#tw bruising

Today’s shift has been brutal. 

Dennis has barely gotten a second to breathe all day, let alone chart or just sit down. Seven o’clock doesn’t come with the relief of finally getting to go home, no—it comes with the dread that he’ll be spending at least the next two hours catching up on notes, and he isn’t the only one. Trinity, Mel, and Frank are all scattered around at various computers, eyes half-closed and voices quiet as they dictate. Robby’s doing the same, minus the dictating—since he refuses to chart out loud for whatever reason. 

You come downstairs, hoodie on over your scrubs and backpack on your shoulders, swinging your hospital-issued lanyard around your hand. Your eyes pick over the central hub until you find him, approaching quietly, not wanting to interrupt the sentence he’s in the middle of. He gives you a quick smile as he finishes up, then sets the device on the desk. 

“Hey, you got my text, right?” He asks, pushing off his chair, standing up. 

“Mhm,” You hum, thrusting an iced coffee in his direction, one you had run out to get when he told you he’d be staying late. “Thought this might help.”

His eyes light up, more than they already had at the sight of you, taking it and setting it on his workstation. 

“It definitely will, thanks,” He says. “I’ll go grab the keys-”

“I’ll just hangout upstairs until you’re done,” You interrupt. “I already found a call room.”

He frowns. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” You insist. “Any chance you can spare fifteen minutes? I got dinner.”

Robby answers for him, sensing the way he’s about to decline and push through, even though he’s on his last legs. 

“Go have dinner with your girlfriend, we’ll be here when you get back,” He says. You raise your eyebrows at Dennis expectantly, gesturing in Robby’s direction.

“Boss says it’s okay,” You add. 

Dennis smiles, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He follows you upstairs, coffee in hand, rubbing his eyes a few times, trying to wake himself up. You push the call room door open, dropping your backpack on the desk, unzipping it and pulling out a few containers. It’s nothing too fancy, just some decent things from the cafeteria, but neither of you mind. You lay everything out while Dennis watches, eyes fond and chest warm. 

Your hands grab the bottom of your hoodie, pulling it over your head, revealing the black long-sleeve underneath. You don’t think twice as you toss it onto the bed, still focused on setting things up. Meanwhile, Dennis’ eyes fall, landing on the sliver of your waist that’s exposed between your waistband and shirt. He swallows, blinking quickly, already feeling heat spreading over his neck and cheeks. 

He’s almost gotten himself together by the time you’re done, but then you turn around. 

The long-sleeve is a v-neck, one that would be wildly inappropriate if you hadn’t been wearing a scrub shirt on top for your shift. Your necklace, the one he had saved so hard to get for your first birthday after you started dating, glints against your skin. Your chest is exposed, curves of your cleavage on display. Your pants hang low on your hips, and he knows every inch of you so well by now that he can practically see them through the fabric.

“I didn’t have much to work with,” You admit. “Figured it was better than nothing.”

Dennis nods, stepping towards you. “Yeah, no, this is really sweet, angel.”

You smile when he grabs your waist, pulling you close, kissing you quickly. 

“How mad would you be if I didn’t eat any of it?” He asks, voice just above a whisper, forehead resting against yours. You frown, face shifting with confusion, about to ask what’s wrong, he’s sure. He doesn’t let you. 

“There are…other things I’d rather do with my time,” He adds, tightening his grip on you, both thumbs dipping under your waistband. “But it’s completely fine if you don’t want-”

You take a second to recover, the proposition shocking, but then you’re all in, cutting him off. 

“Fuck the food,” You say lowly, looking over his shoulder towards the bed, the thrum of desire already settling in your stomach. He exhales, mouth tugging up into a small smile. He stares at you for a few seconds, then his lips are on yours again. It starts soft, but it spirals fast, your arms wrapping around his neck, lips locked. He slides his hands under your shirt, cold fingertips digging into your sides, sending a shiver down your spine. 

He pulls back for a moment, lifting your shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side. Your heart pumps against your sternum, blood rushing to your chest as you reconnect. You grab either side of his face, trying to get impossibly close, lips haphazard and frantic. Dennis’ movements aren’t any more precise, guiding you away from the table until you feel the wall against your back, both of you almost tripping over your own feet. He reaches towards your spine, unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

He ducks his head down towards your chest, lips closing around your skin, nipping softly. You gasp, fingers threading through his hair as he leaves small bruises, barely leaving any skin unaffected. He eventually takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.  

“Ah, Den,” You sigh, tilting your head back, eyes closing. He unties your scrub pants, shuffling them down your thighs along with your thong. He comes back up, kissing you again, chest heaving. You whimper against him when he drops a hand down, pushing two fingers inside of you. 

He doesn’t break the kiss as he pumps them up and down, feeling how you tighten momentarily, thighs clenching and legs already starting to quiver. You rock your hips in time with his fingers, needing more. 

“What do you want from me, angel?” He asks, the question murmured against your lips. 

You shake your head. “Anything you want.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, licking his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

You can still remember when you first started dating, when he would’ve asked if you were sure. Now he knows that you’re more than sure. 

He pulls his scrub top off, along with the t-shirt he was wearing underneath. You watch his chain fall back against his chest, his muscles rippling as he throws his clothes aside. His collarbones catch your eye, and you kiss the left one, then the right. You nip at the bone, knowing how sensitive he is there, then you give him a bruise to match the myriad he’s given you. It throws his focus for a second, his breath catching with a soft groan. 

He grabs the back of your thighs, setting you on the bed, climbing on top of you. He puts his lips back on you, starting just below your ribcage, leaving bruises and kisses all over your stomach. He continues down to your thighs, occasionally biting into your skin. You admire the gradient of hickeys he’s left, the ones on your chest already dark. You bite back a comment about him ‘marking his territory.’ 

He lifts his head, panting, one hand holding himself up on the mattress while he raises the other, turning his watch towards his face. The action is so unreasonably hot you have to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid moaning. 

“Eight minutes,” He comments, looking at you. His eyes are dark, matching your own. “I can get you off-”

“Don’t worry about me,” You breathe, eyes flicking between his face and his chain, which is hanging off his neck, swinging back and forth lightly. “Just fuck me, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object, especially when you reach out, fingers curling around the silver necklace. You tug on it, pulling him close. He fumbles with his own scrub pants, untying them and pushing them down, keeping them around his thighs. His muscles press against the elastic waistband, visibly flexing. 

“Jesus fuck,” You say, making him look at you, eyes wide. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, concern flashing on his features. 

“No, no, fuck, you’re just-” You pause, his thigh muscles still commanding your attention. “I love you so much, and you’re so hot.”

He smiles, all worry washing away. “I love you too, baby.”

You gesture to his watch. “Eight minutes, Denny.”

“Right, right,” He says, shifting so he’s in line with you. You arch your back as he slides a hand underneath you, bracing your pelvis as he slowly pushes in. The lack of foreplay makes it hurts a bit more than usual, your face scrunching up, grip on his chain tightening. He watches you closely as he moves, making sure he’s not going too fast. 

You wince at one point, and he freezes. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks. 

“No, please don’t,” You say, visibly relaxing a touch. “Keep going.”

Your eyes rolls back once he’s in, reaching for him. He lowers himself onto his elbow beside your head, his other hand coming up to your cheek. The feeling of cold metal on your chest makes you flinch, looking down to see where the bottom of the cross grazes your bruised skin. 

“Jesus,” He murmurs, hitting your cervix easily. The cross moves with each thrust, occasionally hitting your jaw. “You feel amazing, angel.”

You moan in response. 

“Shh, don’t want anyone hearing you,” He murmurs, adjusting so the pendant hangs above your mouth. You take it between your teeth. 

He rolls his hips again, making your eyes flutter closed as you whine. Dennis looks you up and down, realizing that you’ll definitely be sensitive for the next few days while your bruises heal. He’s about to speak again when there’s a knock on the door. 

You both go still, listening closely, not entirely sure if it was really a knock or just someone out in the hallway. Dennis turns his head towards the door, squinting. 

“Was that-”

There’s another knock followed by his last name, then yours. It’s Lena, undoubtedly. Dennis is off you in a second, already pulling his pants back up. He scoops his t-shirt off the floor, yanking it over his torso while you do the same with your long-sleeve, pulling the thin blanket at the end of the bed over your exposed legs after. You reach your arms up, acting as though you’re tying your hair back when he turns around, making sure you’re decent before opening the door. 

“Hey, Lena,” He greets. “Everything okay?”

“We’ve got a pileup,” She explains. “Four victims, five minutes out. We need all hands on deck.”

“Shit, okay,” Dennis says. “Yeah, we’ll be right down.”

She gives him an apologetic smile, looking past him towards you. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, uhm, you didn’t,” He says, stuttering, face heating up quickly. “We weren’t-”

“See you downstairs!” She calls, walking away from the door. Dennis let’s it close, leaning against it when he faces you again. 

“You think she knew?” He asks. You laugh, swinging your legs out from under the blanket and standing up, stepping into your pants and shimmeying into them. You press a quick kiss to his lips and pass him his scrub top. 

“I think she definitely assumed,” You say, pulling your own scrub top out of your hoodie and back on. “You played it off nicely, though.”

“Really?” He questions, voice slightly muffled from behind his shirt, his head poking out the top a second later. 

You grin, patting his shoulder as you step into the hallway. 

“No, not at all.”

He huffs, following you out. You take the stairs down, stopping at the bottom, moments away from shouldering the door open. You stop, reaching out for him. He takes your hand in his, bringing it up, lips grazing your knuckles. 

“Ready?” He asks. 

“Lets do it.”

Jack spots you immediately, calling your last name. 

“Need you in here,” He says. “Whitaker, help Ellis in trauma three.”

“On it,” Dennis says, dropping your hand as you go your separate ways, both already focused on the task at hand. 

You follow Jack into the trauma room, the number of people half what you’re used to. You aren’t sure how many dayshift doctors are still around, but Mel’s already there when you walk in. The patient is tugging against restraints, ones EMS must’ve put on, as she tries to finish up her primary exam. 

“Ready for RSI,” Bridget says. Jack nods. 

“On her,” He says, nodding his head towards you. “Findings, Mel?”

“GCS nine, confused, unresponsive to questions or commands,” She explains. “Decreased breath sounds on the left, gurgling. GCS is right on the brink, but I think we should intubate.”

“Do it,” He says, already halfway out the door. “Come to trauma three when you’re finished!”

“Wait, where are you going?” Mel asks, worry edging into her tone. 

Jack pauses, watching as you move to the head of the bed. “You’re good, she’s got you.”

The door closes behind him, and she looks at you. You give her a reassuring nod. 

“We’ve got this, Dr. King,” You say. “Let’s push paralytics?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

Bridget administers the meds, and you open the patient’s mouth, positioning the blade correctly and turning the light on. 

“Do you, uhm, do you want the monitor?” Mel asks. 

“Nah,” You say. “Seven-five.”

You’re finished in under thirty seconds. 

The patient’s sats come up, but they plateau in the high-eighties. Mel listens to the chest again, frowning. 

“eFAST,” She says, lifting his shirt up and placing the tool against his chest. “No lung sliding on the left.”

“Tension pneumo,” You agree, also looking at the screen. 

“Decompression needle,” She orders, putting the wand back and pushing the screen off to the side. She takes the needle in her hand, positioning it above the correct intercostal space. You’re squeezing the bag attached to the patient’s tube, watching as she inserts it, hearing the telltale rush of air escape. 

“Sats improving,” You say, seeing them climb into the mid-nineties. “Nice work, Dr. King.”

Someone yelling your last name makes you look away from the monitor, passing the bag off to Bridget and running out of the room. You pull your gloves off, throwing them out, seeing Parker standing in the doorway of trauma three. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, skidding past her. She takes her place beside the bed again, where Dennis is already doing compressions, each push showing up as a wave on the screen. “Shit.”

“We need an airway, now,” She says, despite it being obvious. 

You grab new gloves. “Mac blade with video scope.”

“Rhythm check,” Parker says, making Dennis stop, raising his hands. The line flattens, the hallmark ‘beep’ ringing out. He leans back over the patient, one knee resting on the edge of the bed, not noticing when his shirt gets caught underneath. 

“Do you want a pause?” Parker asks, looking at you, rolling her sleeves up in preparation to take over compressions if needed. You shoot her a glare, one that makes her smirk.

“Need me to teach you how to intubate through compressions, Dr. Ellis?” You counter, already visualizing the chords on the screen. “Don’t stop, Whitaker.”

He doesn’t, but his mind drifts for a moment, seeing countless times you’ve said those two words to him in a vastly different context. The door swings open, revealing Trinity and Robby. 

“How long has she been down?” Robby asks. 

“Four minutes,” Parker says. “Rhythm check.”

Dennis leans back again, his knee still up, pulling his shirt down even farther. He’s panting, and he takes the opportunity to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Push another epi,” Parker directs, looking up at Dennis, her eyes landing right on his collarbone, where a dark bruise is forming. “Uh, compression swap.”

He steps back, his shirt springing back into place as someone else takes over, but it’s far too late. Robby’s obviously averting his eyes, Trinity is nodding, swallowing whatever comment she wants to make, and Parker’s trying to stay professional. 

You place the tube, letting one of the nurses put the bag on. Parker slips her stethoscope in, placing it against the patient’s chest, nodding. 

“Good breath sounds,” She says. 

“Want some ice for that bruise, Huckleberry?” Trinity asks, tone completely serious. 

Robby closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dennis asks, confusion obvious, but you know exactly what she’s referring to. You take over compressions, desperate to be doing something in this moment, knowing that the two of you will never live this down. 

“On your collarbone,” She says. “Looks painful.”

You can’t see his face, but you can picture how red he is as he starts to stutter. 

“I, uh, no, I’m fine-”

He stops, not wanting to dig himself any deeper. 

“Rhythm,” Parker says. “Keep it together, everyone.”

You lift up, identifying the waves quickly, placing two fingers against the patient’s carotid. “Pulseless.”

“PVT, let’s charge to two-hundred,” Parker says, taking the defibrillator pads in her hands. “Clear.”

You’re back on the chest the second you realize that she hasn’t gone back into sinus, sweat starting to drip down your neck from the exertion. 

“Walk me through reversible causes,” Robby says. 

“Uh, hypovolemia, but her BP’s okay and we’ve already given two units,” Dennis starts. “Hypoxia, but her sats have come up. Acidosis?”

“I can grab an ABG if someone can switch,” You say, breathless. 

“I’ve got it,” Santos says, stepping up beside you, taking your place once you come off. 

“Keep going, Whitaker,” Robby instructs. 

“Pneumothorax, good breath sounds though,” He adds. “Tamponade.”

You’ve moved towards the patient’s thigh, heparinized syringe in hand, palpating before inserting it. The tube fills slowly with blood, the colour deep red, a result of her low perfusion. You cap the tube, passing it off to a nurse, then you return your focus to the airway. You set your own stethoscope to the patient’s chest. Air is moving, but it’s not sufficient. 

“I’m adding a PEEP valve,” You say, grabbing the piece from the drawer, attaching it to the exhalation port, setting it correctly. 

Trinity takes her hands off the patient. 

“Charge again, two hundred,” Parker says. “Clear.”

The phone rings, and you rip a glove off, grabbing it off the wall, saying your last name once it’s against your ear. Robby and Dennis wait for you to say something, ready to take action based on whatever the lab says. 

“Potassium seven-point-three,” You say. “pH is the same.”

“What next?” Robby asks. 

“Calcium glutonate, three gram IV push over two minutes,” Trinity says, letting someone else take over compressions. “Ten of insulin, one amp D50.”

There’s only two nurses in there, and both of them already have their hands full, so you step in. 

“I can do calcium,” You say, grabbing three syringes and three bottles. You draw the medication up, setting each down on the tray beside you. “Going in.”

You push each syringe over fourty seconds while the insulin and dextrose are set up, everyone moving in sync, compressions still ongoing under Parker’s lead. The third shock finally gives sinus rhythm, and you sigh in relief, tossing the used syringes and vials into the correct bins, then adjust the vent settings to avoid hyperventilation. 

“ET looks good, fourty-two,” You say. 

“Whitaker, place an arterial line,” Parker instructs. “Let’s give norepi.”

“Got any beds upstairs?” Robby asks, and you laugh. 

“For you? I’ll make it work,” You say. “Give ‘em a call once she’s back from CT, tell them I’ll bring coffee on Monday.”

You walk out of the room, stretching your arms above your head, tilting to one side to try and ease the ache that’s starting in your muscles. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Jack asks, stopping mid-stride, looking down at your slightly exposed stomach. You drop your arms once he gets closer, but he’s already seen enough, one eyebrow raised as he gives you a stern look. “I’m gonna’ kill him.”

“What?” You ask, laughing through the word. “Relax, I was a willing participant.”

“Oh my god, I did not need to hear that,” He mumbles, reaching out towards your shirt, patting it down. 

He sighs, closing his eyes. “Those things can give you a stroke, you know.”

“They’re not on my carotid, Jack.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He counters. “You should ice them.”

You roll your eyes as you walk away, wanting to get your charting over with so you can go home. 

Back in the trauma room things have settled down. Dennis finishes with the arterial line, repeat labs are drawn, and the patient is taken up to CT. Trinity reaches towards his shirt, tugging the collar down, exposing the bruise again. He swats her hand away, yanking it back up, cheeks burning again.

“Had some fun in that call room, hey?” She asks. 

Dennis shrugs, knowing he can’t defend himself. “Maybe. Whatever.”

“I knew I was interrupting,” Lena adds, holding the door as people start to file out. Trinity calls your name, pointing to his collarbone with her thumb. 

“You trying to kill him or something?”

You glance over, shrugging. “He bruises easily.”

“Hang on, he has them too?” Jack asks. “This is a hospital, people.”

“Too?” Trinity echoes. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life.”

“Leave them alone,” Parker says. “If my girlfriend looked like her I’d be marking her up all the time.”

Dennis’ face scrunches up. Robby pats him on the shoulder. 

“You good?” He asks, genuinely curious, not trying to embarrass him any further. 

“Uh, yeah, all good,” He says. “You wanna’ finish the charts at home?”

You’re already turning the computer off. “Yes, definitely.”

“Need to finish what you started?” Trinity asks, but Dennis is half-way to the locker room. 

“It'll help him get the charting done,” You say, face completely blank. "Positive reinforcement, or whatever."

Trinity’s jaw drops, Robby rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, Parker loses it. Jack raises his arms, walking away from the hub, calling over his shoulder.

“I expect no errors in those charts!”

“You know I’m very thorough!” You call back, not able to stop yourself from smiling when he groans from across the department. Trinity’s typing quickly on her computer, too fast to be updating a chart. Parker snorts from where she’s working, and you determine that they’re almost certainly sending messages back and forth. 

Dennis comes back down a few minutes later with your belongings, having gone upstairs to grab them while everyone was distracted. He passes you your hoodie, and you tug it over your head. You bid them goodnight, getting some waves and ‘night’s in response, along with a very pointed look from Trinity. Dennis’ hand hovers over your lower back as you leave the department. 

You wait until you’re in the car to bring it up. 

“Sorry, baby,” You say, tugging his shirt down, exposing the injury. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard. Does it hurt?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” He promises, laughing a bit. “That was…something.”

“That’s what they get for interrupting,” You say, softly running your thumb over it. “You do bruise easily, hey?”

He jokingly pushes your hand away. “I’m…pale!”

“Right,” You say, smiling. “Seriously, we should ice it when we get home. Might as well ice your arms while we’re at it.”

“Why would you ice my arms?” He asks, face showing that he knows your answer is going to be far from serious. 

You shrug, leaning over to him, rolling his sleeve up a few centimetres. Then, you bite his fucking bicep, just for a second. It’s light, but Dennis still flinches, despite the fact that you do this constantly. 

“Every time,” He murmurs. You kiss his arm after, laughing when he flexes it, kissing it again. 

“Let’s go home,” You say, tilting your chin up. He looks at you for a moment, face soft and eyes loving in the way that makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

"Yeah, lets go."

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