#paramedics

Abby Anderson | The Last Of Us

(Abby Anderson x Female Reader — Modern AU, fluff, Co-Workers to Lovers)

Word Count~ around 1,9k

The firehouse smelled like burnt coffee and smoke, as usual. It was the kind of smell that clung to your clothes long after your shift had ended. A blend of caffeine, sweat and the faint tang of adrenaline.

You were halfway through your morning cup when the bay doors rolled open and the firetruck backed in. Tires hissing on the damp concrete. Through the windshield, you could see her. Abby Anderson. Shoulders squared, blonde hair tucked under her helmet, soot smudged across her cheek.

You told yourself not to stare. You always told yourself that.

But then she jumped down from the truck, pulling off her gloves with her teeth. And that quiet, tired smile hit you right in the chest like it always did.

“Morning, Paramedic” she said, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Morning Firefighter” you tease back, handing her a bottled water from the cooler. “You look like you wrestled a chimney”

Abby laughed, low and warm. “Not far off. Kitchen fire. Some guy tried to deep fry a turkey inside his apartment.”

You winced. “People really do that?”

“People really do that.” She sighed, downing half the bottle in one go. Her throat worked as she swallowed and you had to look away before your brain betrayed you with thoughts it shouldn’t have on duty.

“Bet you saved the day” you said, reaching for the clipboard on the counter. “Team did” Abby corrected, always humble. Always that same quiet pride in her voice.

The station was slow that afternoon, the lull between emergencies stretching into lazy normalcy. Abby sat across from you at the worn kitchen table, reading something on her tablet. Probably another training manual. You were filling out a patient report, trying not to notice how her forearms flexed when she reached for her mug.

“You ever take a break?” you asked finally. Abby looked up, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re always reading or running drills, doing pull-ups like a maniac” you said with a small grin. “You ever, I don’t know, just sit and exist?”

“I exist plenty. You just don’t notice because you’re always running out the door to safe people.”

Touché

“Okay, fine” you said. “But when was the last time you did something fun. Like not work related?” Abby tilted her head, considering. “Does coffee count?”

“No.”

She chuckled. “Then it’s been a while.” You leaned your chin on your hand. “We should fix that.” That made her pause. Her blue eyes lifted from the table, locking onto yours, searching. “Are you asking me out, paramedic?” Your heart did a very unprofessional somersault. “Maybe I’m just trying to save you from dying of boredom.”

“Right” Abby said, the smirk deepening. “Purely medical reasons.”

“Exactly”

Your chance came sooner than expected. A few days later, you were both dispatched to the same scene. A car accident on a rain-slick highway. Abby’s team handled the extraction while you stabilised a young man in the ambulance. Through the open doors, you could see her. Soaked through, helmet off, rain dripping down her jaw as she barked calm, steady orders. She moved like she was born for it. Focused, confident, heart steady while everyone panicked.

When it was over, patient loaded, scene cleared, you found her leaning against the truck. She was drenched and shivering. “You’re soaked” you said, tossing her a towel from your kit. “So are you” she countered, but took it anyway. Her hair clung to her temples, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“You did good out there” you said softly. “So did you.”

You eat her eyes and for a second, everything around you- the flashing lights, the rain, the noise- blurred into nothing. Just her. Just that tiny, unspoken thing that had been building between you for months. The someone yelled for her and the moment snapped.

A week later you were sitting in the firehouse kitchen again, when Abby dropped a small to-go cup in front of you. “Latte, two sugars.” she said casually.

“You remembered my order?”

“I remember a lot of things.” Abby said, sitting across from you. Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were soft. You took a sip, trying to hide your smile. “So is this the fun we talked about?”

Abby grinned. “I was thinking more of a hike. Or a movie. Or you know, something that doesn’t involve broken bones and fire.”

Your chest fluttered. “Are you asking me out?” This time she didn’t hesitate.” I am”

Your first date was awkward in the best way. Abby picked you up in her beat-up pickup, the inside smelling faintly of pine and smoke. You went hiking at a nearby trail, both pretending it was just “friends hanging out”, even though your heart hadn’t stopped racing since she smiled at your door.

The afternoon sun painted her skin gold, sweat glinting on her shoulders as she climbed ahead of you. Every once in a while, she’d turn to offer a hand over a rock or a root. Her touch steady, warm.

“You good?” she asked after one particularly steep section. “Fine” you panted. “You just have way too much energy.”

She laughs. “Comes with the job.” At the top, the two of you sat side by side, looking out at the city skyline. Abby’s knee brushed yours and neither of you moved away.

“It’s weird” you said softly. “Seeing it all peaceful from up here, knowing what we deal with down there.”

Abby nodded. “Yeah. Makes you appreciate the quiet.”

You turned to her. “This counts as taking a break, by the way.”

She smiled. “Guess so.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of wind and distant traffic, the warmth of the sun, the weight of her shoulder barely touching yours. Then Abby said, almost shyly. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

You glanced at her. “Hiking?”

She met your gaze. “No. This. Be here with you.”

Your breath caught. “You could have said something.”

“I didn’t want to mess up what we had.” she admitted. “You’re kind of the best part of my day you know…”

You smiled, heart melting. “You could’ve just said that sooner.” Abby’s laugh was soft, disbelieving and then she leaned in. Slow enough for you to stop her if you wanted to. You didn’t.

The kiss was tentative at first, careful, searching. Then deepened into something really and steady, like everything about her. When you finally pulled back, both of you were smiling like idiots.

“Definitely counts as a break” you whisper.

“Best one I’ve ever taken.” Abby said.

After that the rhythm of work felt different. You still bickered playfully over who made the better coffee, still exchanged teasing remarks over the radio during joint calls. But there were different little things now. The way Abby’s hand brushed yours when she passed a report, the way she always made sure your rig was stocked before her shift ended. The quiet looks you shared in the chaos.

One night, after a long shift she walked you out to your car. The lot was dark, your breath mistaking in the cold air.

“Get home safe okay?” she said.

“You too.”

You hesitated, then stepped closer. “Hey Abby?”

“Yeah?”

You rose on your toes and kissed her, quick, soft, tasting of coffee and exhaustion and something like home.

When you pulled back, she smiled that slow, sweet smile that always undid you.

“See you tomorrow, paramedic.”

“See you tomorrow, firefighter.”

Months later, the station threw a joint appreciation barbecue for the firefighters and EMS crew. The sun was blazing, someone had burned the burgers, and you were laughing so hard your ribs hurt when Abby came up behind you, looping an arm around your waist.

“Having fun?” she murmured.

“Depends,” you said, leaning back against her. “You gonna steal me another soda?”

Abby chuckled. “I think I can manage that.”

She handed you a can, and you bumped it against hers. “To not working ourselves to death.”

“To finding better reasons to stay late,” Abby said, eyes glinting.

You grinned. “Smooth.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

It did.

You spent the rest of the evening tangled up in laughter, stories, and the easy comfort of belonging. When the sun dipped low, painting the firetrucks gold, you caught Abby watching you with that same quiet affection that had drawn you in from the start.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

She shook her head. “Just thinking how lucky I got.”

You blushed, bumping her shoulder. “You mean we got.”

Abby’s arm tightened around you. “Yeah. We did.”

And in that moment, surrounded by sirens and smoke and laughter you realized that love, for people like you and her, didn’t come in grand gestures or perfect timing. It came in small, steady moments, a bottle of water after a call, a shared joke in the kitchen, a quiet hand at your back when the world felt heavy.

It came in the way she looked at you like you were worth saving too.

MS NOW rode along with a home-care paramedic team for a look at programs meant to make up gaps in rural healthcare.

Jun. 17, 2026, 6:52 AM EDT

By Rosa Flores, Sara Weisfeldt and

Cameron Brock

Regina Young’s chronic fatigue and anxiety had escalated to debilitating exhaustion, then a panic disorder that had her trapped in her home, unable to care for or even feed herself, when there was a knock on the door.

I am having thoughts about safety and accountability and transparency and conscientiousness, and struggling to articulate them.

Here’s what happened last night.

Pedro, due to having to stay late and finish up the paperwork for Smarmy McDickbag’s accident last night, was running on three hours of sleep. So that colored the whole night.

The Evil HR Lady brought in a gift for our bereaved dispatcher, who I’ll call Woobie. The gift is a potted peace lily. In typical thoughtless fashion, the Evil HR Lady didn’t reach out to Woobie or anyone who knows her before doing this; she simply expected that Woobie would love the plant and take it home. Woobie has a cat. Peace lilies (all lilies!) are EXTREMELY POISONOUS to cats. I contacted Woobie’s work bestie, confirmed that she has a cat, and made the executive decision that the plant lives in dispatch now.

Paramedics are allowed and expected to give some pretty heavy duty drugs. Some of these are narcotics (opioids), benzodiazepines, and ketamine. These are kept in a sealed box (a “narc box”) which is to be tightly controlled; its whereabouts are to be known and documented, any opening is to be documented, and any administration of the drugs is to be documented and backed up with airtight medical reasoning.

Anyway, one of our paramedics just fucked off home on Friday night with a narc box in her pocket after an event, and didn’t notice until the supervisor for the venue called her last night.

(If you work with controlled substances in any capacity, and have a moral compass, I am sorry for making the needle fly off and stab you in the brain.)

The supervisor, upon confirming that she had the narc box, told her to bring it back. She said that she had her kids and didn’t want to wake them up. She said she didn’t know why it was such a big deal. She started to cry on the phone.

Pedro, in all his 23 year old, people pleasing, sleep deprived weakness, somehow found the strength to say, “We will not have this conversation over the phone. The narc box needs to come back and I expect to see you soon. We can talk then.” I was practically vibrating in my seat, I was so proud of him!!

The narc box and the paramedic were there within the hour, and she had a long closed door meeting with Pedro and the clinical director. And some paperwork.

Eventually, it was time for Pedro to clock out. And go home. By driving, on long, smooth highways, when it’s dark and there’s nobody else around. On three hours of sleep. ⚠️ That’s dangerous as fuck. Did I tell you that I knew someone who was killed by a driver who fell asleep at the wheel?

Friday night, knowing that Pedro wouldn’t get much sleep, I tried to convince him to call out sick for last night’s shift. (Considering the narc box thing, I’m glad it didn’t work) I ended up raising my voice at him, warning him about driving sleepy. This morning, I tried a different tactic. I offered to Venmo him money for an uber, then drive his car to his house after my shift so he wouldn’t have to come back and get it.

“But I live in [suburb 45 minutes south of work]!”

“I know, dude!” (I didn’t actually know) “I am not offering this to you because it’s convenient for me, I’m offering to keep you safe. If this wasn’t life and death, and I wasn’t serious about it, I wouldn’t offer.”

He ended up driving to 7-11, taking a selfie with the energy drink he bought and sending that to me, then texting when he got home. I would have rather driven his car home, but I can’t exactly force or coerce him into going along with my plans. Besides, sleep deprivation makes people stupid.

All of these things combined make me think about how there are some people who are very conscientious and safe and trustworthy, who hold themselves accountable, and who think of what could go wrong and what knowledge they could be lacking. And then there are other people who fuck off home with a box of narcs and benzos and ketamine in their pockets and don’t understand why that’s a big deal. And then there are those who are either actively malicious, or greedy to the point of cruelty. Systems should be designed by the conscientious and thoughtful, with plenty of input by the careless and irresponsible, so that whatever system is created (anything from a checklist to a narcotics tracking protocol to restrictions on work hours) is easy and appealing to use. That way, most people will actually use it. Then it should be presented in a way that frames all the life safety and accountability as cost savings, so those who are greedy to a fault will buy in.

My other idea is to shake people by the shoulders and yell “DO BETTER” but I don’t see that actually working.