” You spat out, grabbing the cup as you brushed past him, making a point to avoid any contact.
Robby knew the few who dared to continue staring were gawking–possibly marveled–by how you whipped him with your words. Not many had ever stepped toe-to-toe with him, especially not in the comfort of his department. The staff who worked in the environment of trauma with surgeons like Garcia stabbing at his side with a fencing sword wouldn’t compare it to this scene.
You had brought a gun to a knife fight.
Some would argue that as a psychiatrist, you knew to hit where it hurt. Robby considered it something worth penalizing; which is why he had fought over your arrogance with Jefferson before. It had all proven him right all along. He couldn’t change your flaws for you, and he was done repenting over his thoughts.
That's what he planned to get Jefferson to understand a couple of days later when the psychiatrist requested to speak with him before their shifts. When Robby found his way back to the behavioral health floor, it was a bad case of déjà vu.
Only a few weeks ago, Robby was warning you about the legal case against Mr. Richman, and now, he couldn't be more scorned in your eyes.
Hesitantly, Robby walked into the dictation room, where he was told Jefferson was last seen. He knew you had worked the night shift and was hoping you’d be gone by now; but when he opened the door and found you tossing back a couple of pills, he froze.
You paid him a look from the corner of your eyes as you took a sip from your metal water bottle. You didn't bother to hide the small eye roll, and Robby turned away, hands in his jacket pockets. He let out a sigh, peering around the dictation room like he’d find something more interesting.
He knew eventually the two of you would need to talk, but things were too fresh. You were visibly indignant to the sight of Robby, and he was so close to turning away and never coming back up to the floor. He grumbled to himself when he saw Caleb coming from around a small hallway in the room.
Caleb first smiled at Robby and then his eyes immediately gravitated to you, zipping up your backpack. When he looked back at Robby, he noticed how he positioned his body to face his back in your direction, keeping you out of his view.
With his eyes back on you, he wheeled closer to your direction. “Have a goodnight. Make sure you sleep.”
You hummed, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as you exited out the door. Without much else, the door slammed behind you, leaving the two attendings in tense silence. Caleb turned his chair, pointed towards where Robby stood still, afraid of Caleb noticing his demeanor.
“That couldn't have been more uncomfortable.” Caleb verbally noted a small smirk on his face. Robby turned around lazily, his head swiveling with his body. When he looked at Caleb, tucked his chin, staring at him through his eyelashes. “Worse than when I scold my daughter when she comes home later than she should.”
Robby chuckled, tossing his head back. “Who’s the daughter in this scenario?”
Caleb chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “You tell me.”
The deafening silence that followed told Caleb that Robby was completely aware of what's to come. It couldn’t have been a surprise that Caleb would want to talk after the blow out the two of you had. Cocking his head to the side, Caleb hummed. “I’m sure you're aware of what this may be about.”
Robby scratched the side of his beard, confirming with tight lips. Caleb followed his movement, watching every piece of ticking of his demeanor. “I was under the impression the two of you had worked it out. Now, I’m hearing the two of you had a screaming match in front of the staff?”
The humorless chuckle Robby gave in response warned Caleb of what to come. From the distance he saw between him and you, Caleb sensed whatever had occurred disrupted the routine Robby had for himself. The Pitt was tainted by the memory he shared with you, disturbed by you. If he didn't feel a dread of the idea of working with you every time he came to work, it was now settled in the atmosphere surrounding him since that shift.
“You can’t call it a match if she was the only one fighting.” Robby muttered with his hands on his hips. The slight tilt of his head was a familiar look Caleb had seen before. The rare sight of his pupil and the squaring of his shoulders. Tense and bothered. “And honestly Caleb, you should talk to her about it.”
“I’m talking to you.” Caleb motioned, wide eyed as he tried to assemble to puzzle blindly. “Surely you can enlighten me as to what led to the argument.”
Robby grievously shook his head, “She was upset, that’s all I know.”
With that vague response, Caleb was burning deeper holes with his stare. Robby wasn’t panicked, but he found himself in a hard place to crawl out of. Obviously, Caleb didn’t find much from you, which left him to resort to questioning Robby. He stared down at the ground, more interested in his shoes than in Caleb.
Caleb hummed, pensively tossing around the excuse, like there was true validity. “Doesn’t sound like her.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.” Robby chuckled dryly, rubbing at his forehead with his pointer finger and his thumb. They ran against the wrinkles of his age, trying to alleviate the throbbing sensation of an oncoming headache.
Caleb paused, examining Robby up and down. Curing himself internally, he squeezed his eyes, shaking himself into reason. “I mean, everyone has bad days. Sometimes we fuck up because of it.”
“I get that.” Caleb rationalized, completely understanding. Too understanding, even, with his tone reflecting the cadence he used with some patients. Robby skin prickled with the sound. “Do you know anything about what upset her?”
Coming clean would let Jefferson know that you had shut down all possibilities of there being anything amicable between you two. You, who had created this ‘system’ that prevented anyone from coming near, but also aimed arrows straight to the soul to keep them away.
Every time you two ran into each other, up to the last interaction, it was as if you had prepared secret attacks against him. Your snarky words or your harsh resolutions ticked Robby, who was like a bomb around you, creeping closer and closer to explosion.
It was as if someone pulled a string with the incident between you two, and his whole resolve was collapsing with it. The professional mask he put on for show not just for Jefferson, but for the rest of his department as well, was beyond cracked and broken. Robby tried to collect the pieces as he actively defended himself, but he was missing the glue to keep it together.
Robby resorted to shaking his head. Maybe if he didn’t say anything at all, Caleb would let it go. He squeezed his arms tighter, constricting his chest cavity against his beating heart. He was reminding himself there was still reason in your agreement.
Caleb accepted the response, nodding while also carefully watching Robby. He could sense the thickness in the air around him, a dark storm cloud that followed him wherever he went.
Everyone else must have seen it so clearly.
Days had passed. Santos walked alongside him, approaching a patient in Central 14. When she first came up to him, he was already grumbling, a hardened expression after cleaning up from a trauma. Something had been ticking her boss off, and the rest of them were walking on eggshells because of it.
His muscles were flexing with discomfort, constantly shifting his head to glance around every space he entered. She would describe him as paranoid. Not to his face—she would let Dana do that for her.
They were currently on their way to check in with the 40-year-old patient they requested a psych consultation. She was on SSRI medication, and there were concerns she mentioned vaguely. When the two of them approached the room, you were typing away on the WOW in the room.
Your back was facing the door, glancing occasionally at the patient. Robby approached the door, knocking before entering and presenting Mrs. Myers a polite smile. “Hello Mrs. Myers. I’m Dr. Robby, I am the attending physician here. How are you doing?”
She softly smiled, trying to bear the slight discomfort in her fractured ankle. She readjusted herself on the hospital bed. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” Robby whispered, standing at the foot of the bed. You were closer in proximity, still confined to the WOW, typing away gently as the two spoke. “We spoke with orthopedics and they will be recommending a boot to help stabilize the bones in your ankle and feet.”
Mrs. Myers groaned lightly, throwing her head back. Santos stepped forward, hands folded in front of her. “The good news is, you will have more mobility than if you were in crutches after two weeks.”
“I won’t be able to go running.” Mrs. Myers sighed out, exasperated, as if she was told the worst news ever.
Santos scrunched her face, while Robby provided a sympathetic smile. Santos stuffed her hands into her pocket, leaning back on her heels. “Best case scenario, the boot will be on for a minimum of 8 weeks.”
“Fucking great.” Mrs. Myers muttered, running a hand down her face. She gritted her teeth, moving her one good foot to plant flat on the bed.
“Someone from orthopedics will come down to apply the boot and go over precautions.” Robby added, leading Santos out the door. He glanced carefully at you, as you continued typing in silence. He saw the subtle twitch in your hands, peaking at the figure by the door.
Promptly, you logged out of the WOW, readjusting a pen you clipped onto your pant pocket. Offering Mrs. Myers a smile, she grimaced, watching you with less bitterness than Santos. “I will come back to check in with you.”
You followed behind Santos, pointedly avoiding Robby’s gaze as you passed in front of him. When the three of you emptied the room, Robby closed the door behind him. He saw Santos let out a sigh, shaking her head. “These health nuts are so self-absorbed, you’d think she cares more about her blaring fractured foot instead of her reaching her daily step count.”
“Dr. Santos, you would never say that in front of the patient, right?” You questioned, hand motioned back to the room. Santos warily looked past you, glancing awkwardly at Robby then back at you.
She opened her mouth to respond, but you beat her to the punch. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of proper etiquette, regardless of whether the patient is present or not.”
Robby positioned himself in your view, folded arms as he leaned in. “I think Dr. Santos presents a concern for psychiatry to follow up on.”
The hardened glare you sent in his direction didn’t dismay him. He remained stone cold in his position. Santos was left in a worse position, not wanting to fall in the middle of whatever beef you and Robby had.
“Which I was, until you bustled in.” You replied, raising your eyebrows. When you turned back to Santos, she straightened her back, feeling suddenly chill, hands absentmindedly rubbing her biceps. “Word of advice, when a patient seems distressed by news, you don’t console them by spitting out incessant information.”
Robby warningly called out your name, quiet enough for you to hear the caution in his voice, He was withholding the distaste of your reproach, but you didn’t bother to heed it. “And for your information, she is severely depressed and utilized running as a form of medication.”
“With her current dosage not satiating her needs, she resorted to running for the endorphins,” You informed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Wouldn’t you be upset if that was no longer an option in this situation?”
Santos swallowed thickly, nodding her head hurriedly. She avoided your gaze, staring down at her shoes. “I misinterpreted her intentions.”
“Big time.” You replied, smiling with slight displeasure. Santos didn’t seem as rattled as the one he recalled last year. Her skin was thicker and she didn’t let herself be pushed over. Robby liked to think the Pitt was helping her become a doctor confident in herself.
He didn’t want to think of how this place may ruin her.
Robby announced your name one more time, finally capturing your attention. “I believe Dr. Santos has another patient to check on. I’ll check in with ortho.”
Without saying a single word, Santos excused herself, walking away while aimlessly looking at the ground. Robby watched carefully for her to disappear before turning slowly to glare down at you, eyes wide in disbelief of your confrontation. You always spearheaded the care of any patient you took on, which he believed, had you tossing all esteem and cordiality out the window.
“If you’re upset with me, that's fine, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t take it out on my residents.” Robby warned with one hand stretched out, slicing away the thought. He needed the point to drill into your head. He didn’t want to be dismissed as Santos was.
“I’m not upset.” You corrected, nose scrunching in offense, as if you smelled something foul from his words. “And I was simply telling Trinity the importance of selecting her choice of words and making judgments before she knew the patient’s circumstances.”
Robby took a step back, furrowing his eyebrows. Trinity? He didn’t even recognize the name from how little he heard it. Everyone was called by his or her title and surname. ‘Trinity’ was a foreign subject. “Didn’t realize you two were on a first name basis.”
“Is it so hard to believe I can make friends?” You rhetorically asked. If you had seriously considered his answer, it would be an indefinite yes. Even if you still spoke with Shen like old pals, he still found it hard to believe it was authentic. “We’ve managed to get along without you meddling.”
“You were the one who said you didn’t befriend coworkers.” Robby recalled dumbfounded.
“There are exceptions.” You plainly said, turning back to look at Mrs. Meyers.
“And I’m not one of them.” Robby bemused. Since he officially began working with it, you have always made yourself abundantly clear.
With your attention back on him, you raised a single eyebrow. Your lips tensed, before you scoffed. “Dr. Robinavitch, after the charade you pulled last week, can you blame me?”
“I apologized.” Robby huffed out annoyed.
“Only because you were caught.”
Robby clapped his hands, rubbing them together. Your sights caught his every movement, entranced on what he might do next. His stiff smile and wide glare had you readjusting your body to face him entirely. Hands flattened together he motioned to you, “You’re entitled to your opinion, as I am entitled to mine.”
“And I think Mrs. Myers needs a follow up with psych regarding her prescription and the fallout of her fracture.” His hands choppily moved to himself then to South 14, where Mrs. Myers sat with her hands over her face.
“Marvelous thinking, Dr. Robinavitch.” You dramatically mused, putting on a charming smile. You began to take a careful step back, cocking your head. “I would invite you to sit in, but you have a tendency of welcoming yourself where you aren’t invited.”
Before Robby could put in the last word, he was welcomed with the sight of your back walking into the room again, closing it behind you. He saw from the glass how you closed the shutters, closing him and everyone else from the solace. Robby let out a frustrated sigh, hands immediately landing to the back of his neck.
This was his nightmare reincarnated. He was supposed to be focused on his job, his residents, and the fact he was about to go on a three-month vacation in July. He shouldn’t be worried about what you might do the next time your paths cross. Every dread that filled him coming into his shift stemmed from all the ill in his life and you were a part of that.
When you finally left Mrs. Meyer’s room, you headed straight for the elevator, keeping to yourself. Enough trouble had occurred in the shift, let alone the seven months you’ve worked on your fellowship. When you stopped at the elevator, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Without second thought, you answered, stating your name lazily.
Caleb chuckled from the other end. “Long day?”
“Something like that.” You responded, stepping into the empty elevator. Pressing the button of the behavioral health floor, the doors slid closed. Leaning back, one hand holding the small metal bar, you threw your head back. “Everything’s under control here though.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He said coolly. You could vividly see the ghost of his smile.
“So, why did you call?” You asked, elongated your words as a way to hide the current nerves bustling. Your hand gripped onto the railing tighter.
“I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight.”
You internally cowed, trying to omit your current reluctance to play niceties after a busy shift. You just didn’t have it in you to entertain someone, even Caleb, at some dinner. Caleb must have expected a polite decline from your part as he chuckled lightly. “I know it’s last minute, and after a shift, but I just got the reservation to a new place in town. I'd hate to be the only disabled man, and eating alone.”
“I think only you could rock that look.” You joked, watching the door slide open. Stepping out, you stopped to the side of the hallway, before entering the patient care areas.
Caleb hummed light and amused. “I know it's last minute, but my daughter has soccer practice.”
“And your wife?” You teased him.
“She’s got a book club meeting with her girls. I know better than to intervene with that.”
You stifled the laugh. All you could recall was the one phone call you had walked into in Caleb’s office. You can attest she was not a happy woman when her plans were ruined.
Tapping your foot incessantly and gnawing on your bottom lip, you internally flipped the invitation. When was the last time you had gone out?
“Fine.” You huffed out, and you were silently pleased no one passing by could see the girlish smile on your face.
“Good.” Caleb responded, too elated, not that you had noticed. “I’ll see you tonight.”
You were sitting at the restaurant, twiddling with your phone. Briefly, you glanced at the time, swiped up on the screen and you had no new messages. Grumbling to yourself, you continued spinning the phone in your hand, lightly tapping the table. You were starting to regret agreeing to dinner with Caleb.
He had never bothered to treat you to something as fancy as a sit down restaurant that required a reservation week in advance—until now. When you first joined the fellowship at PTMC, you two had take-out in his office and ‘bonded’ over your careers. You didn’t think the two of you had grown close enough to go to dimly lit restaurants together, but maybe you underestimated how responsible Caleb felt for you.
At least, you thought that until now, whilst Caleb ghosted the second text you sent. If you weren’t sitting alone at a reserved table for two with heels, a dress, and makeup on, you would’ve felt differently.
You 7:53pm
I’m having flashbacks to the many dates I’ve been stood up at.
Don’t make me look like a fool in stockings, Caleb.
You were counting down the minutes until you walked out. After waiting almost half an hour, your patience was withering. The idea of stripping yourself clean and substituting a luxury dinner with a tub of ice cream seemed more and more appealing. The way time was inching closer to 8pm, you might get exactly what you want.
Carefully, you looked around for a waiter, expectantly preparing to pay for the one drink you did have while you waited to make the perfectly executed escape. Right as you spotted your waiter, you heard your phone vibrate on the table.
Caleb Jefferson 7:59pm
Don’t panic and don’t leave.
Just follow my lead on this one.
What? Your one hand you had raised to capture the waiter’s attention slowly came down. Without second thought, your hands began typing out a message, and before you could hit send, you sensed a figure looming over the table. Quickly lifting your head, you were met with the equally confused gaze from Robby,
You glanced down at your phone, quickly scanning the new message to pop up like it carried the answer to both your confusion.
Caleb Jefferson 8:01pm
Be open minded
I tend to be right about these things : )
When you brushed your loose hair out of your face, you noticed Robby looking around, like he was waiting for Caleb to wheel out the corner and exclaim that it was all a prank. You took in his clean, casual look, which made you feel overdressed. He wore a black, wool coat, button over a gray shirt. He had straight, dark blue washed jeans, paired with black leather boots.
He sported the round, black glasses, and his hair casually combed to the side. Some strands fell on his forehead, as if intentional. It left you speechless, the same way he probably would say the last person he expected to have dinner with was you.
You groaned lightly, placing your phone firmly on the table. “Caleb played us.”
Robby raised his bushy eyebrows, awkwardly staring between you and the empty chair across from you. “So, this was his plan on getting us alone in a room together.”
You let out a dry laugh, leaning back in your chair and looking up at him “Seems like.”
The silence that befell you two stretched the air and folded it to form layers of brewing resistance. Since you caught him eavesdropping on you and a patient, you didn’t bother to play nice anymore. There was nothing more to hide from Caleb. Your long-lasting distaste for one another was out in the open, and the two of you were out of energy to continue posturing.
You tapped your foot under the table, thinking to yourself. Twirling around the idea, which you may regret, opened a pit in your stomach, tearing away your appetite. You rolled your head to the side, sighing. “You’re already here. We don’t have to talk, but we may as well not let this reservation go to waste.”
Robby paused for a moment, glancing at the chair. He realized how weird he must look to the other clients as he stood shadowing over you. He shuffled his way into his seat, rubbing his hands on his denim-clad thighs.
You took a careful sip of your fruity cocktail, something fresh, sweet, and tart. Something exciting to pass the time, awaiting your inevitable fate. When the waiter came back, Robby only asked for water. You scoffed, putting your drink down. “Worried you might let your inhibitions go if you’re inebriated?”
Robby stared at you, considering his next words. He curled his lips, crossing his arms. “I’m no lightweight, if that’s what you mean. Haven’t been since my med school days.”
“When they used to chart by candlelight?” You joked monotony, tracing your fingers across the edge of your phone.
You didn’t have to lift your head for Robby to see the small smirk on your face. He didn’t expect this dynamic. Shamelessly jabbing at him like you were friends. Similar fashion that Dana would, that came with years of a fostered relationship. He would never replace Dana, and he got the sense that you weren’t doing it out of friendliness.
The water was placed in front of him, and before letting the waiter leave, he requested a whiskey neat. You nodded with approval, grabbing one of the menus sitting at the center of the table. Eyes scanned the egg white sheet, pretending to be engrossed in the meals and their complimentary ingredients.
Robby was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh. He didn’t hide the fact he was staring at you, trying to read into what to expect during a dinner with you. If the first few minutes told him anything, he was in for an interesting night.
“Did you hear about Mr. Richman?” Robby questioned, cradling the glass of water in one hand. He quickly gauged your reaction, before staring back at the glass.
Your eyes stopped on the menu. Slowly, you lowered the menu you held up, glancing warily at Robby. He heard you suck in sharp breath, laying the menu down. You nodded, “I did. I’m more than pleased the judge was willing to hear his lawyer out.”
“I’m sure the expert witness testimony helped him reach an appropriate conclusion.” Robby mumbled back, shaking his head as he furrowed his brows. It was bittersweet to think if it hadn't been for Mr. Richman, maybe the two of you could work better together.
You cleared your throat, leaning forward. “Is that a compliment?”
Robby sheepishly smiled, scratching the side of his beer. “Only if you’ll accept it, I suppose. It’s no secret that you were his biggest advocate, despite everything.”
He motioned to you, more specifically, your face. The bruising was gone by now, no longer needed to be caked over with color corrector and makeup. When the trial had first begun, there was still slight discoloration. Now, everything was returning to a sense of normal for the better. Mr. Richman would receive help, and you no longer had the scars to carry off the brawl.
“That’s my job. To make sure my patients have some decent quality of life.” You sighed out, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress, mostly to keep from staring across the table. “He needed the absolute maximum care, regardless of how I felt about what he did.”
Robby hummed, noting the obvious distraction you created for yourself. You in no way coward from him, but he sensed he was treading in deep waters. Too close for comfort. “That’s honorable.”
You shook your head, “No. It’s my job.”
Briefly interrupted by the waiter dropping off Robby’s liquor, checking in with the both of you. He dismissed himself with a polite smile as you asked for more time. With you two secluded to each other, you took one more sip from your drink, taking steady breaths. “I should apologize for the way I reacted the other day. It was unprofessional and uncalled for.”
“Do you mean it?” Robby asked curiously.
Your choice of word told him you didn’t know how to broach the subject, but your intention was clear. He didn’t seek to humiliate you, but he needed to push for this social experiment of Caleb’s to work.
Sharply nodding, you swallowed thickly, staring at his eyes that seemed darker under the restaurant lighting. “It’s not my place to scold anyone, let alone the chief of the emergency department.”
Robby shook his head, “I deserved it.”
“Still—“
“I crossed a boundary—“
“I shouldn’t have taken out my frustrations on you.” You announced over his overlapping voice. It was also loud enough to capture the attention from a few of the nearby tables, staring concerned from the corner of their eyes.
You gritted your teeth, attempting to ignore the fact you always seemed to earn uncalled attention. Robby leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Frustrations about what?”
If Robby were sitting closer to you, he could possibly hear the hammering of your heart. You drowned in the sound as the pulsing filled your ears like a thumping drum in your head. This moment was a break in the messy equilibrium you had fed. The ‘agreement’ the two of you had sealed that night at the bar was pointless. With Caleb directing the pawns to his liking, he left you two with no choice.
“I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis.” You spoke clearly, leaving no doubt or confusion needing clarification. Your hands on the table trembled slightly as you eased your body into uncontrolled waters. “That’s the reason I had to quit my surgical residency.”
“I’ve come to terms with that. I recovered by joining an equally satiating program that taught me more about myself than surgery ever did.” You laughed, glistening eyes sparkling as you tossed your head back lightly.
It was a rarity to Robby. He had seen the human tenderness when Mr. Richman first came in. He heard it in the way you spoke with Savannah, utilizing your experiences as more than just an anecdote. You formulated your life into a way to help others. Robby didn’t see the intention behind your action; and if he wasn’t so bothered and engrossed in his own troubles, he’d notice it more.
“What stuck with me though was my attending's reaction.”
Robby felt his breath be stuck in his throat. Adamson’s words echoed in his mind and what followed was the dark memory of Robby shoving Langdon’s backpack into his chest, cursing him out of the Pitt. When he saw the dread in your face, the small frown and the repulsion of the recollection, he almost sank in his chair.
“He was the one who noticed the inflammation in my hands and the fatigue.” Subconsciously, you motioned to your hands, turning them over before intertwining your fingers. “I always thought I was overworking myself in the simulation lab, but he pushed for me to get a second opinion.”
The wet scoff that followed had you turning away to hide the shame. “I didn’t even tell him when I found out. He personally reached out to the head of ortho to get the results.”
When you leaned back in your chair, Robby saw your squared shoulders. Despite the conversation being private, the closest table over five away, you looked paranoid. You had the same guardedness when he had walked into Mrs. Myers room earlier. The hesitancy to do your own job in his presence.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I stupidly attempted to scrub into a surgery a couple of weeks after. He took me to the gallery instead and gave me an ultimatum.”
“He told me I either resign from the program or he would have me forcibly removed, emphasizing my defiance.” You had finally looked up to meet him in the eye. He almost hated to see the repulsion of yourself in your eyes. It felt too real of his current situation, and he was certain someone is currently noticing his downfall. “He’d personally ruin me in the medical world if it meant I never risked anyone’s life for my ego.”
Robby felt the words punch him in the gut. As a mentor, he tried everything in his power to aspire his students to do better. Be smarter, kinder, and quicker than he is. As a department head, he emphasized that need even more to his senior staff.
But, how do you do that when you’re drowning in a sea of everything you’re meant to do? You tide over your shame onto everyone else’s shore, he supposed.
“He abused his power,” Robby affirmed, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
He was off put by the small grin on your face, like there was some inside joke he was missing. You shrugged, straightening the skirt of your dark dress. “Not your mess to try and clean up.”
“He was part of the reason I left California, even when they offered me an attending position.” You confessed, smiling sadly. Robby wondered what his life would look like without you here. After briefly sipping your drink you sighed, “I sometimes wonder if that was the best decision.”
Robby remained silent. Maybe his life wouldn’t look so complicated or he wouldn’t feel like he was constantly under a microscope by your stare. He could probably get away with his current deranged way of acting. Although he wasn’t at rock bottom yet, he may agree that he was on a steady decline to a point of no return.
“There wasn’t any way of preserving your joints?” Robby asked curiously, changing the subject with ease. If you noticed, you didn’t make it obvious.
“My doctors told me surgery would be too aggressive. They wanted to attempt the medication before jumping the gun.”
“And how are you doing now?” Robby followed up, a brief sincerity escaping his lips. He didn’t attempt to take it back or excuse it as a mistake.
“It’s been five years, give, or take.” Your eyebrows flinched, the realization a shock to yourself. “I understand where my attending was coming from. But when you’re young and after fighting for a spot in that program, it all feels like a personal attack.”
Yeah, it does, he silently thought. He shouldn’t have resonated with those words. His mentors pushed him to be the doctor he was, and even if he felt he wasn’t living towards the standard they set, it didn’t change how they formed him. Adamson remained a core pillar in his practice, and every day since his passing, he felt he was losing the part of him that shaped and molded a worthy attending ER physician.
After a beat, Robby’s eyebrows dipped, turning his head slightly as he thought. “Is that why you were talking with Park?”
“I had narrowly been trying to avoid him and his offers of surgery for a while now.” You snickered, shaking your head. Robby bowed his head, masking the fleeting break in his stoniness. “He finally found me, but I’m beyond broaching those choices.”
You seemed comfortable. Removing himself from the objective light he saw you, he had noticed you submerge yourself in the staff. He should’ve known you would’ve found a safe place to land in the Pitt. It had a type of energy that kept him coming back, even when he dreaded it most.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why psychiatry?”
You hummed; almost amused he dared to ask the question. It might have been as thrilling as surgery, but with the sort of drive he saw buzzing within you, it still felt it missed the specialty of surgery. “Honestly? It was Shen’s idea.”
“When he was doing a surgical rotation, we debriefed a patient; he offhandedly said I’d make a good psychiatrist.” You smiled brighter, your expression brightening with your mood. Robby would be a fool to say the woman sitting across from him was different from who he worked with.
He was starting to come to terms that he didn’t know the type of person Caleb and Shen knew. Laid back and genuine. You shrugged, “I guess that stuck with me.”
“You are good at what you do.” Robby affirmed instinctively. He didn't think when he said that, but after a beat, he confirmed the thought with a nod. He watched you sit silently; staring at him like you couldn’t believe he could think that highly of you.
He groaned lightly as he leaned back, one hand rubbing against his jean-clad thigh. His closed mouth smile pushed up his glasses, letting you see the darks of his eyes better. “We’re lucky to have you. And it’d be a shame if you left us so soon.”
You paused, tilting your head as you let your mind run wild with thoughts. The fellowship was temporary, safely branching out your options to a more permanent place to stand. You never expected more than just another line on your resume, yet the idea of leaving haunted you. “PTMC has some charm, I suppose.”
The words came out as a thought, quiet and long. You leaned onto the table, elbows resting on the edge, and he couldn’t deny the glint in your bubbled something exciting in him. He didn’t expect a few minutes of dinner to leave him wanting more conversation with you. The corner of your mouth twitched upward, eyes squinting at him. “The real question is would you want to continue working together.”
Would he? That was something he had debated, skipping like a broken record. He could learn to be more courteous and understanding—compassionate even—beyond the sake of patient care. If the last few minutes conversing told him anything, it was that he had yet to learn all facets of his job.
Robby shrugged, agreeing nonchalantly. “I’m sure we can make it work.”
You pursed your lips, watching him skeptically. Had he been so unconvincing? He wouldn’t swear anything, he was taught better than to breed false hope, but he did mean it. Before he could affirm his stance, you interrupted, “Can I be frank about something?”
You waited until he gave you subtle confirmation, readjusting your posture with careful precision.
“If you’re serious, we need to discuss keeping each other accountable.”
Accountability. Dana would’ve laughed at that. She’d argue that doctors never voluntarily took the blame of their wrongdoings. She tried it herself with Robby, and she saw how nasty of a game that was to play.
Once he furrowed his brows, you sat up taller. “What I said at the bar, I meant it.”
“I am personally concerned you’ve neglected yourself for too long.” You earnestly shared, clear as day. The professional mask slips on easily. It was almost intimidating to be seen under your gaze.
Every effort he made to not alarm anyone had let him down. That last person he expected to notice or care enough to address it with him was speaking as if he were a patient. He didn’t like being objectified in that light. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” You questioned, striking a nerve in Robby.
There was no mistaking the shift in Robby, gently grinding his jaw as he stared blankly at you. His crooked smile was an impersonation of pleasantry. He wasn’t pleased with your hyper awareness of him. “Look, it must not be easy to handle an entire department. Even Caleb struggles from time to time.”
“Are you doing anything for your stress? Or giving yourself a break?”
Robby could scoff. It was hard to squeeze in a break of any kind while running the emergency department of a trauma-1 hospital. It was like asking a marine to let go of the hyper vigilance when deploying back home. It seemed futile and perhaps his more intimate circle, like Jack, would describe it as cynical. But there was no point in beating a dead horse.
“I’m rebuilding a motorcycle. Plan to take a sabbatical in the summer. Just me and the open road.” Robby coolly shared. Was it a dream resort? Not for many, but it meant stepping away from the chaos.
He had yet to tell everyone he was planning on disappearing. A small part of him found an appeal of waiting a month from his departure. Leaving without a big rollout of his three-month absence would be an ideal exit. He didn’t need to hear the ‘best travel’ and warning of staying safe. He knew some would even have a thing or two to say about road tripping on a motorcycle from the cases they’ve worked on.
You raised your eyebrows at him, “And that’s a break for you?”
“The longest I’ve been away from the Pitt was five days, and that was cut from the original 2 weeks I had planned.” Robby’s hoarse chuckle was rhythmic, hitting all the right decimals to sounds engaged. You couldn't help but think it felt staged. Practiced. “They granted me three months.”
“Think you’ll be able to handle it?” You followed up, and the question was vague, enough so that Robby’s eyes twitched. Only someone who replayed all the possible conversations that could emerge from his spontaneous rendezvous could interpret in-between the lines you had set. “Three months of solitude and self-reflection is a lot for people in our line of work.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
You tried to contain the discomfort you felt from his statement. It fell flat from his tongue. It felt reminiscent of some of the patients you spoke to, those coming in with cuts and burns and other superficial wounds that scarred too deeply. Too intentional. You were acutely aware of when someone was crawling towards an edge of no return.
There was an undeniable vastness in his eyes. Sometimes, when shadowing over you with a flame, you still didn’t see the desire there, waking every day wanting to be in a place filled with havoc. If you had to describe what you saw while staring him in the eyes, you’d say he was a lost soul inhabiting a tired, ran down body.
A part of him was giving up. You knew what resignation looked like, and you had a responsibility to stop it, right?
You lifted your glass, holding out to him, eyes sparking under the light and a smile curling upward. “Well, I suppose you and I have a lot of bonding to do till then.”
goddddd this story is something else - i love how complex both robby and reader are + your portrayal of robby is so scarily accurate i could see everything in my head. his eavesdropping is literally the silliest character trait about him and i love how it plays a role in this
and suchsuchsuch beautiful writing i could feel every single thing you wrote - i willlllll be coming back to this more often than i’d like to admit
i aim to stick true to robby’s character and it’s a dark mentality he has, so i think about what he might do constantly! his little eavesdropping trait happens A LOT in the series, so i used it to the best of my abilities lol
i appreciate the love! posted the next part already and excited to build on it more <3
