#paramedic!reader

It’s the same routine that he has lived for the past 22 days. 22 repeats of the exact same Sunday with no explanation as to why. Its overcast outside his window, the minimal light diffusing a soft glow over the room from the blind that never got put down the night before – or, well, 21 nights ago. 

Max leaves his place at exactly 7:20, arriving to the station at 7:37, 8 minutes before the start of his shift, just like every other day so far (apart from the one time – day 11, he thinks – where he spent the whole day at home, praying that it would change his fate. Spoiler; it did not). Max knows by now that it takes him 3 minutes to get from his car to his desk, leaving him 5 minutes to spend alone with his thoughts. He runs through it all in his head: in 13 minutes, Captain Vettel will walk through his office door into the bullpen, greet everyone, then politely but firmly tell them to get back to work. Sargeant Webber will spill his coffee on his desk at 8:12, refusing any help offered to him (once Max forced Mark to let him help, hoping that was the change he needed to make. It was not). They will get a call of a child with no parents around at 9:23, which Max and his partner, Ricciardo – ‘the hometown heroes’ as the station likes to call them – will respond to. The lady who called it in is kind, idly waiting with the little girl until her mother comes down to take her home.  

Max originally tried to keep a comprehensive list of all the things he changed day-to-day, but he remembers it all. No point in writing it down when it erases itself at midnight, he thinks. He could recite it all from memory if prompted (granted that would never happen, though). Besides, he knows what he has to do to be freed. He hates that he remains acutely aware of everything he does anyway, despite the fact that that’s not what needs to be done. He knows that changing his coffee order, or not laughing at Daniel’s jokes, or wearing different socks, isn’t what he needs to do to get out. The repetition of it all becomes more and more daunting by the hour. 

Like clockwork, at 4:01pm, 29 minutes before Max is supposed to finish his shift and head home, him and Ricciardo are called out again. This time, instead of a lost child, it's a potential drunk driver swerving all over the road. Code 1, lights and sirens. The pair will be the first on the scene where they will see one car flipped on the wrong side of the road, crumpled on the passenger side and clearly t-boned with the perpetrator nowhere to be seen. A hit-and-run, presumably. 

Daniel will take a deep breath before he gets out of the squad car, mentally preparing himself, like he has every day beforehand. Even though he would never admit it, Max knows how much Daniel hates car accidents. How much he hates not knowing what they are walking into, or how serious it could be. In the past, he did too, but he supposes that being in a time loop works out well in his favour. He knows it all too well, considering he's relived it the past 22 days. 

As they step out, Max hears ambulance sirens in the distance, about 2 or so minutes away. There is no one else around, so he is still unsure of who called for help. Daniel notes, same as he always does, that its oddly quiet for 4:07pm on a Sunday. As the sirens get closer, so do Max and Daniel. Through the shattered passenger window, they see the driver hanging limply, barely held up by his seatbelt with the faintest of movement in his chest. The ambulance wouldn’t get there in time, Max thinks. They never do.  

Max knows they aren’t called to help the victim – they are there for scene control, to direct traffic, or deal with pissed off assholes who just totalled their precious trucks. But a small part of him always wants to help. To save a life. That’s what counts, he thinks. 

They can hear the roaring sirens of the fire brigade now, too. Similar in pitch, but different in tone – the ambulance carries a heavier, more urgent cry. Max hates how it makes him feel – like he's useless in these kinds of situations. There isn’t much he can do, except check the scene for dangers and report back to dispatch on sitrep. No one on scene except the totalled grey car, one ambulance unit, asking for intensive care if available.  

As the attending paramedics pull up, he greets them the same as always. They nod in acknowledgement; the usual grimly focused expression painted on their faces. They move with such grace, assessing the patient the best they can given everything happening. 

Max hates the horrid sense of deja vu that washes over him; despite living this repeatedly for three weeks, the uncomfortable crawling of goosebumps up his spine rattles him. He hates that, even with his eyes closed, he could describe every single injury the patient has, where the blood streaks down his face, the clean break in his wrist. He could recite it in such vivid detail even a psychic would be impressed. 

Max also hates that he is never identified by the end of the day, so Max is stuck in a shitty limbo of being unable to look him up and stop this whole mess from happening. But he guesses that’s the whole point of this karmic justice, or whatever is happening. He hates that he is the only one who knows that the patient will be pronounced dead on arrival after being airlifted to the nearest trauma service. He hates that he has tried, in so many different ways, to prevent this from happening, and failed every time. 

So, Max goes home and showers, scrubbing his face hard enough his skin turns red, as if it would somehow cleanse his mind of the poor man's bloodied face. It never does. 

DAY 33 

Max is smart. At least, he considers himself to be. He’s adaptive to his environment, creative in his ways, but easily frustrated. So, when he wakes with the sun in his eyes and alarm beeping in his ear now over a month into this whole ordeal, he decides to change up a lot for the day. He'll put on a different uniform, wear his badge on the other side, eat breakfast instead of just coffee, leave for work 10 minutes late, greet the captain before he can greet Max. Maybe even work at Daniel’s desk if it comes to it. Refuse the coffee that the new intern Liam will offer him. Intentionally mispronounce Isack from finance’s name. Maybe he will make Daniel drive everywhere they go, just to see how that changes things. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  

He gets called to the scene of little girl as usual, grabbing his jacket this time and heading down. He decides some small talk would be good whilst they wait for the mother to arrive, straying from the same conversations he has been having for the past 4 and a half weeks. It's nice, refreshing, not having to laugh at the same crap jokes Daniel makes every day, or using the same 3 replies to Alex’s sarcastic comments. As the mother and daughter leave, the lady who waited with the girl mentions something of working at a coffee shop, which he decides to investigate someday. It’s not like he’s running out of days to go anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow he can stop there before work. To spice things up, he reasons. 

It makes Max feel a little lighter as he heads back to the station, knowing what he is to face in just a few hours. 

On day 23, he tried to miss work and just camp out at the scene of the accident. About an hour in, Vettel called and told him off for skipping work when his big drug case was going to court in 2 days, and he hadn’t finished the paperwork. Considering he couldn’t exactly explain his predicament, he gave in and left. Nothing had changed that afternoon. 

On day 26, he tried to convince Daniel to leave 10 minutes before they would get the call, but Daniel told him to piss off, that he was too busy to entertain whatever bullshit Max was pulling that day. 

On day 30, he asked Webber to take his place and go with Ricciardo, to which he is vehemently denied, and told to hurry up and go.  

Nothing was working. It frustrated Max to no end. How was he supposed to save this anonymous man if he couldn’t get to the scene early enough to prevent it, or let someone else go? So, on day 33, he tried something new. He tried everything new.  

He called emergency services themselves, 10 minutes before the accident would happen. He told them that it would happen on Highway 1, before the M3 inbound turn off, in the hopes that they would get there at the right time. 

Right on cue, at 4:01pm Max and Daniel got the call to respond. They got into their patrol car, and it took them exactly 5 minutes and 20 seconds to get there, just like every other time. It was the same crash in front of him as it had been the past 33 days, with the car upside down smoking on the left, the culprit nowhere to be seen. 

Except now, parked a few metres away, sat a single-occupant intensive care unit. The back doors are open, but there is no one inside. 

An ambulance, lights and sirens blasting, pulls up next to them less than a minute later. They get their gear, and prepare for extraction, just like always. Daniel sighs, gets out and asks for directions. 

Max, on the other hand, is frozen in shock. 

This is new. 

He can’t see their face, but he can make out that they are crouched by the driver’s side. He doesn't even realise he isn't breathing until dispatch crackles over the radio, asking for a report. He gives what he can, clearing his throat and getting out of the car. Daniel is helping extraction, cutting the seatbelt as one of the attending paramedics cradle the patients head, doing their best until the fire trucks arrive. The intensive care paramedic makes the call for a helicopter, says they can land in a field 15 minutes away. 

It the first time Max sees you; you look up, hair pinned back, looking more put together than Max has ever felt, so sure of yourself and your decisions, and he can feel the breath leave his lungs. 

“Your partner normally this useless?” you mutter to Daniel, who scoffs and barks at him to get involved. 

But Max can’t move his feet. He’s rooted to the spot, a metre from the open car door staring hopelessly, willing his body to just go. He doesn’t. 

The Fire Brigade are there, and proper extraction begins. He blinks and the patient is out, on a spine board then a stretcher. The ambulance doors close, engine turning over before the lights and sirens flick back on.  

He sees you glance over at him, headed back for your car. 

“I haven’t seen you before,” he calls out before he can stop himself. 

You don’t reply in words, just an odd look before hopping in and speeding off to try and save a life.  

Max watches as the lights fade into the distance, the thumping of his heartbeat slowing in his ears, giving him a second to think to himself. Daniel calls for him, and he falls back into the same routine before he has the chance to process what just happened. 

When the scene is sectioned off and cleared, and backup arrives so Max and Daniel can return to the station, someone will tell him that the victim didn’t make it – was pronounced DoA, again. This was normal, the usual outcome to the day. So, he heads home, makes him and his flatmate dinner, and goes to bed. 

And when he wakes up the next morning, the backlit clouds crowding the sky, incessant blaring of his alarm, Max knows that he is still living the same Sunday. So, he zones out and relies on muscle memory and instinct to get ready for his day. He gets dressed, drinks his coffee, brushes his teeth, bids goodbye to Charles, and heads down to his car. On the drive over, he tries to think of new, innovative ways to change the day.  

He decides that it’s a later problem, locking his car and heading to his desk. He gathers his things and arrives at exactly 7:30. He keeps his eyes down, enjoying the view of the dirty linoleum tiles scuffing his shoes.at this point, he was willing to avoid any kind of conversations. 

Someone clears their throat. Max's head snaps up, and there you sit. Perched in his chair, waving his name plate around like it was the only lifeline you had. 

“Hey, Verstappen,” you say, voice strained as if you were struggling to maintain your composure, and he immediately recognises your face – you were the extra paramedic yesterday. The one who took his place with eased practise and made him freeze in the worn tracks of his routine. You look a little worse for wear, but he could pick you out of a crowd blindfolded. “Funny seeing you here,” you continue, a smile plastered on your face that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Can I ask you something?” 

He swallows, refusing to move any closer, as if you were poised to attack him. “Go ahead,” he coughs out, almost worried he would scare you away if he raised his voice too loud. 

“What the hell have you done to me?” 

Max stiffens. “...What, uh, what do you mean?” 

You stand, stepping closer to him. “Yesterday, after the accident? I finished my shift, went home and went to bed blah blah blah whatever. I woke up this morning, and my phone says its Sunday the 24th again. I figured it was a glitch so I just got ready and went to work. But, and this is the kicker right here, no one remembers anything from the accident yesterday – none of my coworkers, not your boss, not even your partner Ricciardo.” 

 “You talked to...? I-” Max swallows, his throat dry, fear practically radiating off his skin. His brain was short circuiting, struggling to come up with a solid answer, so he settles with; “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

For a moment, your expression breaks into one of dread, before you school it back into some faux-neutral that even Max can see past. “Before we left the scene you said, ‘I haven’t seen you before.’ You looked genuinely shellshocked – like you had seen a ghost or some shit. And you don't know what I'm talking about?” 

 Max was at a loss for words. It was barely 8am and he could hardly form a single coherent thought. He stood in silence as you stared at him expectantly, a slow, creeping suspicion pulling at his chest. 

He could pull people into the time loop. 

DAY 44 

Max wakes up as usual, just the same as the past month-and-a-half of mornings. Sun dimly shining through his curtains, the frost of the morning nipping quietly at his feet. He knows it's another Sunday in May; he can feel the same dread, the same foreboding settle deep into his bones. He wonders when he escapes, will the next morning be different? Will the weight of it all finally be lifted from his shoulders? Will he wake up and know that he has moved on, that a new day has dawned? 

He hasn’t seen you since you fled the station 11 days ago. He wonders what happened to you. Why hadn’t you come back? Had something happened and that day was just an anomaly? Or worse, had you found a way to escape without him? What had you tried that he hadn’t? 

He pulls on his work pants as Jimmy circles his feet, brushing his soft tail lightly against the side of the bed before he disappears into the dark hallway, being the feline-enigma that cats are. It makes Max smile, if only a little. He hopes that Charles is taking care of both of them on the other side of whatever this was. (If that was even how this worked – do other people just continue with their lives? What was Max like in that scenario? It hurt his brain to think about, so he never let himself get caught up in it). 

The coffee cup that he had balanced so carefully between his thigh's spills at the lurch of acceleration, dripping down his pants and onto the floor mats. Another pro to the time loop; what usually would make the car reek of brewed coffee for weeks will be gone by tomorrow. And his dirtied pants will be clean the next morning – he hasn't done a load of washing in 44 days.  

It's the little things, right? 

The sound of his footsteps echoes through the quiet hallway, easing him back into reality, the precinct wrapped in the muted routine of the morning around him. He stops by Captain Vettel’s office as he goes. The room feels somewhat like a temple; a dedication to all the hard work Sebastian has put into the force to be where he is now. All of his medals and certificates ordain the walls, imposing in its own formidable way. Vettel sits behind his desk with the unbothered aura of someone who has better things to be doing than making small talk. 

“Briefing starts in 15, Verstappen,” the superior officer notes, dismissal clear in his tone. 

Max nods, taking his leave. 

Some part of him almost dreads returning to his own desk, doing meaningless work that gets him nowhere. His train of thoughts are cut off when he gets to his desk. He barely manages to put his bag down and settle in before a chill runs down his spine; he can feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of his head, swivelling in his chair to find the source before even thinking it through. He spots you standing near the front desk, as if his mental spiral had somehow summoned you to his workplace.  

The glare you are giving him buries deep into his chest, crawling between his ribs and suffocating his lungs, but it is quickly replaced by something that looks a hell of a lot like exhaustion. Not the kind that is usually paired with the paramedic uniform draped over you, but the kind where you’re stuck in a time loop and tried everything to escape, and nothing seems to be going your way. 

It’s a look that Max knows all too well. 

“You’re here,” he huffs, disbelief clear in his expression. 

You nod, unsure if you can even form words. He gently guides you by the elbow to the guest seating area, empty as usual for early on a Sunday morning. Max leaves a seat separating you, as if being too close might fracture the moment – or the illusion. For a moment he isn’t sure if he is hallucinating; 44 days in isolation would do that to you. 

“I...” You watch as his fists clench in his lap, gears turning behind his eyes as he tries to figure out what to say. “You came back.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

You sigh. “Didn’t really have much choice, did I?” 

“It’s been eleven days... where have you been?”  

You can tell he isn't asking out of anger, or malice, just plain curiosity and something else that looks like worry.  

He looks down at his lap, almost timidly. “Are you okay? I was nervous for a second that you had managed to get out, or worse that I had hallucinated the whole thing and that if I had just made it all up in my head-” 

“Max.” 

He shuts his mouth, but he doesn’t look up. 

“I was freaked out,” you sigh. “You denied being in whatever this is – which, by the way, you are a horrific liar – and I was terrified. I didn't know what to do, so I went home and cried myself to sleep, praying to some higher being for this to have just been a bad dream.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, rubbing a hand across your forehead as if that would ease the headache you've had for the past week or so. 

“But you didn’t,” he says. 

“No,” you say, “I didn’t. So, for the next few days I tried everything I could think of to get out. I called out of work, drove for 20 odd hours with no sleep to see if it was zoned or something. When that didn’t work, I just tried to stay awake as long as I could, which also did not work.” 

“Yeah, I tried those too when I first got stuck.” 

You hum, playing with your sleeve mindlessly. “Did you write down everything that you have tried? Or kept some kind of list?” 

He grimaces, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I remember it all, though.” 

“Right...” you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation – being stuck in a time loop with a cop who you’ve never seen before. He laughs too, and the tension in the room lifts a little. 

“What else have you tried?” he asks, briefly glancing back toward his desk as Ricciardo rifles through some papers he had just printed. 

You huff, thinking back to the start. “I think it was the fourth or fifth day, and I waited at the scene of the accident with all my gear. I was there for two or so hours - I couldn’t remember the exact time it happened, so I just sat and waited by myself. They wouldn’t let me take an ambulance, but honestly, I was lucky that they even let me leave in the first place. When the call to respond came through, the accident hadn’t even happened yet. I was baffled.” 

Max’s stomach drops. “Uh, yeah that, um-...” he clears his throat, “that’s me. The first time I called it in early was the day that you got roped into this mess, so I guess I...” he smiles sheepishly, not wanting to finish his sentence. 

“You what?” 

He takes a deep breath. “I guess I just wanted to see you again, and if that was what it took, then I'd do it every time. But you didn't show up again. Either way, I changed a lot that day, so that might have not even been why you were there, but I guess that was what just made the most sense to have worked. I don’t know.” 

You nod inquisitively, as if all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. “That first day, when I was called to the job, they said it was a big accident and needed at least 2 units. Maybe it just came down to a difference in describing the scene compared to whoever called it in originally.” 

Max hums, unsure where to take the conversation from there. 

“How long have you been in here, anyway?” 

“44 days, give or take.” 

You blanche, skin going pale at the thought of being stuck in a never-ending loop for 6 weeks. Alone. “That must have been hard for you.” 

He sighs, cracking his knuckles as he leans back in the chair. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was. Is. I tried not to think about it too much.” 

“No, not is. You have me now,” you smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

He slowly nods, as if struggling to come to terms with it – 44 days alone, spent in utter isolation with no one to sympathise, but now you were there. Someone in the same situation. It’s almost unnerving, the giddiness gripping his chest. 

“So,” you continue, picking at your nails like they held the secrets you were looking for. “Tell me everything you know. From the start until now.” 

“Honestly I wouldn’t know where to begin.” 

“Every story has a beginning, Max. What happened the first morning? What have you tried? Literally any information is useful.” 

His mind went blank. So much for being able to recite it from memory. 

“Max?”  

“I think it’d be easier to list what I haven’t done.” 

You looked at him, long and hard, as if you could unravel his secrets if you tried just enough. He could see the cogs turning behind your eyes, deciding how to approach this. 

“That what they call it?” he counters playfully, a smirk dancing on his lips.

With a flicker of annoyance, you raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “You want your IVs restocked or not?”

“Oof,” Franklin interjects from the counter, where he methodically stacks pringles from a vibrant bowl, a grin spreading across his face. “Feisty.”

“She’s a medic,” another voice contributes, leaning back against the wall, arms folded. “They’re all mean under the surface. The nice voice is just a ruse to trick you.”

You turn your flat stare in his direction, unimpressed. “It’s not a trick. I just don’t like you.”

Your words draw a hearty round of laughter from the group, the camaraderie lighting up the otherwise sterile room.

Ben walks in halfway through the teasing, a binder tucked under one arm. He heads straight for the fridge, pulls out a Gatorade, then pauses—eyes ticking briefly toward the table. You glance up just long enough to clock him. Then look back down, pen scratching against your clipboard.

“Captain,” one of the guys says. “We were just asking our darling little rookie here about your little chat last shift.”

Ben unscrews the cap of his drink. Doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“She says it was just a lecture.”

Ben finally glances over. “You ever known me to have a fun chat, Franklin?”

That earns another round of laughs.

You smile behind your hand.

One of the older guys—Hassel—leans in. “She saved that guy, you know. The wreck. Got her hands in there before the glass stopped falling.”

Ben’s face doesn’t change. “She didn’t wait for clearance.”

“And neither did you.”

Ben looks at you now. Just for a second. Then shrugs. “Could’ve been worse.”

“She almost got blown to hell,” Franklin says, nudging her. “Which, I guess, is kind of hot. Like a war story.”

Ben caps his Gatorade and turns. “Get back to work.”

“Sir,” Franklin mutters, mock salute and all.

Ben disappears down the hall.

You exhale slowly.

But your ears are red when you stand and head for the ambulance bay.

Dinner at the station is chili—again.

You slide into your usual seat with a flick of your ponytail, lip gloss still immaculate, lashes curled, and not a strand of hair out of place despite the long shift. You’re in a hoodie with the station’s logo on it (a size too big), but you’re still the prettiest thing in the room, and everyone knows it.

Especially the guys.

“So what’s the deal, Rookie?” Franklin grins across the table. “You always look like that on shift, or is it just special for us?”

You lift an eyebrow without looking up. “Like what?”

“Like you stepped off a beauty pageant stage and into an ambulance.”

“Must be natural, then,” you say, grabbing the cornbread basket.

Moskowitz chuckles. “You a pageant girl?”

“Miss Lawrence County.” You say it like it’s no big deal. Pop a piece of cornbread into your mouth and chew slowly. Then add, “Twice.”

Moskowitz whistles. “Knew it.”

“But I also graduated top of my class,” you add, dabbing at the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “And I can decompress a tension pneumothorax with a ballpoint pen and a paperclip, so, y’know—balance.”

That shuts them up for half a beat.

“Damn,” someone mutters.

Moskowitz recovers first. “Okay, okay, don’t come near my lungs, Rookie. Just tryna get to know you.”

You smile sweetly. “You first, then.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“You wanna have girl talk, let’s do it. But if I’m giving my life story, I wanna hear yours. Family drama, high school GPA, your first heartbreak—don’t leave anything out.”

The table erupts in laughter.

Ben, still leaning against the counter in his usual spot, says nothing—but he’s watching.

You know it too. You can feel it. And for a second, you almost look back at him—but don’t.

“You guys can keep coming for me,” you say, reaching for your drink. “But don’t forget who’s patching your dumbasses up when you try to play action hero.”

“You threatening us, Rookie?” Franklin teases.

“No,” you say brightly. “Just making promises.”

Ben huffs quietly behind you.

You don’t turn. But you definitely smirk into your cup.

It’s late enough that most of the station is either sprawled on couches half-asleep or holed up in their bunks. You’re not tired, not exactly. Just wired the way you always are after holding court at the dinner table, all nerves and laughter and adrenaline you haven’t quite worked through.

The kitchen’s empty when you slip back in. You move quietly, rinsing out your cup and flicking the faucet off with your wrist. But when you turn to leave, you almost run smack into a solid chest.

You blink and flinch back, startled. You look up.

Captain Hargrove.

Of course.

“Sorry,” you say, taking a step back, letting the moment breathe. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

He stands there, cradling an empty mug of coffee, an unexpected visitor in the quiet space. Just a subtle nod from him—neither an apology nor an excuse. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You hesitate, lingering in the moment a heartbeat too long. He does too, his gaze steady and knowing, like he’s measuring the weight of your presence before you.

Ben glances over your shoulder toward the common room, then back at you. “They giving you shit?”

“Not really,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “If that was them giving me shit, I think I’m doing alright.”

“You do fine,” he responds, his voice gruff but oddly comforting. “You’ve been doing better, you’re getting the hand of how we operate here.”

There’s a pause. His eyes settle on you in that way he has—quiet and steady like he’s weighing you without even meaning to. And you should step away. You should. But you don’t.

“You’ve been here long?” you ask, trying to shift the mood. “At this station, I mean.”

He nods. “Almost 14 years.”

“Damn.” You tip your head. “And you still hang back during dinner like some broody firefighter Batman?”

Ben smirks. “It’s a power move.”

“Mm,” you hum, crossing your arms defiantly while fighting the urge to smile. “Or it’s because you’re terrified of getting roasted by guys half your age and one particularly pretty paramedic.”

“I’m not scared of shit, sweetheart.”

That sparks a real smile—one that lights up your face, revealing the warmth behind your teasing. “Right. Captain Hargrove. Renowned for his bravery, tactical genius, and unmatched skill in lurking around kitchens.”

His eyes crinkle a little at the corners. “You’re mouthy today.”

“I’m mouthy every day.”

“You keep that up, you’ll have the whole station wrapped around your finger.”

You grin. “Give it time. I’m just getting started.”

You’re both still standing too close. Close enough that his presence is like static—warm and thrumming and undeniably there.

He looks at you again, but this time with a gaze that feels more deliberate, slower as he takes you in. “You’re not what I expected.”

You arch a brow, curiosity piquing. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good,” he replies simply, his voice steady and without hesitation, a sincerity creeping into his tone.

You blink, caught off guard by the depth in his words, the unexpected sincerity hitting you in a way you didn’t anticipate.

Then, the tones drop—sharp, shrill, slicing through the moment like a knife. A call.

You both spring into action, adrenaline kicking in as you shake off the lingering connection.

The call is routine—nothing flashy. Just a kid with a busted arm and a frantic mom. But you do your job. You always do. And Ben’s there, a few feet behind, keeping an eye out, quiet and solid, and trying to calm down the mother.

It’s only later, back at the station, when you’re restocking supplies, that he says anything at all.

“You did decent out there.”

You glance up. He’s already walking away.

It’s not praise. Not really. But coming from him, it feels like it might be. And that—that throws you off worse than a lecture ever could.

When you finally crash in your bed at home hours later, the room quiet and still, it takes you longer than usual to fall asleep.

You blame the adrenaline. The shift. The chili.

But if you’re being honest?

You blame Benjamin Hargrove.

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery

[Y/N] woke up maybe 15 minutes later, maybe an hour. The only thing that was certain was that she hadn't slept longer than a day, as she was still sleepy. Wrapped in the omnipresent smell of cigarettes, she blinked her eyes lazily, recognizing the familiar interior of Light's hideout. The light she used to work was already off, only the side lamp gave off just enough light to look around the room. 

[E/C] landed on her work. The colorful cables were safely placed on a nearby table. She couldn't remember the time when she was conscious enough to put them away herself. The small screwdriver digging into her thigh suggested that she had fallen asleep with her work in her hands. She reached down to pull the tool from between the cushions, and the material resting on her shoulders slid down, exposing her to the unpleasant chill of the underground. Her body, torn from the pleasant warmth of her nap, shivered as she reached for the material. The black coat was nothing more than a blur of darkness in the dim light, but the smell of cigarettes emanating from it aroused no suspicion as to who it belonged to. 

A gentle and rhythmic movement at her side announced her companion's presence. [Y/N] tensed, her breath frozen, as she nestled between the back of the couch and the man's side. Blood roared in her ears as she frantically tried to find a way out of this situation. But so far, not a single sarcastic comment was dropped. 

She turned her head cautiously, glancing at the man. To her surprise, he seemed unaware of her awakening. Joker was leaning against the faded couch, his arms crossed over his chest, rising slowly in rhythm of his calm breaths. Most of his face was hidden by a red scarf as he rested his chin on his chest. Only a closed eye was visible between the loose strands of hair. Joker's pale skin stood out despite the darkness of the room, but the shadow under his eye seemed even deeper than usual. Was it just the poor lighting? 

Many of the people who inhabited the Nether were not ambitious individuals. Hidden in the darkness from the church's gaze, they lived their own mediocre lives. However, the longer she spent in the hideout, immersed in her work on the machine, the more she was convinced that the man before her was not one of those people. He seemed to constantly work on matters anything but trivial. Her gaze fell on the journal forgotten on his knee. The tattered pages hid secrets beyond her understanding. This state of matter suited her. Her hands were stained, but they had never delved into matters so deep and so soaked in politic. Joker had no such problems. His mysterious motivations pushed him much further than hers did. 

She returned her gaze to his face, suddenly strangely unfamiliar. Joker always kept his guard up. Even when he was carelessly joking and fooling around, or was busy with something. It could be seen in his lightning-fast reaction to any change in his surroundings, and in the way that no matter how much time they spent together, or how close he let [Y/N] get to him, his figure always remained shrouded in mystery, always keeping her at a distance. But this time the sharp features, smoothed by calm for the first time, seemed almost alien, unreal. 

Her hand slipped out from under the coat and reached for him, freezing mere millimeters from the pale skin. Unwanted touch was a plea for an attack from Joker. She had no doubt the man would be capable of a violent blow despite his calm demeanor. And one well-placed elbow would undoubtedly be able to dislocate her jaw. 

The problem was that [Y/N] was known for her stupid decisions. She held her breath as her fingertips gently brushed his skin. The lack of any reaction gave her courage and she carefully brushed her palm against his cheek. Fascinated, she watched this unusual sight until a purple eye flashed in the darkness. 

“Boo!” His voice was barely audible, but when his warm breath grazed her hand, she had no doubts. [Y/N] nearly jumped out of her skin as if electrocuted, not caring about the table or the cloak covering her. She fell to the floor, accompanied by the Joker's evil chuckle. 

* 

Joker's senses were heightened to their limits, and after years in the underground, his eyesight was the last one he relied on. The change in her breathing alone was enough to put him in a state of absolute alertness. Despite that, he didn't even move, his calm breathing masking his vigilance. 

He pretended to sleep, hoping that would be enough for her to leave him alone. He didn't have the strength to deal with her today. All he really wanted to do was collapse onto the couch in his own hideout and sleep, but someone had already occupied it when he got here. 

Joker's alert ears listened as the woman woke up and looked around. He was able to detect the slightest movement of her body. Including the sudden paralysis and slow turn towards him. He expected an immediate escape, sudden creation of distance, anything. But nothing happened. Despite the sudden increase in his curiosity about her behavior, his body gave no sign of it. He sat still, curious to see what would happen next. 

Well... The touch of [Y/N]'s hand on his cheek was definitely not the most likely idea. His mind was screaming in alarm, demanding a reaction. An attack, or rather a defense. Her touch burned with a fire that his generation had not protected against. It was strange, completely unnatural. 

But his body did not react. It continued to follow the gentle rhythm of his breathing, camouflaging the battle boiling in his mind. It allowed the warmth of her touch to spread deep into his bones, broken many many times. 

He opened an eye slowly, meeting her gaze. Despite the lack of light, he had no trouble seeing her eyes focused on him as they shined in the darkness. 

“Boo…” he muttered quietly. The word didn’t contain even half of his usual malice. It was purely automatic. A miserable way to act like himself in this unusual situation. 

The effect was immediate. Faster than he would have expected her to, she landed on the floor, her cheeks glowing red in the darkness of the room. A quiet chuckle echoed in his chest. 

 As soon as the call started, everyone was up on their feet and headed towards the vehicles. You caught the eye of Lieutenant Kelly Severide, aka your boyfriend, just as he was pulling up his fireman’s pants and sliding the suspenders over his broad shoulders. He smiled and gave a quick wink before you were rushing to the ambo where your partner, Sylvie Brett, was waiting for you behind the wheel. Once, your passenger door was shut, the sirens were on and off 61 was to the house fire.

You had been working at Firehouse 51 for almost 2 years now; the rest of the inhabitants of the second shift were your family. You had been partnered up with Brett for your whole time at 51 and you could honestly say that she was your best friend. Other than her, you were also close with Herrmann, Otis, Stella and of course, Kelly. As the trees and houses sped by, you tried to get into work mode; which meant building a wall between your emotional side and the victims.

You arrived at the address, and saw that the house hadn’t yet been engulfed in flames, but gray smoke was escaping from the open windows of the 3-story house. You got out of the ambulance and grabbed your bag from the back of the truck, Brett pulled out the gurney and the oxygen tank ready for anyone who would come out with smoke inhalation. As Chief Boden was yelling orders to the guys on truck and squad, you looked over to the side of the house and caught a pair of legs peaking out from behind a fence. 

“Hey, I think I see something.” You said, stretching out your neck to see if you could see more from your spot. Just as you and Brett were starting to move towards the possible victim, a woman and her child ran out of the fire coughing and covered in soot. You looked over to Brett and nodded your head towards the woman, “You take her. I’ll check on the person over there.”

“You sure?” Brett asked, looking over your shoulder at the pair of legs with have yet to move.

“Yeah, go.”

And with that, you grabbed your bag and jogged over to the fence. Behind it was a man in his possible late 20s, beard and puffy vest over a sweatshirt. One of his arms was near his head while the other was tucked under his torso, like he fell from the building. You kneeled down and checked for a pulse, before pulling out your stethoscope from your bag. “Sir, sir can you hear me?”

You started to listen to his heartbeat to make sure he wasn’t in B-FIB, not even noticing that the guy’s eyes had opened and was glaring at you. You saw from your peripheral that the victim started to move and was about to look up when you heard the clicking of the safety being taken off a gun.

“Don’t move.”

                                                        ---

Kelly had just come out of the building holding a young man and escorted him to the ambulance where Brett had been bouncing around between two victims. He did a quick look around and didn’t catch you anywhere, which was weird. You never would just leave your post for no reason. “Hey, Brett. Where’s Y/L/N?”

“She went to go check on a possible victim behind the building.” She explained, grabbing her last tank of oxygen and getting the mask over the guy that Kelly had brought over’s head. The man stopped her and pulled the mask away, turning to Kelly.

“There-There, there was a guy. He came into the open house, and started,” The man coughed, quickly taking some puffs of oxygen before pulling the mask away, “started spewing about God and his righteous will or something. He had a gun.”

Kelly and Brett looked at each other, and just as Kelly called out Chief Boden’s name, there was a gunshot. Everyone jumped, not knowing where the shot came from. Kelly then started looking around frantically, and saw part of your paramedic bad peaking out from behind a fence, and some splattering of blood.

“No...” Kelly whispered as he started walking towards your bag, slowly at first before breaking into a sprint. “No, no, no.”

“Severide!”

The yell from Boden didn’t deter him at all as he finally reached your bag, and found you on the ground with a bullet wound in your chest. Kelly quickly kneeled down and put some pressure on your wound, blood seeping into the material of his gloves. “HEY!! OVER HERE!! Y/L/N HAD BEEN SHOT!!!” He yelled over his shoulder before turning back to you. He looked around the area, but whoever had shot you was gone. You coughed, blood escaping your throat and speckling your lips and chin, gaining his attention again. Finally, Brett and Chief Boden arrived, Brett stumbling for a second at the sight of you like this before kneeling down and getting to work. 

Boden, without looking away from your body, grabbed his radio and pressed down on the button, “Main! We need a second ambulance, man down! Gunshot wound to the chest!!”

“K-Kelly..” Your eyes rolled over to Kelly as he still kept pressure on the gunshot wound, your eyelids fluttering as if they wanted to close.

“Hey, hey. You are going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, okay?”

“Kelly, we got to get her out of here.” Brett said, finally moving Kelly’s hands and adding gauze to the wound. Otis and Capp ran over with the gurney and a backboard, and the lot of them got you on the backboard before hoisting you onto the gurney. Just as they were pulling her around the building, the second ambulance arrived and two medics jumped out, immediately going to grab the gurney. 

“Hey, we got her.” Brett said, then pointed to the couple of people from the fire, better than before, “Help them.”

The 2 paramedics nodded and rushed over to the people from the fire, pulling them over to their ambulance as we started to move the gurney again towards 61. Stella, who had been in front of the building next to Casey ran over and helped load the gurney into the back.

“Brett, I’ll drive. You stay in the back and help Y/N.”

“I’m coming with you.” 

Everyone turned to Kelly as he said that, determination all over his face. Brett looked towards you in the back before turning to Chief Boden who paused before nodding, knowing nothing was going to stop Kelly Severide from being with Y/F/N Y/L/N. Kelly quickly jumped up into the back as someone from 81 shut the doors, slapping down on the vehicle and then the siren was on and they were off.

                                                     ---

“Y/A year old female, bullet wound to the chest.”

Kelly jogged with the gurney holding you as you finally got to Chicago Med; Brett and Stella helping as members of the ED started to come over and assess your injuries. Maggie rushed over and looked over your body, looking over to the members of 51 in shock. “It’s Y/N?”

“Some bastard shot her.” Kelly said, as the team directed the gurney further into ED.

“Okay, we’re going to Baghdad. Someone call Dr. Rhodes!” Maggie shouted. The gurney was pushed into the trauma bay and you were moved from the ambulance gurney to the hospital’s. 

Dr. Rhodes soon rushed in, slapping on his latex gloves and quickly making his way to your side. “What do we got?”

“Single gunshot wound to the chest, conscious in the field but she passed out in route.” Brett yelled, backing up from you. Her, Stella and Kelly all tried to keep watching as you were worked on, but it was getting crowded in the trauma bay fast.

“Okay,” Dr. Rhodes said as he listened to your heart with his stethoscope before looking at your stats on the monitor. “That bullet’s got to come out. Maggie, call up to OR.”

Before Maggie could pull out her phone, your stats started to dwindle, the beeping of the monitor causing everyone to shut up. The team working on her rushed around faster than before, if that was even possible.

“BPs down!”

“She’s not breathing! We need to intubate!”

“Got it!” From the ED Dr. Halstead ran into Baghdad, moving to where your head was and grabbing the laryngoscope before moving the tube down your throat. Once the bag was attached to the tube and Dr. Halstead started squeezing in rhythm, everyone watched as your stats started to get better. “BPs going back up.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Dr. Rhodes yelled as everything needed was piled up on your gurney and you were rushed out, Dr. Rhodes following but Dr. Halstead staying behind.

“Will,” he turns as Kelly walks up to him, “Is she going to be okay?”

Dr. Halstead strained a smile and slapped a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, “Dr. Rhodes is going to do everything he can.”

With that, Dr. Halstead walked away, leaving Kelly to finally look down at his gloves, which are covered in your blood. He quickly peels them off and chucks them in the nearest trash bin before taking a deep breath and heading towards the waiting room.

                                                  ---

Hours seemed to pass in a dull blur; members of 51 slowly piling into the waiting room as the surgery went on. Kelly had gotten into the routine of sitting for about a half an hour before getting up to pace for just as long, then sitting back down and continuing the cycle. His heart felt like it could break at any moment; any time someone walked out of the doors leading to the surgical wing Kelly would brace himself for Dr. Rhodes to come out and tell him that the love of his life was gone. And as more time went by, the more he started to believe it would happen.

After about 4 hours, Dr. Rhodes finally stepped out of the double doors from the surgical wing, his surgical cap still on his head as he made his way over to the group of firefighters. Kelly stood up from his seat and rushed over to the doctor.

“How is she?” Kelly asked.

“We were able to retrieve the bullet, it had barely grazed one of her lungs which is why she didn’t have to be intubated until she got to the hospital.” Dr. Rhodes explained. There was a pause as he looked over everyone who had been waiting for news about you, and as his eyes made their way back to Kelly, Dr. Rhodes sighed, “Her heart did stop, but we were able to bring her back and with a little time I think she will be back to work in a month or so.”

There was a collective sigh as relief washed over the group, Cruz slapping Kelly on the shoulder like a congratulative pat. Kelly closed his eyes as the news settled in; you were okay, you were okay, you were okay...

“Can I see her?” Kelly asked, and Dr. Rhodes nodded and was about to start showing him the way before Chief Boden called his name.

“Take some time. Y/L/N is going to need you.”

Kelly quirked his lips into a small smile, “Thanks chief.” And then he was following Dr. Rhodes down the halls of the hospital. After a few turns, they stopped in front of room 238 and Kelly could see your unconscious form from the window. “She’s really going to be okay?”

“We’ll keep her under observation for the next few days, but yes, I think she is going to be just fine.” Dr. Rhodes patted Kelly on the shoulder then walked away, leaving Kelly to finally enter the room. 

You were laying helplessly on the bed, wires and tubes connected to you as they showed your progress of living. The nasal cannula was resting under your nose as Kelly watched your chest rise and fall, something he was thankful for even seeing after what he witnessed at the fire today. Kelly pulled the chair in the room closer to your bedside and sat down, gingerly taking your limp hand in both of his. 

It was cold, which Kelly didn’t like; your hands were always warm and it gave Kelly a great excuse to hold your hand during Chicago’s bitter winter a year ago when you started dating. Finally just sitting by your side, the adrenaline and absolute terror that he was feeling before had ebbed away, and tears started to form in Kelly’s eyes. He almost lost you....He almost lost you.

                                                 ---

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Your eyelids felt heavy and like they were glued together as noises started to filter into your ears. Was that your alarm? When did you fall asleep? And who was holding your hand? You felt yourself murmur something, a mumble and a groan as you tried to pry your eyes open. Just then someone squeeze your hand and then moved to hover over you, “Y/N?”

Finally your eyes fluttered open only to slam back shut from the lights of the room you were in. It took a couple of seconds before you felt okay to open them again, and when they did, you got a good look of Kelly standing over you. He was still dressed in his turnout gear, his jacket off but you could make out the red of his suspenders over his Squad 3 t-shirt. You blinked a couple a times, and then as your vision cleared up, you got a look at Kelly’s eyes, which were red and puffy like he had been crying.

“Kelly?”

“Oh thank god.” Kelly sighed, his whole being deflating in what looked like relief, before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead. “You had me scared there for a second, sugar.”

“What happened?” You asked as Kelly moved to sit by your side again, but this time on your bed. Looking around, you could guess that you were in a hospital, the beeping from earlier had to be the heart monitor keeping track of your heartrate and the bed was not the one in your apartment.

“You went to help the guy behind the building and he had a gun.” Kelly explained.

“Is everyone else okay?” 

“Yeah, witnesses said that he was only waving the gun around before setting the house on fire. After he got away, the Intelligence Unit found him totally coaked out in a warehouse nearby, rambling about God and stuff.” 

“Jesus.” You sighed, leaning back into the pillows of your bed. Kelly just seemed to watch you for a second, his eyes trailing over your features with a delicateness he wasn’t even aware he had. You looked back at him once you felt his stare, his eyes so full of love and relief that it caught you catching your breath. “Kelly?”

Kelly blinked and took in a deep breath, looking around like he didn’t know what he was doing before standing up, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m going to let a nurse know that you are awake. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He got up and kissed you again on the forehead before heading out of the room. After a few minutes, he returned along with a nurse and Doctor Rhodes. “Y/N, how are you feeling?” Dr. Rhodes asked.

“Well, I can say positively that I’ve felt better. But I’m okay now, must be the good drugs you’re pumping through me.” You joked, chuckling before gasping a little and grapping at your chest. Kelly was by your side in an instant, holding your other hand while Dr. Rhodes came to your other side, pulling out his stethoscope.

“You might want to take it easy, that bullet grazed your lung so you might have trouble breathing for a while.” Dr. Rhodes explained as he listened to your breath sounds. “I want to keep an eye on you for a couple of days, and after everything seems healed up, I would like you to attend some physical therapy sessions. Just to make sure that lung won’t be a bother when you are back on the ambulance.”

“Okay. Thanks Dr. Rhodes.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to get some rest. I’m on call for the night so I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you again.”

Dr. Rhodes and the nurse both left, leaving you with Kelly who was still holding onto your hand. It was silent for a while; Kelly had sat back in his seat at your bedside while continuing to hold your hand as his thumb moved back on forth on your skin. You looked up to his face just as his stare moved from your conjoined hands and he sent a weak smile your way, one you returned.

“You okay?”

Kelly let out a laugh, bitter and dry as he looked back at your hands, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one in a hospital bed.”

“I know, but I think somehow you look more like a wreck than I do.” You said, trying to lighten the mood but you could feel that Kelly wasn’t budging. “Kelly, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because clearly I scared you with what happened. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He sighed and tightened his grip on your hand before letting go and moving to sit at your side on the bed again. His eyes were glassy with unfallen tears as one of his hands moved to cup your cheek. Without even thinking, you leaned into his calloused touch which made him smile. “You’re my salvation, you know that, right?”

You turned to look at him, eyes wide. “What?”

“You are my salvation; this light in my life that no matter how bad things get, you are always there by my side to help get me through it. And when I was there in that back alley watching you bleed out right in front of my eyes, I couldn’t see how I would get through it without you.” Kelly explained. “I love you, Y/N. So much that this whole day has been agonizing because it made me think about what life without you would be like. And I never want to try and imagine that again.”

“Kelly...”

“So I know its a bit hypocritical to ask since I do what I do, and because I know how good at your job you are, but-”

“Kelly,” You said, stopping him short as your hands went to his own cheeks, wiping away the tears that had escaped. “I love you too. And I’ll try to be more careful, I promise.”

With a sigh of relief, you pulled Kelly’s face towards you and gave a gentle kiss. When you pulled back though, Kelly was quick to pull you back in and deepen the kiss. You two sat there for a while, just reminding each other that you were okay and that you both loved one another; hearts beating almost in synch as Kelly cherished this moment with you. You were okay....You were okay.

ONE CHICAGO TAGS: @carnationworld​

Two weeks ago, you attended an event hosted by Tony Stark. Bucky had hurt himself, again. And again, you treated the man you’d see at night when you’d close your eyes to sleep. You hadn’t seen him since you left that kitchen. As soon as you mentioned the offer to Tony, you were pulled away to actually talk about what he was offering. When you told your best friend and roommate, they couldn’t stop gushing about how big of an opportunity it was for you and encouraging you to do it. And they didn’t miss about the way you talked about a certain beautiful, blue-eyed, super soldier.

“So, what do you think all this with you and Sergeant Barnes means?” They had asked. You didn’t know then, and you certainly weren’t sure of it now.

You sigh, allowing your head to comfortably rest on your arms as you were leaned over the break room table.

“You alright there, Y/L/N?” Noah asks softly, nudging your arm, before taking a seat next to you.

“Hmm.” You raise your head up to look at him. There’s a sadness in his eyes when he looks at you, that you’re sure reflect back in your own, but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“I know the feeling.” He chuckles. “You ready for our last shift?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” You sigh before looking at him, feeling your insecurities creep up a little. “You’ll keep in touch, right? I mean, just because we won’t work together doesn’t mean we won’t be friends still.”

“You bet your ass I will!” He states, lightening the mood. “This maybe our last ride as EMS’ but you’ll always be my partner and friend, Y/N/N.”

You smile at him fondly and he pulls you into a hug. The moment is broken by the sound of the alarm ringing, and although you both know you should be running to grab your gear, you both just take a second to laugh out some of the tension. Then it’s back to work, just one more time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duffle bag with a few days’ worth of extra clothes and necessities- Check Personal Items- Check Med kit- Check Other medical equipment on hand- Check Stark Issued ID- Check Mini breakdown and overthinking- Check Ride to Stark Tower (Stark says the parking is better there than at the Compound)- Check

You take a deep breath as you triple check your to-do list. So far, it seems you didn’t forget anything. The sound of shoes heading towards you on the expensive tiled flooring has you look up to find Stark walking towards you with a big grin on his face.

“Good to see you again, Y/L/N.”

“You too, Stark.” You greet as you stand up, picking up your duffle bag and swinging it over your shoulder. “Where do we start?”

“Ah, listen.” He hesitates before motioning for you to follow him. “Before we do any of that, the Director wants to meet with you.” He waits for your reaction, watching you closely as you walk through the halls with him holding onto your small suitcase.

“Alright. Part of me kinda assumed you’d have a boss I’d need to talk to at some point.”

He scoffs slightly, then chuckles.

“Nick would love to be my boss. But he’s sort of the overseer of the Avengers.”

“Ah. So, he wants to make sure I’m not a security risk then?”

“Pretty much. Though, it’s hard to know exactly what he’s looking for. Man’s like a locked box sealed in vibranium.”

“Noted.” You chuckle as Stark leads you into a room.

“You must be the newest recruit. I’m glad he ran this one by me, at least.” A man with an eyepatch and dressed in all black says from the head of the table. “I heard of the last one just as the fighting started in an airport.

You chuckle as he stands up and walks towards you, extending his hand.

“Well, I hope to not disappoint.”

“From what I’ve heard, it’ll be rare if it happens. It’s nice to meet you, Y/L/N. Please have a seat.” He motions towards the empty chair across from him and you sit. “Your resume is pretty impressive for just a paramedic, Y/L/N. Five years of college education, a high MCAT score, but then you left and applied to be an EMT. You easily rose through the ranks at the station and had one of the highest success rates. Impressive. Of course, I have my questions. But I want to hear your story and why someone with your testing score became an EMT.”

You sigh, hoping all of this wouldn’t come up. You told Stark that you didn’t consider med school because of the tuition, but originally that wasn’t the case.

“When I first started at university, yes, my end goal was going into med school. But during my second year, my mother got sick. She never got much better, and I helped my family out with her bills as much as I could, but she still encouraged me to continue my education, so I did. I graduated and took the MCAT with her encouragement. She wasn’t alive long enough to see the results. And funerals are expensive. I moved to New York once I was financially stable again, my best friend came with me, and the rest is history.”

The room falls silent, and you can feel Stark’s eyes on you.

“Well Y/L/N, with your expertise, I’d like you to be out in the field. But you need to train with Romanoff first before you’re going on any missions. Once I get the ok from her, you’ll be traveling with the team in case there are any injuries from their missions.” You nod, already expecting this. “For now, I’d like you working with the medical staff, treating any minor injuries that are common around here.” Again, you nod. “Now I just need you to sign these forms, and this contract of employment.”

“Yes, sir.” You tell him, smiling, as you pick up the pen, wanting to get started.

You exit the room, biding Fury a goodbye and thank you, and follow Stark as he leads you through the tower.

“So, usually I’d show you everything you’d need to about the tower, but it’s all in here. It’s not too important right now.” He says, handing you a Stark Industries tablet. “You scared of heights, by chance?”

“I- uh- what? No, um, not really? Depending on how high up it is, I guess.” You stutter while your brain tries to catch up. The elevator doors open up in front of you.

“I’m going to say no then.” He says, typing something on his phone.

Without him even pressing a button, the elevators begin to ascend. You feel awkward as you shuffle on your feet, still stunned by everything.

“Tony, what is going on?” You eventually ask.

“Just jotting down a few notes in my phone.” He replies casually as the elevator chimes, completely ignoring what you meant. You falter as you exit, eyeing the small hanger you arrived at. “Oh, and our ride’s waiting.” He calls out, walking towards a Stark Industries helicopter.

You slowly follow after him, gaping like a fish.

“Come on, Y/L/N!" He calls out playfully. “There are places to go and super soldiers to see.” That has you sputtering before you send him a glare, making him chuckle.

With you and your luggage all loaded up, the engine starts up. At your confusion at the lack of a pilot, Tony explains how F.R.I.D.A.Y. is flying it. Soon, you’re both flying out of the tower. You turn your head to look out the window, and your mouth falls open in awe.

The entire New York skyline is laid out in before you as you move. Your eyes follow the buildings as they seem to slowly pass you by. You faintly hear Tony’s chuckle behind you, but it fades out of mind the longer you look.

The city eventually thins out and the countryside opens up in front of you. The steel and concrete buildings turn into greenery and winding rivers. And again, you were in awe. A glare from the sunlight caught your eye, making you blink a couple of times to clear your vision. You turned your head slightly to see what it was when you see the Compound. Again, you gape at the image, you’re sure it’s not something you’ll get used to. You’ve seen the front of the compound from the party, but seeing it from above is something else entirely.

All too soon, you two are landing. F.R.I.D.A.Y. goes through the landing procedures and the helicopter touches down with a small jostle. The noise of the engines dies down as Stark begins to unbuckle the seat belt. You follow suit while he helps you grabs your luggage.

“You ready for this, Y/L/N?” Stark asks, for the second time, as he straightens out his suit.

"Yeah." You sigh contently as you look towards him. "I am."

"Great!" He claps his hands together before setting off. You hurry to grab all your bags and follow after him.

The tour is quick as he points out the kitchen, gym, the team lounge, your room (where he lets you drop off your things), and the briefing room.

On the way to your final destination, the medical wing, Tony becomes uncharacteristically quiet. Though, you're not sure whether to ask, or to just let him tell you on his own. Before you turn around the next corner, he stops, and you look at him curiously.

"I was, uh, thinking that if you, um, wanted to enroll in a medical program to get your MD while you worked here, you could. Outside of going on missions, in due time, there really isn't that much you have to do here. You could even take it here and have Dr. Cho supervise you. It’d be part of your job too so you wouldn’t have to pay for it."

"Thanks Tony, but I don't know. I'll think about it." You say.

He nods and continues moving again. Around the corner, two glass doors come into view and you can already begin to see into the medical wing. You're so amazed at all the advanced equipment that you tune Stark out, accidentally, for a couple of moments. Everything looks so cool, you’re excited to get started.

"And this here is Dr. Cho. She'll be your new department boss."

"Oh." You turn, seeing a kind looking woman in front of you. "It's a pleasure to meet you Dr. Cho. I'm really excited to get started here."

She chuckles.

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm looking forward to it as well. And please, call me Helen."

You nod, a bright smile on your face. Tony begins to speak, only to be interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y.

"There's been a minor training incident reported in the gym. Mr. Wilson is requesting medical treatment for Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers."

You groan quietly as Dr. Cho starts moving.

"Hey, Doc?" Stark calls, stopping Helen from moving. "Y/L/N here can take care of Tin Man."

You turn to give Tony a small glare at the amusement in his tone. Helen hesitates but nods anyways, asking if you need anything. When you tell her, she hands you a similar med kit to the one she carries and leads you both towards the gym, Stark at your heels.

"Not a word, Stark." You say on our way, missing the weird look Dr. Cho sends you.

He scoffs in mock offense but says nothing else, you smile softly knowing he will anyways.

You enter the gym and immediately see a small circle of people, agents, outside of the training mat. When they see Helen approaching, they part showing Sam kneeling next to Steve and a fiery redhead you can only assume is Ms. Romanoff by Bucky. You click your tongue in disappointment and turn to Tony.

"Maybe the bubble wrap wasn't such a bad idea for him." You say, just loud enough to catch the attention of the circle.

He laughs loudly and you hear a faint 'Oh, you're in trouble' from Wilson.

"I'll make the adjustments to his suit." Tony snickers.

"Not fair." Bucky groans from the floor, and you subconsciously pick up the pace a little.

"What happened this time?" You sigh, taking Ms. Romanoff's spot on the floor besides him.

"No bedside manner this time, doc?" He quips, avoiding your question.

"You know I never have it when I comes to your dumbass. So what happened?" Sam snorts, though he tries to cover it with a cough. Bucky groans.

"That punk is what happened. Was his idea." He says, pointing slightly to Steve, who makes a noise of offence from his spot on the floor.

"No, no. Don't try to pin this all on me, you jerk. Sam encouraged."

"Hell yeah I did! It was one of your dumbest and best ideas this past month."

"Not helping, Wilson." Both Bucky and Steve groan, though Bucky calls him 'pigeon man'.

"Barnes." You hiss, getting slightly impatient with him avoiding the question.

Either sensing your irritation, or knowing he wouldn't say right away, or both, Ms. Romanoff joins in.

"The idiots, Barnes and Nobles, thought it would be a good idea to try and run full speed at each other while both holding big yoga balls. Sam didn't stop them." You take a quick glance around, not seeing any yoga balls off to the side but rather scraps of colored rubber. "Needless to say, didn't turn out how they expected, but I now have amazing blackmail on my phone."

"Thanks for the concern, Nat." Steve groans.

"You two are idiots." You grumble under your breath, but you know they heard it based on the looks on their faces. "What hurts, Barnes?"

"My heart for sure. My ego maybe a bit too." You roll your eyes at him while riffling through the med kit. "But seriously, my back and the back of my head."

"See, that wasn't so hard." You sass back, grabbing the stethoscope and taking his vitals. "Any headache, sleepiness, nausea, dizziness? Ringing of the ears?"

He groans, shifting. "Slight headache, I guess. Feeling slightly tired. And I'm not sure about the other ones."

"You might have a minor concussion then. Do you feel any other pain somewhere besides your back?"

"My arms a little. And my pride." He answers with a huff, you shake your head at him.

"You're lucky it's nothing worse Bucky." You scold lightly.

"Doll, I'm always lucky when I have you taking care of me."

You feel heat warm your cheeks and look away so he doesn't catch you blushing. If it was possible for you to melt by his words alone, you'd already be a puddle underneath him. Now there's some place you'd like to be.

"You were you always this charming to women back in your day?" You joke, earning you a small smile.

"Depended on the dame, honestly." You roll your eyes at that damn smirk of his, but again, can't help but smile slightly at him. It's that stupid handsome face of his!

You make idle conversation with Bucky, and even Steve, as you and Cho bring them back to the med bay. Honestly, if this is your job, if this is what you’ll be doing, you’re not too worried. This is easy, you can handle this. Besides, what's the worst that can happen like this?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months in, and you were totally loving your job. During week one, you moved out of your shared apartment with your friend, as the commute was ridiculous, and you had a room at the Compound already. She agreed but not before making you promise to see each other as often as you could. By week two you realized Tony was right, besides training and treating minor injuries in the compound, there wasn't must for you to do.

So, you retook your MCAT, applied to the medical program associated with Stark Industries, and now you're a full-time student. But the best part is that you're allowed to take the course at your own pace, in case missions or emergencies were to come up. Thankfully, nothing bad had happened recently. Bucky wasn't getting hurt that much either. Only little cuts and nicks from missions or training incidents. And of course, you gave him shit for it too.

The one thing you didn't like was the physical training Natasha put you through. You always left feeling sore and uncoordinated, much like right now.

You groan as you reach for your gym bag, your muscles screaming. Surprisingly enough, you managed not to fall onto the mat as much as you usually did during training. Natasha noticed as well, giving you praise. You begin to fill up your water bottle, taking note of who's in the gym now, when you notice him. Seriously, it should be illegal to look that fucking good!

The gym shorts he wears does nothing to hide his massively thick and gorgeous thighs. His tank top is so tight, you think you can see the outline of his abs, or that might be your imagination. And good god does his long hair look cute in that little bun of his. He crosses his arms, and your attention is immediately drawn to the bulging muscle of his arms.

Biceps. Biceps. Biceps. Biceps. Biceps. Female hand. Wait, female hand?!

You move your gaze from Bucky’s gorgeous physique, sadly, to the female agent who’s touching him, well, flirting with him. Bucky attempts to step back but realizes he’s already leaning on the wall, leaving him trapped.

The feeling of cold water hitting your hand, snaps you back to the bottle you were refilling that's now overflowing. You curse silently to yourself, drink the excess water, and cap it hoping no one noticed your gawking. When you look back at Bucky, he's still trapped and looking more uncomfortable by the second.

"Hey Barnes!" You call out, drawing both the attention of Bucky and the agent.

His shoulders immediately relax, and he grins your way as you walk over to them.

"I thought I told you to call me Bucky, doll." He teases, you shrug.

"Seems as if I'm usually yelling at you for hurting yourself, again and again. So I guess Barnes just stuck." Bucky makes a face and you can't help but chuckle.

"Reminds me of how the teachers used to scold me back in the day." He says with a slight grimace. You laugh.

"You? Get in trouble?" You gasp in mock surprise. "Why, I could never see that happening."

Someone clearing their throat interrupts Bucky and you can see the annoyance briefly flicker across his features. You both turn towards the agent that was shamelessly flirting with him. You suppress an eyeroll at the look of irritation on her face.

"Oh, hi. I didn't notice you standing there." You tell her with a forced smile and as much politeness in your voice as you can muster. Bucky coughs behind you, trying to cover up a laugh. "I'm Y/N."

She rolls her eyes.

"We were kinda having a conversation here before you interrupted." She sneers. Okay, so we're avoiding the politeness all together. Game on.

"Oh? Really?" You say, acting surprised. " Must have been some conversation if you couldn't wait for me to finish greeting my friend here." You say, motioning towards Bucky.

She scoffs, but before she can say anything, you feel two hands on your waist. One warm, and one cold.

"Is that all we are, doll?" He asks softly in your ear, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. "Because if I'm remembering correctly, I owe you a drink."

You lean back into his hold, hands resting over his, gym back currently forgotten on the floor, turning to look at him. Your heart skips a beat as you realize just how close he is, and your gaze flickers to his lips. There's heat pooling in your core like the start of a fire, and you just know this man is capable of ruining you. Embarrassingly, it takes several moments to remember what he said to you.

"Several." You breathe, eyes finding his. And holy shit, you knew his eyes were blue, but you think you can drown in those steel blue eyes of his and the emotions they hold.

Suddenly you're not sure if this is a dream or not, all thoughts of the other agent gone, not realizing she already walked away. The intensity in his eyes is almost overwhelming, but this time, you're not going to run away.

"S'a shame that we've waited so long." You hum in reply, eyes falling back to his perfect lips. "And don't worry," He starts, forehead resting on yours, lips brushing against you own as he speaks, "No one else caught what happened at the water fountain." You groan, eyes falling closed as your head falls to his shoulder while he laughs, tightening his grip on your waist.

"Hoping nobody saw that." You mumble into his shoulder, tilting your head to look at him, only to find him already looking at you.

"So," You sigh, lifting your head off his shoulder, "When are you going to buy me that drink?" You turn in his hold to face him, your arms coming to wrap around his waist.

He chuckles, his right hand coming to brush a strand of hair off your forehead.

"Saturday?" He asks hopefully, and suddenly seeming really shy.

"Saturday it is." You reply with a cheeky smile before kissing him on the cheek and walking out of his hold, no matter how much it pains you to do so. "Pick me up at 8. And I better not see you in the med bay before that. Can't have you missing this because your ability to injure yourself."

He laughs as you pick up your bag, turn around, throw a wink over your shoulder, and add a little sway to your hips as you leave. The grin on your face not leaving anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday morning rolled in and instead of feeling excitement for your upcoming date, dread sat heavy in your gut. For some reason, you knew something bad was going to happen today. It felt like you had to constantly look over your shoulder. No one else seemed to have the same feeling, or no one acknowledged it. But it was making you more worried by the minute.

You busy yourself in the med bay of the tower looking out over the city, studying for an upcoming exam before you had to get dressed for your night out with Bucky. Cho and a few of the Avengers were working from the tower instead of the Compound, you just happened to have some training schedule with Cho that you completed not too long ago. Despite the dread, you still smiled at the thought of seeing Bucky later. And like you wanted, you were distracted from the fear you felt. Until you weren't.

15:35

That's when you saw it. Movement caught your eye and you turned, unprepared to see the cloud of smoke and fire rising in the air in the distance. Your mouth hung open. The vibrations came a second later, and the alarms a second after that.

The loud noise was enough to get you moving.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. where's Stark or Rogers?!" You shouted as you began running towards the former's lab.

"Boss is currently on the way to the hanger, Captain Rogers is heading your way."

He rounded the corner quickly and you wait for him before falling into step with the super soldier.

"Explosion in the city. I saw it." Is all you say. He nods. "What do you need me to do?"

"Suit up and get to the hanger. There's going to be casualties." He says in his 'captain voice'.

You nod before peeling away from him and heading towards the armory. Tony had designed you a suit for when you went out into the field. You didn't think you'd be needing it this soon. You open the locker Tony had told you about, finding the suit hanging up. Normally, you'd admire the white suit with black accents, but you're kind of in a rush. The suit, you notice as you put it on, has a bright red cross on the shoulder and instead of weapons in the small pockets are various medical supplies that you told Tony you might need in the field.

You quickly zip the suit up, haphazardly throw your hair up into a ponytail, and reach inside the locker for your field kit. You run to the hanger as quickly as you can, seeing the Quinjet being prepped and the Captain waiting with Wanda Maximoff.

"Stark already took off to survey the damage. Wanda, your job is to help remove the debris and any remaining fires. Stark and I will see if any explosives are involved and if there's more. Y/L/N, I don't need to tell you what to do." He instructs as you enter the jet.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and preparing yourself for the worst. Wanda hands you an earpiece as the jet takes off, the Captain flying. It takes all of thirty seconds before you're touching down. Just as the ramp begins to lower, you hear what you think is a faint boom. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice is speaking through the earpiece not a second later.

"There has been another explosion in Times Square. Reports of hostiles engaging with civilians as well."

You look to the Captain in horror, waiting for his instructions.

"Jesus, okay everyone listen up. Y/N and Wanda, stay on task." You nod, starting to run out of the quinjet, Wanda following you. "Sam get to the first location as quickly as possible. Stark and everyone else-"

His voice fades as you take in the scene around you, jaw open in disbelief and horror. Union Square. You hadn't been there often, but it had always been crowded. The perfect target.

A thin layer of smoke covers the air, making it more difficult to breathe. People scream, wail, cry. In fear or in pain, you're not sure. Fires burn in the trees and the once beautiful park looks like something out of a horror movie. As you look around, you realize there are no first responders here yet. You are the first responder on the scene.

You push the horror down in your gut and allow the familiar adrenaline to drive you forward and into gear. Ignoring the people on the outskirts of the blast, although it makes your heart clench in pain as they cry out and reach for you, you quickly venture towards what looks like the epicenter of the blast.

"Wanda, I need you to put the fires out and quickly. I'm going to be needing help.” You call out. When you don’t hear a reply after a few moments, you turn around finding her frozen in what you could only describe as pure disbelief and horror. "Wanda!" You shout, catching her attention. Your heart clenches when you see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, but it isn't the time to cry, not yet. "Work now, feel later! Get the fires under control." You command, knowing she needs that push into action. And it works.

You turn back around and start checking the people around you; seeing who's dead, who is beyond saving, and who you can help. You hate triaging, but you know if you don't do it more people could die. You finally find someone to help. You snap your gloves on just as you hear the sirens in the distance. You're getting help soon.

You don't look away from your current patient, applying a tourniquet to help stop the bleeding, when you hear the jets of Wilson's wings. You don't look up as he runs towards you.

"I've tagged the ones I've examined but I have so many to go over. Start triaging the ones I haven't looked at and tag them approximately for EMS'. Help as many as you can." You instruct.

He acknowledges your order and then gets to work, opening what you think is another med kit. Wanda comes over to you to help you work on your current patient when the EMTs and other first responders arrive.

Several sets of shoes begin running through the victims tagging them and getting to work. It's only when someone stops in front of you that you look up.

Normally you'd smile at seeing those from your old squad, but in this situation, you're too focused on your job. You tell Wanda to apply pressure on a victim's wound. Jake and his partner stand there, waiting for an update.

"These three," You start, loud enough for the other EMS' near you to hear as well, "Need an ambulance. Reds. The four behind me are black tags. I haven't even gotten any further." You tell them, exhaustion beginning to creep in, the adrenaline helping to keep it at bay.

They nod, shouting orders and requests as you and Wanda move onto another one. The only thing you focus on is the triage of those who are red tags and those who are blacks or who are close to becoming black tags. The other EMS' can deal with the yellows and greens. You're so focused, you don't notice the black van that pulls up.

It's only when a gun goes off that you notice them. The red symbols on their sleeves very prominent.

HYDRA.

Another shot goes off, people scream, you see Clarissa jerk back then fall, before a red shield is raised between the victims and the attackers. The fear freezes the blood in your veins until someone is shaking you.

"Hey!" Sam shouts, making you blink then look at him. "You worry about the injured, we'll take care of HYDRA."

You nod, watching as he runs towards the fight, shake your head to clear the fog, then jog towards where Clarissa fell.

"Focus on the victims! Get them out of here!" You yell, gaining the attention of the paralyzed EMS'. You hear Jake and a few other people that you know shouting out instructions over the gun shots, but you're just focused on the sight of Clarissa, ignoring the chaos around you. She's breathing and luckily, she was able to prevent her head from hitting the pavement underneath her. She's a patient. Just a patient. Focus and get to work.

You kneel beside her, ignoring the chaos around you, ripping open her turnout gear in hopes of finding where she was hit. When you get through everything, it's not difficult to spot the wound, especially because she's got her own hand over it. Blood begins pooling rapidly on her abdomen and you quickly cover it with your palm. She cries out at the feeling. With your palm still firmly over the wound, you tilt her slightly in hopes of finding an exit wound. When you find it, you immediately bunch up some cloth from her gear and gently lay her on it to help slow the bleeding.

"Shit." You curse under your breath, rifling through your kit. "This is going to hurt." You warn her. She nods quickly, and you give her something to bite down on.

You wrap some gauze covered in a clotting agent into a small roll, then quickly begin pushing it into the wound with your finger. You tense as you hear her muffled screams but keep going. When it's in most of the way in, you let go only to press you hand back firmly on the wound. She stops screaming but still manages to whimper and pant from exhaustion and pain as you continue to work.

You seal a bandaged over the entrance wound, making sure to do the same to her exit wound. You lay her back down, slowly, wiping a sweat-drenched piece of hair off her forehead. Your other hand reaches for her wrist to feel her pulse. Her skin feels cooler that it should be, and her pulse is slowing down.

"It's ok. I'm done now. It's ok. You're going to be ok." You tell her with an apologetic smile, grabbing her hand. She nods again and you feel the familiar burn of tears in your eyes but shake your head and take a deep breath. Now is not the time!

"I missed seeing you. At the station. So thank you." She says quietly, with a pained smile before her eyes close softly.

You didn't realize before, but it had gotten quiet. The fight was over. The police arrived too, as well as more paramedics were looking over the victims. A few seconds later Clarissa is being loaded onto a stretcher and you're left sitting on the pavement, hand out as if you were still holding hers. But you're not looking where they took her away, you just stare at the blood coating the latex gloves you wear. It's almost as if it's staining your own hands.

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, and you turn around to find Sam standing over you, looking down with concern. You try to smile at him, though you're sure it comes out as a grimace, before ripping the gloves off your hands.

You gather up for stuff, pick yourself off the ground, then walk back to the Quinjet, not speaking to anyone. Wanda walks in right after, then quietly sits down in the space next to you. Without a word, she leans into your shoulder, and you pull her into a hug, neither of you even thinking about the blood and dirt on your clothes. Sam comes in next, looks at the two of you, then heads to the cockpit. You don't even notice when the jet takes off, or lands for that matter. It's only when Sam comes to stand in front of you that you learn you're back at the Compound.

You and Wanda stiffly walk out and toward the common room. It's only then that you notice everyone was back too. But something seemed wrong.

Steve was agitated, Natasha looked worried, and you never expected to see that expression on her face, Tony was talking, no, shouting into his phone in the other room, and Bucky was... where was he?

"Is Bucky in his room?" You ask, tiredly, speaking for the first time since Clarissa had talked to you.

All eyes turn to you, and you can't help but grow uncomfortable. No one speaks.

"What?" You look around, that sinking feeling of dread back. Your eyes find Steve's. The helplessness in his eyes has the dread being replaced by fear. "Steve, where is Bucky?"

"He- they uh-"

"They got him, Y/N." Natasha interrupts. You turn towards her, sure that you heard her wrong. "When we got there, it was pure chaos. And we split up. By the time we realized something wasn't right. He, he was already gone."

You blink at her.

"No. No, you're wrong. Bucky wouldn't have let them take him. You guys just didn't see him. He's probably still there." You argue.

"He's not Y/N." Steve says. "They got him."

A hand touches your shoulder again and you immediately flinch away, turning towards your room. The noises around you turn to static, and your body moves on autopilot. You just about register the sheets underneath you as you sit on your bed, not caring about the blood, not really caring about anything. Your nose and eyes burn, and you don't stop yourself from crying, sobbing.

He can’t be gone. But he is. And he was going to miss your date.

Part 3

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