notes | Savettean future fic, some fluff coming your way!
title | who would have thought
"You look like hell," Noa greets, wearing an amused smirk of a grin as he dark eyes sweep warmly over Mario's hunched form while he makes his way into the bedroom.
He's still in his scrubs, covered with blood and a myriad of other stains and tears, when he collapses onto the open left side of the bed, face down with a groan that has her laughter through her admonishment, "No work clothes on clean sheets!" even though it's a rule they're both equally bad at following.
Mario doesn't actually get up, but he does at least folk over onto his side, watching her over the bags settled firmly beneath his eyes, the expression he's wearing the very definition of dogged.
It gets her attention.
Sighing a little worriedly (because good shift Mario sasses back and bad shift Mario just looks at her with that kind of expression), Noa sets aside the book she's been reading and fixes him with that clinical, careful doctor's gaze, all patient but piercing, waiting for him to spills his guts to her the way their patient's usually do. It gets a quirk of a smile from him, just briefly as he recognizes what she's doing, and then it's gone again, replaced by whatever has him so exhausted and miserable.
"Lost a patient tonight," he finally grunts, morose, before heaving himself up to avoid holding her gaze any longer. Mario busies himself with tugging off his socks and throwing them in the general direction of the hamper, where both articles of clothing completely miss their target and land amongst the joint mess of socks, old scrubs and sweats. Neither of them is particularly good about corralling in their dirty laundry after a long day at work.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She hasn't actually moved yet, still tucked up against a pair of pillows, watching him sympathetically, letting him come to her the way she always does (and the way he always does in return). It's just how they work.
And Mario knows he could talk about it, because they often do, but honestly, he's mostly fine. Tired, emotionally drained and unhappy about the outcome, but the wounds were well past critical when they came in and at least he'd helped give her enough time to say goodbye to her family. "Not tonight," is the answer he settles on, knowing Noa won't push for one but will worry until he gives it, and then starts trading the rest of his work clothes for some pajamas. Once he's got on a pair of flannel pajama pants, he drops back onto the bed, shaking his bad mood off to smile sincerely up at Noa. "How was your day?"
Noa huffs, eyes rolling at the question. "I spend it in bed, reading medical books and practicing sutures so I don't get rusty." Sure enough, she nods toward the dresser, where he notices a stack of neatly folded scrubs, no doubt patched up with some of the best sutures any ER has ever seen (neither of them are particularly domestic people, but they don't really throw out clothes because of rips).
Mario just laughs and wiggles a little close, bring up a hand to brush against her swollen stomach, while Noa shakes her head, clearly still in a bad mood about being placed on best rest for the last three weeks of her pregnancy. It's only been three days since their surprise visit in their own ER and she's not taking the lack of activity well. "It's going to fly by," he reassures her, pressing a kiss to the top of her stomach before maneuvering himself forward to give her a kiss as well. "Before you know it we'll both be at home for six weeks, more tired than after any double shift at Angels."
That at least coaxes a smile out of her. "At least I won't be bored then."
She talks a big game, but he'd seen how worried she was three days ago, barking orders at some of the residents in a way that had definitely made Dr. Rorish proud (even if she'd also had to firmly remind Noa that she was the patient, not the doctor). "I think we're going to miss being bored," Mario muses, taking a second the contemplate on how on earth he managed to get to this place in his life.
Who would have thought, way back in his first year, that not only would he survive residency at Angels Memorial but come out on the other side with a full time job at the same hospital, a great group of friends and a brilliant woman who understood him, didn't take any of his crap and was willing to start a family with him?
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notes | Just a short tag into The Devils Workshop, when Mario gets jealous. Probably will expand with a follow up sometime :)
title | jealous
"Oh I'm sorry did that hurt," pulls Noa's focus back from RussellĀ to Mario immediately, gaze narrowing as she takes catches his dismissive gaze. There's something there that gets her figurative hackles raised, the light tone of a moment ago dropping away as she digs in her metaphorical diagnostician heels when he rejects her concerns.
Mouth settled into a firm line, she insists. "He has pain in his malleolar zone and he can't bear weight."
Mario doesn't relent and neither does she. This, she thinks briefly as they stare at each other, stuck in their impasse, is their problem. They're both stubborn, forceful people who are good at what they do and hate to be wrong. Most days, when they're working together on a problem, it makes them a force to be reckoned with but somedays, like today, it makes them a disaster. Two immovable objects who aren't willing to sacrifice their pride to yield.
At least that's what she thinks until Mario pulls off his gloves with a snap, his dark eyes blazing with something fierce that she doesn't quite recognize until the words tumble, a little callously, off his tongue. "Alright, fine. If you want him, he's all yours."
Everything tumbles into place as she watches him retreat, shoulders squared stiff and without a single glance back: he's jealous.
Some dumb jock tries to flirt his way through a chemistry test and Mario Savetti is jealous because she smiled and interacted with her patient and did her damn job.
Noa resists the urge to roll her eyes or heave a sigh as she turns back to her patient, smiling reflexively now, without any of the admittedly fond amusement of a minute ago, thoughts distracted by scene that's just played out. Stubborn idiot.
notes | Just some silly fluff. Mario, Malaya and Angus go to a Waverly game and Malaya catches Marioās attention on something besides the on court action. Not my best work admittedly, Iāll possibly rewrite this at some point, but I really wanted to start working on pulling other characters in and I think Malaya would totally give Mario hell about his crush.
Mario gets the tickets because he likes basketball and because Waverly has been doing really well this season and their rival game is supposed to be a hell of a match up. It's also because he was kind of a jerk to Angus earlier in the week when they were treating the same patient and it seems like a good way to apologize. Of course, Malaya overhears his plan and invites herself along because she likes basketball as much as Mario does and all of a sudden, the next thing he knows, he's spending got of his few nights off sitting on the end of a row, listening to them chatter, trying to pretend that he's watching the game instead of Noa's every move.
Honestly, he'd mostly gotten the tickets because he wanted to see how she was doing and everything else just made for a decent excuse. He'd planned to glance her way every now and then and remind himself not to be jealous that Rourish didn't pick him. The problem is that as soon as he starts watching her, it's hard to stop.
She's doing an amazing job and it's as captivating to watch here, surrounded by thousands of strangers in an insanely noisy gym, as it is back at Angels, pitched in the midst of life and death chaos. Despite the fact that she's still just a first year resident, she moves through the team with calm authority, testing new injuries and examining old ones with an ease evident even from a distance. She smiles and jokes and gives them hell: he knows because he's long since memorized the cant of those particular expressions.
Right now she's in the middle of assessing a patient who'd hit his head barely a minute into the second half.
He watches as she rolls through all the standard concussion procedures, clearly not liking the feedback she's getting, but the corners of her mouth are tugged down and he can just barely see the divot she gets between her brows when something is particularly concerning.
Protocols run through his head, automatic, and there's a second where he wishes they were in the ER, so he could lean in a little closer than usual and share a suggestion, but the thought has no more than formed when Malaya leans into his shoulder, voice amused, to ask him, "What did you think of that play?"
The question startles Mario out of her reverie, dark eyes skittering to his friend's, only to notice the laughter dancing behind her gaze. "What?" he asks, hoping she'll assume he was just too caught up in the action to hear her.
No such luck. "Mario," she laughs, nudging him sharply, "Have you watched anything besides Noa since the game started?"
Mario Savetti doesn't flush, but he also doesn't answer the question (he does, however, take half a second to be grateful that Angus is still in the concession line getting them a round of beers).
Head shaking, Malaya just continues to laugh at him for a minute, taking his silence as her answer, not saying anything for a while, just turning back to the game.
"She does the same thing you know," crops up suddenly a few minutes later, as they're watching one of the opposing players line up a free throw. "Watches you working in the ER."
Mario just grins, finishes the last of his current beer and misses the results of the free throw entirely (except for the rush of excitement that barrels across Noa's face as the player must miss -- he's totally going to give her a hard time about starting to like basketball now).
notes | Drove more than I slept this weekend, brain is mush but here is some Noa/Mario for you anyhow :) Deals with the not-kiss from Exodus and also the moment when Mario goes into quarantine in the second to last episode. Short, kinda angsty I think?Ā
title | should have
They don't talk about the night of the evacuation: not the procedure, not the insanity of it all, not the kiss that they didn't have. To start with, they just don't have the time. They spend the rest of that night dealing with patients and the staff of the hospital they invaded and it takes almost three full shifts afterward to straighten out the jumble of paperwork and billing and supplies that they'd been forced to ignore in the wake of the situation.
And after a few days of that, it just feels awkward to bring it up, like the window is gone and there's no point in trying to open it again.
Except that he's still Mario and he still smiles at her with that same corner of his mouth grin that looks at once surprised and delighted and deeply amused, which means that all of the growing attraction that had had them leaning in hasn't really gone anywhere.
So she just deals with it the same way she's been dealing with it for months: she flirts back, denies that she is (to herself and, if pressed, to him) and lets (not) flirting with Mario Savetti be one of those fringe benefits that aren't really listed on the HR paperwork but are, nevertheless, one of the unexpected highlights of making it in to work each night.
It's fun, it's effortless and he seems content to maintain that same status quo, so they do, trading looks and leaning in a little too close at meetings and joking around with each other and patients when its mostly appropriate to do so.
She gives him hell about not getting the team doctor thing, he gives her one of those long, appraising once overs when he sees her in the team jacket and makes a snarky, congratulatory comment. She hears about a particularly impressive diagnosis and lets him tell her about it over morning charting. They snip and snark and somehow manage to talk about real things in between, peeling back layers of each other without ever meaning to.
And then he gets sick and she has to stand there, covered in that stupid yellow suit, staring at those no longer laughing eyes and the corners of a mouth that cannot possibly smile, watching as he walks into quarantine and possibly out of her life.
She should have dragged him into the stairwell at Peterson.
notes | spoilers for season 2 finale. Holy feels batman! Direct follow up to the room scene with Noa and Mario. [Title from Kacey Musgraves Somebody to Love, but actually listen to the cover linked in the title! So good!]
title |Ā and we're all hurting
When the quarantine is over, they begin resettling their recovering patients. Noa's exhausted but there's work to do, so she moves from room to room just like she's always been taught, searching out Mario's window with every spare second she has.
He sleeps for a few hours, after he gets his transfusion, and she's pretty sure he doesn't turn that she misses it, but of course he wakes up when she's caught up again, helping Hannah and Jeremy get resettled and together again. Angus is there though; he catches her long glance and the way she frowns anxiously as he startles in his bed, clearly a little confused. "I'll check on him," and then he's gone before she can even breathe a thank you (not that Angus needs it, he's anxious about his best friend too; he's just been better at hiding it for her sake).
She still watches from the corner of her gaze, every chance she gets, as she double checks Jeremy's vitals and they unhook everything not vital and make the slow and steady trek to Hannah's room. It's worth it, she knows, when they settle together, looking like all the pieces of their world are finally back in place.
Noa hesitates just another second, making sure they're both stable, and then excuses herself to take care of hers.
It's a relief, to walk into his room, to see him smiling at Angus up close, dark eyes finding hers as soon as she passes through the door frame. She feels like there's air in her lungs again, like they've been a little lacking for the last two days and now she can finally breathe and it's impossible not to smile as she takes the spot Angus vacates for her, close enough to feel the warmth of his knee against her hip, the slight press of him between a few layers of fabric: steady, sure, alive.
"I'm glad you're here," seems to fall out of his mouth as easy as breathing and the significance of that is not lost on Noa: Mario Savetti isn't the kind of man to easily admit to faults or weaknesses or need, his pride is hard won and she knows he clings to it (the same way that she does), so it says a lot to hear him admit that, eyes honest when hers fly back to them, so much hanging in the air between them. In her head, she hears Angus, 'He knows how you feel about him, I promise', a little buzz ringing until he speaks again, that hint of a smirk chasing away the seriousness of his expression. "Even if I did have to catch a deadly virus."
It probably says something about who they are as people that she can only grin back, murmur "shut up" without any heat and then cross the space between them for a kiss that they've put off too long.
It's soft and sweet and brief, but it's real and it's (finally, finally) happened and she needs to get back to her patients, he needs to sleep (for hours, for days, maybe for weeks; she's going to be so ridiculous about this, she's sure) but for now, it's enough. There's a hundred things she should probably say, but she knows that Mario knows them, that he can read them in the way she assures him she's "still not flirting", because all this stuff between them is so much more than that.
She walks out without stopping, knowing if she does she'll never get back to work, but she pauses to glance in his window and catches his lingering gaze, mouthes "sleep" to him as his eyes roll and then proceeds to make sure that he is between every patient check she does.
(And when she finally, finally gets off shirt, a few hours later, she takes a page out of Hannah and Jeremy's book and curls up on his hospital bed, drifting off to the steady, certain beat of his heart.)
I am going to revisit this scene and this episode so much in the next few weeks (months! maybe always!) because it totally broke me to pieces but it was so good! Also, hot damn, are those cannons I hear? Do I ship a thing that has actually happened? Also, please note, I am totally going to do a fic about that whole FaceTime thing when I've had a little more sleep. That might be my sunday at Starbucks goal.
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notes | As promised, this is a tag to the whole Anna/Jeremy phone call :) Spoilers for the season finale (also, longest Code Black fic thus far!)
title |Ā weāre all [lost ...&... hurting]
Noa knows sheās lived a relatively lucky life in so much as sheās only lost relatives who were mostly distant or appropriately old and so while those losses had been sad, none had ever really been a tragedy. At least not the way that theyāve been for some of the families sheās seen at Angels. Sheās certainly lost a few patients which have been devastating, that have left her feeling hollowed out and miserable, but she knows itās not the same.
That being said, while she canāt begin to fully comprehend how Annaās feeling about the loss of her father, she can somewhat understand how hard being separated from Jeremy (in general and especially at a time like this), is for her. Just watching her mourn and feeling unable to help is heart-wrenching and frustrating, knowing that the comfort and support her patient needs is so close but still walls away.Ā
Noa just wants to be able to do something, to feel a little less helpless than sheās been feeling all night (more and more so, since Mario and Malaya and Elliot were sealed away).Ā
It isnāt until nearly half an hour later, when she jams her hands into her pockets, exhausted, that she realizes there might be something she can do.
Noa hesitates for a second, once she has her phone in her hand, torn at the thought of seeing Mario. The last thing they did was argue (albeit pretty passive aggressively) and she has absolutely no idea how heās doing ā a thought that hasnāt left her mind once in the hours that have passed since he and the others were put into quarantine. Sheād like to think that itās concern for her patient that wins out in the end, but the truth is definitely more complicated than that.
He doesnāt answer her call and the sound of his voicemail message (brief and brusque and achingly familiar) leaves a cold, heavy feeling writhing miserably around her intestines. Sheās still standing off to the side, tucked in an alcove, trying not to contemplate what that might mean, when her phone starts to vibrate, the screen filling with his ridiculous profile picture.
This time she doesnāt hesitate at all, just swipes to accept, letting out a chest full of air when she sees him. He looks exhausted, a little dark around the eyes, but heās breathing and seems to be upright and heās wearing that weary, puzzled smile she only ever sees around 4 am when theyāre working on a particularly weird case. Itās like a shock to the system, the best kind, when he pauses just a moment and then says, āNoa?ā
Everything she wants to tell him (the apologies, the confessions, the favor that has facilitated her reason for calling) die on her tongue at the sound of his voice. He sounds perfectly fine, like any other early morning: a little tired but ready for another full shift if thatās what needs to happen.
āHey Mario,ā she breathes out again, grateful in ways she canāt begin to describe, even as she swallows down the majority of the words that are clamoring for attention at the back of her throat. āI need a favor if youāve got a little time.āĀ
Thereās a laugh somewhere, dancing darkly through his gaze (time is the one thing he has both in abundance and in a rapidly shortening supply; time is the great irony of waiting to potentially die), but it doesnāt make it farther than that, because Mario just answers, āOf course,ā as if thereās no doubt in the world that he can make time for her.
They donāt say that there isnāt, not for him or for her but she knows it anyway. She hopes he does too.
Noa manages a smile at that, small but warm, and she ignores the way Marioās attention tracks toward it as she explains what sheās thinking. He agrees again, just as immediately, and it leaves something impossibly big and bright in her chest, to know that they can still manage to be a team, working together to save peopleās lives, even when theyāre so figuratively far apart.
āThank you,ā is all she says when he agrees, immediately starting to Ā make her way back to the place she last saw Anna, curled in on herself where sheād sunk into a chair, unable to move since Guthrie and Campbell had told her what happened. The movement on Marioās screen (and the slight uptick in his breathing) tells her that heās doing the same. The doctor in Noa has to bite back her urge to comment on his vitals, to question, to try and make it clinical, because she knows that the rest of her just canāt.
All the same, when she first speaks to Anna, even she canāt miss how ragged and raw her voice sounds around the words āAnna, thereās someone whoād like to see you.ā
Watching them actually get to talk is another kind of heartbreaking itself.
Noa would like to be able to say itās because she knows there are no guarantees to anything Jeremy is promising, that itās more likely than not his words of comfort are empty, no matter how much they want to believe them, but she knows that thatās only the smallest piece of it.
Mostly itās knowing that Mario is on the other side of the cell phone, somewhere nearby, listening to the same desperate promises while facing the same uncertain future. Mostly itās being jealous of the comfort Anna and Jeremy get to give each other, when she knows that she and Mario canāt do the same. Mostly itās wanting desperately to just be honest, to be comforted, to have that certainty and faith.
She watches and tries to keep her cracking pieces put together, tries to focus on the good itās going to do for both of them, even if that good only lasts the day.Ā
And then it all goes wrong and the familiar sounds of a patient in distress interrupt their conversation, followed by the even more familiar sound of Mario shouting out orders and stats as she reaches to take back the phone. The last thing she sees is his sleeve before his phone hits the ground and disconnects and sheās left with an even more terrified Anna.Ā
(She tries not to imagine the sound of those same alarms hooked to a different patient, tries not to think of how long its been since he was exposed, how exhausted he must be just from working, let alone being sick).
She stays with Anna until she gets control of her breathing, leaves only when sheās crying silently and another patient forces her to leave.
The text message comes halfway through checking said patientās vitals and Noa silently tells protocol to fuck itself as she immediately fishes through her pocket as the vibration. He doesnāt seem to mind (is probably just as sick of being stuck as she is anyway), half asleep as she swipes at the screen and taps in her password. Itās a brief message, nothing more than āheās stableā but the relief it brings sweeps over her like cold water, sharp and sudden as she types back āIāll tell Annaā and then hesitates over her next words before following up simply with, āThank youā.
The vitals check takes record time and Annaās still crying when she finds her, but Noaās pretty sure she catches the corners of a smile when she lets her know that Jeremyās okay. The āfor nowā catches at the back of both their thoughts, but neither says it: Anna just nods and swallows hard, leaving Noa to drift back to the charting sheās been ignoring most of the night.Ā
Itās another hour before she gets back a āWelcomeā. Itās a good sign, she tells herself, grateful for the small reassurance that heās still okay, still alive, still fighting.
(Noa doesnāt let herself really believe that Jeremyās right, that thereās any chance that theyāre going to be okay, but if he can keep fighting, she wonāt give up yet either.)
notes | Just a short, fun scene that would take place post One in a Million, because IĀ couldnāt resist. (pretty short, currently hacking my lungs out)
title | careful
"Apparently as part of this team doctor thing, I occasionally get tickets to the games that I'm not on duty for," Noa states, sans any kind of hello or preamble, sliding in next to Mario where he's riffling through a set of charts at the nurse's station. Their shift has barely started and it's a Tuesday, which means that the ER is blissfully calm for what will likely be a fairly short period of time. "So are you busy on Thursday night?"
Surprised, Mario looks up from the paperwork he's been scanning through, trying to discharge a patient who definitely could have waited to see their regular doctor in the morning. "I can be," he answers distractedly, staving off a smile as he glances up to find her watching him, dark eyes sharp and one brow arched in question. "Trying to make sure you don't look stupid when you have to actually talk to the players?" He gives into the urge to grin now, just that wolfishly amused quirk of a smile as she rolls her eyes at him.
"I mean, I can put them back together without understanding the foul they just got, but if it makes you feel cool and many to explain sports, I guess you can enjoy your consolation prize for not getting the job."
The quirk of his grin splits wide open on his corresponding laugh, head shaking as Mario scratches a few last notes into his patient file before dropping it back onto the counter. "I'm driving," he tells her, as if it would at all impact the fact that he's going (he was already sold at 'are you busy').
"Whatever makes you feel better," but she's ducking her head on her own wild grin as she walks off to check on one of her patients, leaving Mario to sift through the remaining charts for his next case.
"Careful Dr. Savetti." Jessie pipes up from behind the counter. Surprised, Mario glances over to him, to see Mama beaming knowingly, "that one will break your heart if you're not careful."
notes | Another tag to 2x15, but this one also references 2x09. Noa takes a minute to herself, worrying about Mario.
title | faith
She keeps the Queen of Hearts tucked between her name tag and her hospital emergency codes, slid neatly into a little plastic pouch on her lanyard, a small reminder that even the hardest days are survivable.
There's a lull in activity inside the ER, everyone caught in a state of limbo where there's nothing more they can do but nowhere else to go and it's making her itch. Everyone's just waiting, holding their breath, stuck and Noa hates it, so she uses the time to drop onto a chair in one of the empty patient stalls for some quiet. As she settles, Noa tugs the rarely used curtains closed around her and then pulls out the Queen of Hearts to examine it for the first time in a long time.
She'd tried to give the stupid thing back to Johnny as she and Mario were discharging him months ago. The old man had just grinned and shook his head, pushing the card back into her hand with that enigmatic look that said he thought he knew more than she did. "Keep it Dr. Kean," he'd told her, clearly pleased about something other than his relatively clean bill of health. "Maybe it'll help you find a little bit of faith." And then he'd taken one last look between his doctors, wished them well, and left.
Now she stares at the bold lines of colors on the face of the card, fingers tracing them and drawing in breaths that seem to come too slow, even as she takes them more raggedly.
He's going to be okay, he has to be.
She can have faith in that, she can believe. She doesn't need proof or logic or reason: she just needs Mario Savetti to walk out of that damn CDC bubble and smile at her.
Noa gives herself five minutes: five minutes to struggle and waiver and lose it. Five minutes to sit in a chair with a playing card clutched in her hand and when it's over, she gets up, scrubs her face against the sleeves of her undershirt and tucks the card into the pocket of her scrubs, as close to her heart as she can get it.
He's going to be fine. She can believe in that, believe in him.
