#dr walsh

everyone is repeatedly telling you that emery and yourself need to settle the dust, hash out your differences.

it sounded easy, nice, but she made it impossible. the moment you made your way from the day crew into the night crew, she scoffed at anything you said, finding an exact moment to press your buttons — it didn’t matter if you were trying to revive a patient, a snarky remark would come from her mouth, straight to you.

the first few months of working with the night shift, you tried to wrap your head around what her exact issue was with you. you tried to be on endless occasions to be civil and respectful, even maintain a safe space, but you realized that would get you nowhere, not with someone like her.

it was like that for a year. a year of torment, rude commentary, and scoffs — you stood on top of it all, knowing you’d find a way to eventually transition to another hospital once abbot could write you a stellar recommendation letter.

you only had about two more hours left of your shift before you could go home for your day off, and be free from emery, at least looking forward to the next night being spent with your friends.

another patient had come through the ambulance bay and into the trauma room, blood seeping out after they’d been brutalized in a car accident.

“we’re going to need to intubate,” you said, abbot and ellis checking out the victim, the nurses inserting ivs into them, attaching them to the heart monitors.

“he’s going to need immediate surgery,” shen stated, and you already knew what he was going to say next. “call walsh, tell her they need to start prepping.”

“i’m not giving the call,” you mumbled, and ellis seemed to be the only one who heard you, taking it on herself to call up the OR.

you wished she’d just stay upstairs, but she somehow found herself trickling down to the trauma bay where the patient was stabilized for the moment, a smug smile hanging on her lips.

“glad to see you didn’t fuck up,” emery spat, glancing at you as you were throwing away your gloves.

she found any reason to come down, any excuse, and it was all to get another jab into you.

“i do much better than you,” you said, standing feet away from her. “i recall you fucking up a suture just the other day.”

“knock it off, both of you,” abbot spoke up, and you and emery looked over at him. “it’s annoying, it’s unprofessional. fix your shit.”

“it’ll start once she transfers somewhere else,” emery hoped, and you flipped her off. “see that? we can’t have that behavior in our hospital.”

“i don’t know what your problem is, but it is one sided at this point. go do your job,” you said, purposely bumping her shoulder as you walked past her and out of the room.

she scoffed, looking over her shoulder, and back at everyone in the room. “can she go back to day shifts?” she wondered, and shen chuckled, shaking his head. “okay, fine. the operating room will be ready for him in five minutes.”

emery moved out of the room, not hesitating to approach you. her feet were basically booming hooves to you, and you inhaled sharply to gather patience before turning around to face her.

she gave you that cruel smile, one that twitched with sarcasm and bitterness. she was coming to get a reaction out of you, anything she could swallow to give her energy for the rest of her shift.

“what can i do for you, dr. walsh?” you asked, turning off the tablet, slipping it in between your arm.

“bringing up a mistake during a procedure was highly inappropriate,” she started, and you hummed. “your incompetence would probably kill a patient.”

you could hit your head against the tablet in front of her, but you knew that’d give her too much pleasure because she’d know she drove you to that point.

“do you realize how ridiculous you sound?” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “being rude and disrespectful as a surgeon is inappropriate.”

“you’re the one who has a mouth on her,” she seethed, and you simply shrugged.

“you and i have nothing further to say to each other,” you said, making sure to get completely out of her eye sight, yet she kept her eyes on your figure until you completely faded away.

you were beyond thankful you had a night off and could be with your friends, who had to endure another endless rant about how much your coworker hated you.

it’s not that it bothered you, but ever since you started working in the night, you tried to come up with any reason why she could dislike you.

but you two worked in different departments and only saw each other when it came to a patient needing immediate surgery — that was it.

“there’s always just going to be someone at work who just has no reason to not like you,” whitaker stated, taking a sip of his bottled beer. “yet, she is being excessive about it.”

“i just don’t get what her problem is,” you said, sipping on your glass of wine. “i steer out of her way, i follow any orders, and i just mind my business. yet, she still hates me.”

“walsh is known for being ruthless,” victoria told you as santos was shuffling the game cards again. “i think she finds any excuse to come terrorize you. have you thought of reporting it?”

“and be classified as a narc? absolutely not,” you answered, shaking your head. “i also don’t think human resources would care.”

“just switch back to the day shift,” whitaker chimed in, and you shrugged. “i know it’s more chaotic, but at least you’ll be away from her.”

“i think walsh would purposely switch to the day shift if she did that,” santos added, laying the cards flat down on the restaurant table. “i don’t think she hates your guts — i think she wants to be in them.”

you choked on your wine, violently coughing and covered your mouth with a napkin. “what are you on about!” you said, and victoria handed you her glass of water. “i don’t think she’s even gay.”

“i thought garcia wasn’t either, and look at how that turned out,” santos reminded, and you rolled your eyes.

“garcia uses you and eats all your ramen,” you added, and santos glared at you. “i don’t think emery wants anything like that — i think she just genuinely hates me.”

“and i think we’re all violating hippa by having sexual contact with our older workers,” whitaker stated, and you amusingly hummed, nodding. “victoria is dating cassie, santos is hooking up with garcia, and for me—”

“you’re hooking up with two older attendings,” you continued, grinning at him. “you’re greedy for that.”

“can you find out, trin?” victoria asked, and santos snorted, stifling a laugh.

“yeah, i’ll ask the next time garcia is in me,” she said, sipping on her beer. “i’ll be like, ‘hey babe, do you know if walsh is gay?,’ while she’s pile driving me.”

“i always wondered who was wearing the strap,” you joked, and she playfully kicked your leg under the table. “i bet you she’s straight, and just likes to torment me. i think i’ll ask abbot to hurry up with that letter.”

“and leave us? we’ll be heartbroken,” whitaker frowned, and the two women looked at him. “i know i’ll be. you only like going to her place to raid her fridge and pantry.”

“she shops at whole foods, how can you not resist!” victoria responded, and you chuckled, watching santos lay out the cards. “listen, i didn’t know that cassie liked girls for the longest time, and look where we are now.”

“she looks like she kisses girls for a living,” you stated, and victoria paused, slowly agreeing with you. “it only took her four months to cave in.”

“guys, a heads up,” santos coughed, clearing her throat, and everyone looked in the direction of the front door.

“i will take a scalpel to my eyes,” you mumbled, seeing emery walk in with a few people from the operating department, and you chugged down your wine. “this has to be some sick joke, right?”

“it’s worse,” victoria mumbled. “i think she’s sitting at a table across from us.”

“i have to go. i have to go before she tells a waitress to put rat poison in my food,” you panicked, grabbing your purse, yet you were a second too late from leaving when emery perfectly noticed you. “i’m going to quit medicine because of her.”

you stayed put in your seat as emery came up next to you, giving you a grin. emery’s grins were never soft or sweet when it came to you; it meant she had an another torture up her sleeve, something mean to say to you because you could never get a break.

“dr. walsh, i didn’t know you had the night off,” you stated, and wish you had a glass of straight vodka for this moment to swallow down.

“i’m surprised you have people to sit with outside of work,” she began, not even wasting a second to make a verbal blow towards you.

“she was on the day shift with us long before helping night,” santos chimed in, and both you and emery looked at her. “c’mon, you need to stop acting like that.”

emery looked back at you, softly utterly your name, “if you’re hungover tomorrow, you’ll be sloppy and commit malpractice.”

“shen literally told me you used the wrong instrument in a surgery last night,” you stated, and had to stifle a laugh when she had nothing more to say. “can’t you just leave me alone? i’ll be out of your hair soon anyways.”

“not soon enough, it seems,” she said, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “have a fun night.”

when she sat back down at her table, you let out a heavy sigh and put your head in your hands, considering taking the butter knife to your eye sockets.

“i’m gonna go back to day shift,” you said, and your friends hummed, agreeing. “and she’s needed in the night shift so there’s no way she’ll switch when i do.”

“is abbot aware of like, everything?” santos asked, and you nodded. “then why doesn’t he do anything?”

“he says it’s for us to handle on our own,” you stated, your eyes flickering at whitaker, and you tilted your head to the side. “has jack said anything to you?”

“he’s annoyed by it, but doesn’t want to get the medical director involved,” whitaker stated, finishing off his beer. “something about it being too much paperwork and stuff.”

“so he just wants me to suffer,” you mumbled, and the moment you looked at the table emery was sitting at her, she was looking at you — precisely and exactly.

she had a luring smile tugging at her lips, taking a sip of her own beer, and went back to talking to her own friends.

“you’ll be back on the day shift anyways,” victoria reminded, but you wish it didn’t have to take switching shifts again to not get tormented by a coworker.

you shouldn’t have to feel the need to quit your passion because you were getting constantly berated.

few hours had past, and you were too tipsy to drive yourself back home, standing outside of the restaurant bar as you smoked a cigarette.

“why are you still here?” you heard emery’s voice come to the side of you, causing you to turn your head and she stood cautiously a few feet away from you. “i thought you’d gone home by now.”

“being responsible by not drinking and driving,” you answered, taking another inhale, and slowly let it go. “why are you still here and talking to me?”

“you don’t need to rude,” she told you, earning a bitter, yet disbelieved chuckle out of you as you nodded to yourself in thought. “what is it now?”

“that’s really humorous coming from you,” you stated, refusing to look away from her. “all you are is rude and disrespectful towards me, and i don’t even know why.”

“you just need to get thicker skin,” she suggested, and you knew you were going to need a second cigarette, trying not to yell at her in this very moment. “not everyone will be sweet to you your whole life, you need to get used to it.”

“i am very used to it,” you said, taking in another hit. “it’s all thanks to you — your snarky comments, your hateful remarks — anything to get under my skin, and for what?”

“it sounds like you hate me,” emery stated, grinning because she was getting some sick amusement out of this interaction.

“i do hate you. i hate you so much,” you clearly stated, not missing a beat, not letting her even make another comment. you said it all with your full chest, and the words hung in the air, emery trying to gather something from it.

“have a good night. see you at work,” is all emery said before walking away, and left you standing there with what you had confessed, the cigarette ashes falling onto your knuckles.

you wanted to chase after her, ask her why she had nothing else to say to you, and why she didn’t make a jab at anything about you.

instead, you threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out, and walked back inside the restaurant.

a week has gone by since that night, and emery didn’t come down to the emergency room for that time period, especially when you asked around if she was working.

ellis was confused on what your sudden interest was with emery, but you shrugged it off and told her it was nothing.

but it was something.

you didn’t know why she wouldn’t come down, why she didn’t find a reason to belittle you in front of your shared peers — you assumed that maybe she got what she wanted, and you were in the clear.

you were sitting on santos’ apartment couch, the brunette in the kitchen with whitaker as they were making a late lunch for everybody, and victoria and samira sat on the carpet floor, showing off each other’s pinterest boards.

“hey, did you hear about the hang out tonight?” samira asked, and everyone looked at her, in mere confusion. “i don’t know who’s going, but it’s some people from the day and night shifts.”

“i’ll go. i need a reason for a drink or three,” you said, and you looked at santos. “did you ever find out if walsh liked girls?”

“oh shit,” she said, chuckling to herself as she stepped out of the kitchen, and sat next to you on the couch.

“wait, why do you need to know that?” samira asked.

“because trinity is convinced that she is,” you answered, and she awes in response, nodding.

“i think she is,” samira stated. “garcia and her used to have a small fling during their residency.”

“i can put my face on that hot stove right now, mohan,” santos stated, and samira mumbled a soft apology, going back to comparing with victoria. “and yeah, she does like ‘em. she’s only dated girls her whole life.”

“doesn’t mean she wants to fuck me,” you retorted, and whitaker brought the plates to the coffee table, sitting next to the girls. “i despise her, it makes me nearly sick how much i do.”

“you’ll be back on day shift soon, and i don’t think she’s coming tonight,” he said, and you hummed, nodding.

that’s why you agreed to join your friends on a night out in downtown, where it was more vibrant and busy.

you were on the rooftop of the bar, abbot and whitaker playing pool inside against samira, while you sat outside with santos and shen, almost down the first pitcher of beer.

“i didn’t want to tell you this earlier,” shen said, playing with the ring he had on his finger as he looked at you. “but walsh is coming.”

“we are on the top floor, i can push you off,” you told him, drinking down your cup of alcohol. “why is she coming, anyways? has she been coming up with new ways to insult me?”

“abbot had a whole talk with her the other day,” he explained, refilling your glass. “he said it’s not worth the paperwork, or either of your careers.”

“but i’m not even doing anything—”

“talking about me already?” emery asked, causing you to nearly jump, and you groaned under your breath. “i knew you’d miss me.”

she was wearing dark denim jeans that were baggy and a loose smashing pumpkins shirt, something that you weren’t that used to seeing — but you weren’t exactly complaining.

“the complete opposite,” you said, and she sat directly across from you.

“how about we go get something else from the bar?” shen directly asked santos, and it took her a few seconds to understand his suggestion as she agreed, the two immediately getting up.

“so,” you muttered. “we haven’t seen you down in the emergency department.”

“i didn’t want to deal with your shit,” she stated, grabbing the spare glass that was on the table, and poured beer into it.

“i am just as smart and capable as you,” you reminded her, and she made a certain look, one that told you that she didn’t entirely agree with you. “you got what you wanted, i’m moving shifts — so can you just stop?”

emery took a sip of her drink, taking a few beats to answer as she thought to herself. “i don’t want to stop, i don’t think i will.”

“why not?”

“because you hate me,” she said. “i don’t particularly like you either, but i feel like i’ve barely reached the surface.”

“but why me?” you asked, and it was a question that nearly silenced her as she just stared at you for a few seconds before looking down at her cup.

“you’re easy and pathetic. it’s easy to break you,” she admitted, grinning to herself. “that’s what makes you so special — you’re entirely incapable of stopping me from getting under your skin.”

“i’m very much capable.”

“you’re not,” she shook her head in disagreement, inching closer as her hands were folded on the table, only a few centimeters from yours. “i’m not done until i’ve made you cry.”

you swallowed thickly, your heart in your throat, and there was nerves pounding at your chest. your hands were on your cup, trying to find movement to chug the rest down, and walk out of the bar — but you couldn’t.

was she implying what you thought she was? there wasn’t any possible way that she could do that or she wanted you like that — she made your job a horrible experience every time you clocked in, but was it simply all so she could unravel and bend you beyond your breaking point?

you stayed put, looking at her and let yourself be quiet for once. samira and whitaker came to the table, noticing the heavy tension that hung over you and emery.

“is everything okay?” samira wondered, only looking at you.

“yeah, we’re gonna head to my house right now,” emery said, taking the last sip of her beer, and got up from the table.

it was like a ghost pulled and picked you up too, as you adjusting your denim skirt and looked at samira, grabbing your purse.

“i mean, are you sure?” she asked, an edge of worry in her tone.

“i’ll text you guys later, don’t worry,” you told her, giving a kiss to her cheek, and trailed right behind emery as she guided you two out of the bar.

you saw trinity and shen at the bar on the way out, giving her a look as she gave you a thumbs up, knowing that she was right.

the silence lingered until the two of you were completely out of the bar, and only then was there distant noises of honking and chatter.

“my house is only two blocks away,” emery said, grabbing your hand and dragged you along with her. “you look pretty.”

she actually said something nice — you were going throw up.

“shut up,” you told her, trying to force your hand out of hold, yet it seemed impossible as she only tightened her grip.

“this is why you’re fucking impossible,” she mumbled. “if you’re going to be like that, don’t talk until we’re at my place.”

you happily complied with that, keeping yourself quiet as you walked with her and let her continue to hold your hand.

it took about fifteen minutes to get to her townhouse, that was on the nicer side of pittsburgh and you stared at it in awe as she began to unlock her front door.

emery dropped your hand, opening the door and let you walk in first. you hesitantly careened inside, seeing miscellaneous photos hung up on the walls — it was of her college days, when she graduated, family photos, and random art pieces she must’ve collected over time.

“you have someone who gets these for you?” you asked, emery closing the door and coming to your side. “the artworks, they’re nice.”

“my mom gets them for me,” she stated, putting her keys in the little tray that sat on the walk in table. “she knows i can’t stand bland walls.”

“how much does a surgeon make?” you questioned, putting your purse next to her keys, and she only grinned. “if it’s more than me, i might have to switch careers.”

“you’d suck at being a surgeon,” she said, and you rolled your eyes, feeling a bit dumb that you thought she’d be nice for a few more minutes.

“can you not be sweet for even an hour?” you wondered, and she scoffed. “i’m serious. why are you so fucking mean?”

“don’t act like you don’t like it,” emery stated, and you moved right behind her as she led you both to what you presumed to be her bedroom.

“i don’t like it,” you told her, and you walked into her room, which was insanely organized and clean. a smell of clean linen and pinewood roamed throughout the space, yet there wasn’t a spec of dust anywhere, her bed was perfectly made, and she had only neutral tones.

maybe all surgeons were neat freaks.

she sat down at her computer chair as you stood by her bedroom door, your eyes looking at every part of her room as if you were to memorize it.

“what are you doing right there? come here,” she said, and you gathered the courage to move in her direction, fidgeting with your fingers. her legs moved apart to manspread before you as you stepped in between them and looked down at her. “can i touch you?”

“what?”

“can i touch you?” she asked, and you were taken aback. “need to know if you’re soaking wet all because i bully you.”

“i’m not wet,” you insisted, and she hummed, hitching your skirt up to your stomach. you didn’t stop her, not one bit, and when her fingertips brushed along your mound, you had inhaled sharply, excited yet afraid what she’d do next.

“these are cute,” she complimented your eyelet cotton panties, and was highly amused with herself, bringing them down to your thighs. “you left a mess in your panties, sweetheart. did you know that?”

you were nearly shameful that her taunting you tonight got you to this point, “i…i didn’t know,” you muttered, almost coming out as a whisper, and shyly looked away from her.

“who said you can fucking look away?” emery asked, bringing her spare hand to the side of your face, and gave it a soft, yet demanding slap. “look at how fucking pathetic you are.”

you whimpered from the slap, nodding and made eye contact with her once more. the slap got you going more, and she knew it too, two of her fingers slipping between your slick folds.

“all because i’m so mean to you,” she taunted, and let out a disbelief chuckle. “you bitch about it so much, but you love it.”

you didn’t say anything else, your guilt and shame claiming you, and all you wanted to do was curl into a ball because of how stupid you felt for getting wet over your older coworker being simply mean to you.

“take your clothes off,” emery said, and when you were about to barely turn around to do so, she gave your calf a small kick. “in front of me. are you fucking stupid?”

you nodded, your shaky hands going to each of your clothing as you slowly took them off, removing your shoes last. emery’s eyes gawked at your nude body, her eyes taking in every curve and inch of you, your delicate skin that she had the urge to bruise.

she had cursed under her breath while continuing to look at you, thinking of millions of ways to deprave and ruin you.

“go lay flat on your back on the bed,” she said, and you happily obliged, scurrying over to the neat bed, carefully resting on it. you only stared up at the ceiling, hearing emery go through a nightstand drawer, yet you were too afraid to look at what she was doing.

the room was cold, a cascade of chills creeping over your skin, and you jolted when emery’s hands were on your knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

you sat up on your elbows, noticing how she was only in her sports bra, yet when you looked down to her lower half, your eyes widened.

“what were you saying about hating me the other week?” she wondered, her hands moving to the back of your thighs and forced your legs entirely back, your knees at both sides of your head. “it doesn’t seem like you hate me.”

“this doesn’t mean anything,” you groaned, holding onto your legs, and knew you had to keep them there. “i do hate you, i always will.”

without any warning or for you to take a breath, you could feel your cunt being ripped and stretched apart with her cock before you could say much else.

“that’s one way to shut you up,” emery said, hovering over you as she didn’t hesitate to fuck into you at a rough, violent pace, and her free hand found the pinnacle of your throat. “can’t bitch or whine anymore now, and i fucking love it.”

“fuck you,” you managed to breathe out, her hand hard on your windpipe.

“your cunt doesn’t seem to fuckin’ hate me,” she spat, her cock nudging itself deeper into your pussy, and you held back your wanton noises.

you spat in her face, and for a singular moment, she held all movements, but she smeared your spit off her face, smudging it back onto yours.

“are you that stupid? don’t tell me you are,” she said, spitting at your face and backhanded you, barely missing your jaw. you yelped out a cry as she continued to fuck into you, and put her hand back onto your throat.

“‘m not stupid, i’m not,” you cried, and she nearly laughed in your face, using her spare hand to smack the back of your thigh.

“you’re disgusting for this — letting your older coworker fuck you, treat you like a fuck doll,” emery groaned, her hand tightening on your throat. “out of all the ways i thought of shutting you up, i knew this was the best one.”

your eyebrows furrowed together as you managed to hold eye contact with her, your moans and whines bouncing off every wall in the bedroom, surely being heard from outside.

“i hate you too, sweetheart — but i love fucking your cunt,” she stated, her hand unclasping from your throat, and replaced your hands with her own onto the back of your thighs, holding them in place.

your own hands grasp at the bed’s comforter, your back arching, and your body was seemingly electric, squirming around with every harsh thrust.

“it feels like i’m gonna cum, em,” you whimpered, pleading with her.

“you’re not gonna cum. give me a kiss, baby,” she said, one of her hand’s going to the back of your head to pick it up, and your lips met hers, the kiss hungry and desperate.

she tasted between spearmint and tobacco, her tongue meeting yours, and she cursed your name, groaning it as her thrusts became brutal and merciless.

the heat kept accumulating in your abdomen, feeling as if it was on fire, and your thighs trembled against her touch.

“i can’t, i can’t, please,” you begged, being too sensitive and were on the brink of tears. it had been a while since you had a proper orgasm, and every burning sensation and desire stacked amongst each other, riveting throughout your body.

“be a good bitch and hold it — you’ve already disappointed me enough,” emery seethed, and you broke into a small sob, the pleasure being beautifully overwhelming. “keep crying, baby. just feels so good, doesn’t it?”

she could tell you were about to let go of your climax, coming to full stop which only earned a symphony of protests from you, and towered back over you again.

another slap to your face.

“be fuckin’ grateful i’m even touching you,” she said, and you whimpered, only nodding. she put her hand near your mouth, and you looked merely confused. “spit.”

you spat into her hand as she inched back and you could feel your saliva being used as a lubricant, giving you only a few seconds to mentally prepare.

“i told you i’d stop once i got you to cry,” emery reminded, and in a single second, she was pushing inside of your bottom, a heavy gasp eliciting from you.

you had minimal strength to keep your legs up, and emery immediately noticed, getting closer to you and had them hung over her shoulders.

you were being torn apart the seams, but you loved it — god, emery fucking into you and stretching you apart to her own satisfaction was all you ever needed.

“tell me you’re sorry,” she said, her necklace dangling in your face and you held profusely eye contact with her. “apologize to me, and i’ll maybe consider letting you cum.”

you shook your head, moaning her name without even realizing it, and it was the sweetest sound to her eyes.

emery loved it — no, she adored it. it was the softest sound with the sickest intentions behind it, and the knowing that the mutual hatred towards one another is what fueled her to fuck you.

“you feel s’good, em,” you mumbled, soft whimpers sewn in between, and your fingernails dug into the comforter, surely ripping the thread. “it feels so, so good, but i—”

“you’re gonna keep fuckin’ taking it until you apologize,” she said, and she was certain on that, knowing that was the only way you could orgasm.

and your orgasm was painful, brutally poking at your abdomen, wanting to be free; but you were too prideful, and she was too egotistical.

your cries were beautiful, and you knew it was helping her in her own depraved ways, getting her off as her cock moved further into you, your ass perfectly sucking it in.

you knew your makeup was ruined, mascara running down your soft cheeks, and emery just adored the sight of you being ruined all because of her.

“you gonna apologize, sweetheart?” she asked.

“you can’t even keep going!”

“i can go on all night until i hear those two words,” she said, giving you a hast kiss, and harshly smacked your swollen cunt, causing you to jolt.

you could say it and not mean it, she wouldn’t be able to tell. your orgasm was too much, pressuring inside of you, and your cries shifted into heavy sobs.

because you finally cracked, and sobbed out, “i’m sorry! i—i’m sorry, fuck!”

“yeah, baby? you’re sorry?” she wondered, and ran her fingers between your puffy cunt before rubbing your bud. “you’re sorry for what exactly?”

“for being mean a—and disrespectful,” you cried, and your climax was at the edge of your cunt, ready to let go of it all. “please, please! i need to cum, i can’t anymore.”

emery’s thrust paced up, and she rode you through your head as your back arched the moment your orgasm flushed out of you.

you cried her name in a practical mantra, and she cursed every word, taking a few more seconds to slowly fuck into you.

it felt like minutes until she came to a halt, and the two of you tried to gather lungfuls of oxygen, seeing stars in your vision.

she gently slipped out of you, and completely took off the harness, patting your leg. you thought maybe she would comfort you a bit, maybe lay next to you or check up on you for a second.

“i’m gonna go shower,” she said, putting her hair up into a ponytail.

no kiss, not a single aftercare.

the second she walked into her bathroom, closing the door, you used every minuscule of muscle and strength to get up from the bed.

you hurriedly changed back into your clothes and tugged on your shoes, storming out of her bedroom.

you remembered your purse being on the walk in table, opening it and grabbed your phone, seeing multiple missed text messages from your friends in a shared chat.

trinity : did she fuck you…. be open and honest!

victoria : WAIT WHAT

victoria : EMERY FUCKED HER???

whitaker : i wouldn’t be surprised and trin did call this.

samira : possibly. they left together and we haven’t heard anything in nearly two hours.

trinity : me and abbot made a bet so please update.

victoria : cass is looking over my shoulders and reading all these btw

trinity : hello beautiful milf :P

whitaker : why are u betting with my boyfriend

trinity : shut up mouse.

victoria : why isn’t she answering her phone !!!!!!!

you : someone pick me up. right now. in under two minutes.

you : i think i have cum running down my thighs i can’t tell.

As a social worker at the pitt, you were desperately in demand and chronically underpaid and undersupported. Even with all the years of experience now under your belt, the praise from your coworkers and hospital administration alike, and your hard won comfort in your position, you still had lingering school debt. You still lived in a crappy small apartment. Still found yourself the only social worker on shift more often than not, being stretched thin fit to snap, constantly being pulled in a million different directions.

But you loved what you did. You loved working with people, and problem solving. Looking at the system, acknowledging its overwhelming faults, but not succumbing to the weight. You were good at finding loopholes and work-arounds to get your patients out of tight spots. Every time you succeeded in getting a child out of a bad home, a woman out of trafficking, or a family’s hospital bill covered, all your problems seemed so insignificant, worth it.

Your friends and coworkers made it more bearable, too. Kiara was your rock, Lupe was always a kind, understanding presence. It was easier to connect with your fellow non-medical workers, because they too felt the pressure of the job without adequate compensation. The nurses, too. You could bond together in the face of day to day mistreatment. You were sneered at, looked down upon, underestimated, all while keeping the whole system running and getting paid jack.

You weren’t there so you could have your names published or buy a boat, or a vacation home, or be publicly praised. You put up with being ignored and shoved aside and overworked because you were dedicated to your jobs.

Doctors were another story. And surgeons? They were the worst.

It took you a bit longer to accept the doctors into your good graces, but you learned how to weed out the respectful ones as opposed to the ones who would look down their noses at you.

Dr. Robby, however snappy and short-tempered, always made sure to thank you for your work, and treat you the same as his fellows. Sometimes that meant yelling, but hey, at least it was equal treatment across the board.

Dr. Abbot, of course, one of your favorites. He won your trust right off the bat with his slow smiles and ability to stay calm in tense situations. He praised the social workers beyond a doubt, and you could always count on him for a ride home, or a shoulder to cry on, even.

Samira? No competition. You often told her she’d have excelled as a social worker, with her once in a lifetime empathy, her heightened sense for the socioemotional aspects of her job. You’d reprimanded Robby more than once for being harsh with her.

So, you weren’t too picky. After all, you were a people person. If you were to be seeing the same people almost every day, you’d make an effort to try and get on with them. That, and, despite all the ugliness you had seen in your job and out of it, you were still a firm believer that everyone has good qualities, even if it takes a little longer to see them in some than in others.

It took you quite awhile to see the good in Emery Walsh.

You had been working on the day shift almost exclusively for your entire multi year long career at PTMC, maybe picking up someone’s shift here and there, when you got the news that one of your coworkers was leaving and needed a replacement. It was only for a few months, you were assured, but still relatively long term. Social workers, to no one’s surprise, were in short supply, and Trish had had a family emergency and an abrupt departure.

You weren’t thrilled to be leaving your usual team, who at that point viewed you like family, and you right back, but you liked Jack, and you liked Lena, and you were nothing if not open to new experiences. So, you said your goodbyes, purchased some blackout blinds, and started the aggravating process of shifting your circadian rhythm.

It wasn’t easy, and you spent the first several weeks pounding espresso and running on thin patience. So it was no mystery why the generally sharp, sassy surgeon did not make a great first impression on you.

You found her acerbic, and cocky, much too sure of herself. This assessment was of course not helped by your sleep deprivation, nor her stubborn nature. Upon walking into the room, she didn’t even glance in your direction, speaking only to Dr. Abbot. You bristled, and pushed, and she pushed back. It was the beginning of a turbulent relationship.

You’d snipe at each other like school children whenever in contact. You’d go out of your way to request any surgery consultant but her, and she’d act awful lofty when you were around, using advanced language she knew you wouldn’t understand.

But as time went on, tensions were heightened by one inescapable fact; she was one of the hottest people you’d ever laid eyes on.

It took months, and several strong drinks, for you to admit that. Turned out, she felt quite the same. And so began a secret love affair.

By the time you were meant to return to the day shift, one of your biggest annoyances had become one of your greatest sources of joy.

You were proven right in your convictions that everybody had good. It was a long and slow process to break down those walls, to reach the person behind them.

Some days, you would cry and fight, and your mission to reach her felt less steady, and more like trying to find the end of a rainbow. Was it there? Were you wasting your time?

No, decidedly, you weren’t. You came to know Emery Walsh like no one had before, in the sheets, at home, even at work. You could look at her, and where before you only saw an arrogant surgeon, annoying but typical, now you could see the dedication, and curiosity, the desire to learn, and the desire to help.

It was beautiful to see in action, and you were reluctant to leave. You remembered confessing your hesitation to Emery, a week before the new hire started. You sat on her counter in your underwear, sipping the tea she had made you.

“The night shift is horrible,” Emery insisted. “We get all the weirdos. Our sleep’s fucked up. It has no sunlight, no steadiness, no anything. It has sleep deprivation and bad coffee.”

You set down your mug and grabbed her face, pulling her in between your dangling legs.

“Yeah, it does,” you said, twirling the baby hairs at the base of her neck. “But it also has you. When am I supposed to see you if I go back to the day shift?”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, deep into your eyes, and smiled. She placed her skilled hands against your waist.

“Well, if you moved in with me,” she said, “we can see a whole lot of each other.”

It took three iterations of the same proposal for you to believe she wasn’t joking. Once you did, you jumped off the counter, clinging to her like a koala as you squealed. After six long months together, a blip, really, but a lifetime to you, you moved in together.

It was no question whose apartment it would be. Emery was a surgeon, with a surgeon’s salary, and she lived like one. Her apartment had huge windows, good plumbing, and no mold. It had plenty of space for your things. You didn’t have too many, a fact Emery was only too quick to fix.

By the time you celebrated your first anniversary, you had a small collection of designer bags in your closet, fresh nails every fortnight, and luxury perfumes lining your vanity. Your student debt dried up, your car stopped making that noise, and your fridge was stocked with the bougie yogurt you never allowed yourself.

All those years you spent worrying about money, and it turned out all you needed to do was fall in love with a surgeon.

You loved your girl, and she loved you, and you weren’t ashamed. When you first got together, it was too new to tell anyone. Then, it was fun keeping it a secret. Then you went back on opposite shifts, and there were hardly any clues to pick up on. Hardly anyone knew that you went home after a long day to a cushy apartment shared with an attending at their very hospital, played with a cat she got you, and slept in a bed that smelled like her. They never asked, and you never told.

Emery liked staying private, and you didn’t mind. With as little contact as the two of you had, during the day, it was easy.

You had to tell Kiara, of course, and Dana would have figured it out anyways. Abbot and Robby knew because they were higher ups, and it was hard to file with HR without them knowing. You went to work, you went home. Emery did the same. You didn’t talk about your out of work ventures, referred in passing to “my partner” but gave no further details. Your phone background was of Mitzy, your cat, innocuous enough. Nothing, at first glance, really tied you and Emery to each other.

At least, not for years. But now, you were looking down at your gorgeous, very large, very noticeable stone resting in place on the fourth finger of your left hand, and you realized the jig was up.

It was a pretty impulsive idea. You woke up the morning before, after a wonderful night spent celebrating your third anniversary, and the question just slipped out of your girlfriend’s mouth.

“Will you marry me?”

This time she proposed something hasty and wild, you didn’t hesitate, didn’t backtrack and take convincing. You smiled wide, and said, “yes.”

You’d never wanted a big wedding and neither did she. So, you went to the thrift store for a nice white gown with your mother that very afternoon, bought a grocery store cake with a congrats piped across the top that was surely meant for a graduate, and went to the courthouse. Your flowers came from the few vases you kept around the house. The photographer was Emery’s sister. It was chaotic, and sudden, and a little panicked, but it was perfect.

You’d said your I Dos in front of your parents, siblings, Dana, and Kiara, and had cheap cake out on the cement steps. You went to the bar you had your first date at, danced, drank, and celebrated. You couldn’t have asked for a better day.

A few days later, you took a trip to a jeweller. You picked out her ring, and she picked out yours. You’d laughed and cried, felt all the emotions, dreamed of what the future looked like for the two of you. Then reality hit.

“I don’t want to hide this,” you said, tangled up with Emery in bed, turning your hand from side to side. 

“Me neither,” she said.

“So… what’s our gameplan?” you asked. “I mean, they’re gonna freak out. They don’t even know we’re dating.”

She fingered her own band, thinking. Then she grinned.

“Let them freak out,” she said. “Mine’ll be hidden, I can’t exactly have it on when I’m sticking my hands into people’s body cavities.”

“Right,” you said grumpily. “So I’m gonna get all the questions, and the badgering, and the attention, and no one’s gonna bug you at all. I have to take all of the heat?”

“I’m pretty sure it was in our vows,” she chuckled.

“Our vows said in sickness and in health,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re not sick. Unless you’ve been diagnosed with chicken-itis.”

“Ha, ha,” she drawled as you started making chicken noises in her face.

Really, it wasn’t a big deal, you tried to tell yourself as you got ready the next morning. They’d find out, they’d freak, and then they’d get over it. The question was whether or not to tell your friends exactly who your counterpart was in all this mess.

You’d only made the mistake of introducing a partner to them once. It wasn’t even serious, just a guy you’d met at the gym and brought along to drinks. After that night, they’d been insufferable. They made up nicknames, teased you about his clothes, his hair, his job. Even now, eons after your breakup, you’d still hear a jab about “how’s Walmart Bieber?" or “Is he still living with his mommy?”

So okay, yeah, he wasn’t the best choice of boyfriend, but he had helped you learn a very valuable lesson. Never introduce anyone you care about to the Pitt crew. They’d be able to drive off anyone. And sure, Emery wasn’t exactly a stranger to them, but that wouldn’t excuse her from receiving a barrage of insulting monikers and teasing about your relationship.

It wasn’t an experience you were eager to relieve.

As you walked into the ED, you got all your usual greetings. Lupe buzzed you in with a smile, Dana nodded. The only slightly unusual thing was the wink Kiara sent you as you set up in your office.

It wasn’t until you were filling out some paperwork for your first patient of the day, a single mother whose insurance wouldn’t cover a procedure for her son, that someone said something.

“I like your ring,” said Samira, handing you the pen you’d asked for. “Is it new, or…”

You saw the gears turning in her brain, trying to pull itself from work mode to friend mode. Then she gasped loudly and pointed, drawing several people’s attention. You grimaced.

“Is that an engagement ring?”

“Um…” was all you could force out. Your mind was suddenly blank.

“It is!” said Javadi, eyes wide as usual. “You’re engaged? I didn’t even know you were dating anyone!”

“Engaged?” said Whitaker, pulling up to the hub with Mel in tow. “Who’s engaged?”

Samira pointed to your ring again, and both dark blondes lit up.

“Congratulations!” said Mel, hurriedly freeing herself from her gown and gloves, and giving you a friendly hug.

“Damn, that’s a rock,” said Perlah, coming over and grabbing your hand.

“A rock?” snorted Princess. “That’s a fucking glacier.”

The two played tug of war with your hand, each trying to pull it closer for inspection, while Javadi was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Do you know when you’re gonna have the ceremony?” she asked. “I’ve always thought I’d like a spring wedding, but the rain is temperamental. I think you’d look amazing in fall colors, though, surrounded by the leaves, and everything! Of course, the color scheme has to be well thought out, too —”

“You know what you should do?” said Samira, snapping her fingers. “Get married in a library! Ugh, that’s my dream!”

“Yes, yes, the Boston Public Library is gorgeous!” piped in the new nurse, Emma. “Not insanely expensive if you keep it small, and not too far away from Pittsburgh, so like destination, but not inaccessible, you know?”

“Yeah, but why keep it small?” said Javadi. “Miss Popular over here, she’s gonna want to invite everyone and their neighbor.”

“Um —” you said again.

“Well you could still get married at the library then,” said Emma. “If you save. Or if your fiance is rich.”

“Yeah, is he?” said Princess. “What does he do?”

Quiet suddenly fell as the jabbering ceased and all eyes fell on you. You stammered a bit.

“My fiance?” you said. “My fiance… is a doctor.”

Why, why did you say that? Of all moments to tell the truth! If you thought they were all over you like before, it was nothing compared to now. Now that they knew there was a possibility they knew the person, seen them, even worked with them. It was like bees on honey, buzzing nonstop.

“Oh my god!”

“Does he work here?”

“Is it Park?”

“Ew, don’t say that!”

“What, he’s jacked!”

“It is not Park the shark!” you said, yanking your hand back.

“But it is someone at PTMC?” said Perlah.

You hesitated, just for a second, but it was a second too long. 

“It is!” said Javadi with a gasp.

“This changes everything,” said Perlah, looking devilish.

Luckily, you were saved from another wave of questions by Robby.

“What the hell is going on here?” he said sharply. “I have a feeling it’s not related to your work. And unless it’s about labs, or x-rays, or differential diagnoses, gossip doesn’t save anyone’s life!”

“Fascist,” Princess muttered under her breath as she turned back to her tablet.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, chief!” she said, overly cheery, before turning and whispering something else to Perlah in Tagalog.

“This isn’t over!” said Javadi, as she skittered away.

As they all cleared out, Robby stepped up to you, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Thank you,” you said, picking up your pen and getting back to work.

“Sure,” he said. “And by the way, congratulations.”

You smiled back at him. He knew, of course, had been invited to the wedding, both he and Jack. When you called their apartment, however, it was to learn that Robby was working and Jack was attempting to sleep off a nasty cold.

“Thanks,” you said. “Sorry you couldn’t be there. But, you know, it took less than a day to put together. It was cheap, simple, easy, memorable.” You smirked at him. “Maybe one of these days you take that silver fox of yours and make it official, huh?”

He immediately turned tomato red, as he always did at any mention of feelings. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, it’s really not appropriate to discuss these things at work,” he said, skirting away from your knowing eyes. “Don’t make me call HR!”

You just chuckled.

Later that night, you came home to a delicious smell and an open bottle of wine. Emery was swaying in the kitchen, humming along to your cooking playlist and stirring pasta on the stove. You dropped your things, kicked off your shoes, and joined her.

“How was work?” she asked as you wrapped your arms around her middle.

“Fine,” you said. “Vodka sauce?”

“The best in Pittsburgh,” she said, lifting the spoon and blowing on it. “Taste.”

You carefully grabbed the hot pasta with your teeth and hummed.

“Good.”

You wandered over to the wine. There were two glasses out but empty. You took the liberty of filling both and handing one to your wife. Your wife.

“Thanks, baby,” she said, taking a sip.

“Isn’t this kind of the equivalent of drinking at eight AM for you?” you said, nodding to the clock. “I mean, you just woke up.”

“Maybe, but I’m off today,” she said, grabbing bowls. “And I figured you could use it.”

“You would be right,” you sighed, bringing your legs up to your chest.

“They were bad, huh?”

“They were as you’d expect,” you waved away. “Actually, it made me kind of sad, more than anything.”

“How’s that?” said Emery, spooning pasta into the dishes and finishing with some basil leaves.

“Well, you should have seen how excited they got when they thought I was engaged,” you said. “They started picking out venues, and color schemes, and stuff. They really wanted to be involved.”

“What did they say when you told them you were already married?” she said, placing the hot plate in front of you.

“I didn’t have the heart to tell them,” you said. “I was thinking that maybe we could have a party? Like a big one, with outfits and dinner and a big cake, and everything.”

“Isn’t that the whole reason we got married at the court house?” said Emery. “Not dealing with all that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you said, stabbing some rigatoni onto your fork. “It’s just — I really care about those people, you know? And I know they care about me, and I think they deserve the chance to celebrate with us. I know I’d want one if one of my friends had a secret wedding.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, rubbing your arm with her free hand. “Really. And it’s also sweet that this has nothing to do with the idea of a registry. Really selfless, babe.”

You shot her a look while she laughed.

“Why pass up the opportunity?”

It seemed your mom had been holding back her disappointment at your small, makeshift wedding to spare your feelings, because the second you mentioned the party idea to her, she was over the moon. You had to convince her not to go ahead and start booking without you and Emery.

It was certainly a lot. Even keeping it simple, in your brother’s backyard, with homemade decorations, it was complicated. You needed to decide on music, live or DJ? Food, catered or homemade? Cake flavors, dresses, itineraries, everything. 

Finally, you had to put your foot down with your parents and inlaws. No caterers, no ceremony, no live band. A simple night with drinks and food, and maybe you’d allow some slideshows of embarrassing childhood photos. 

You were more comfortable sharing the blow then, with a plan, the next time you walked into work. Immediately, though, you knew the news of your “engagement” had spread like wildfire. Most obviously by the hubbub around the betting board in the security office.

Spotting Robby in the mix with his wallet out, you made for him, less than thrilled. He tried to hide his cash behind his back when he saw you coming.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said sternly. “I hope it’s not cheating.”

He glanced from the board, to Ahmad, to you. You turned to Ahmad.

“Don’t take any money from him, he already knows the answer,” you said, and Robby groaned. “Actually, don’t go anywhere near Abbot, Dana, or Kiara, either. They all know.”

While the other betters reprimanded Robby as though they wouldn’t have done the same thing, you examined the board.

There were a good few names up there, some eyebrow raisers. Devin from radiology, as if. Dr. Cruz from the nightshift; he was nice, but you thought his girlfriend might have a thing or two to say about it. Matteo, who was practically a child to you, in his early twenties. Ellis, the only woman, with just one vote from Santos. Then there was Abbot, which as you watched, gained five more bets from Ahmad’s hand.

Shocked though you were, you supposed his and Robby’s relationship wasn’t completely common knowledge.

“You said he knows,” said Princess. “Obviously he would know if he was the fiance.”

You shook your head with a smile, turning back to work.

“You people are incorrigible.”

Okay, maybe you’d wait a little longer, let them sit in it before you spread the word. Emery’s name wasn’t even mentioned. If you played your cards right, maybe you could convince Mel to cheat with you, and get a cut of the winnings. Your phone buzzed.

Tell them yet?

You smirked.

No. Let’s let them tear each other apart for a while first. We can laugh about it at the party.

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