Soft & Suffering

Only a select few at the hospital know the true Brendon Park. Of course Walsh and Garcia, who have spent many an emergency trauma surgery with him when he needed to do an ORIF or an ex-fix, know the true Park. They cut through his bullshit and didn’t let his intimidating shark-like stare scare them off- they can take his smart remarks and the roll of his eyes and give it all right back at him.

They know that Brendon Park’s other nickname is daddy and not in the way that you’re thinking- but because he’s called that by three little people at home who have his eyes and your smile.

They know that when you got pregnant with your first child- something changed in Brendon. A switch flipped because suddenly the man who had expensive taste and seemed to live his lavish lifestyle turned into a family man. He started to- well he started to nest. His sleek sports car was traded in for an SUV that he spent hours comparing crash tests and ratings because you and his daughter would be riding inside. He studied and obsessed over which car seat was the safest- scared the poor sales boy who couldn’t answer his questions fast enough. The diaper bag he picked has near tactical level organization that rivaled Abbot’s backpack and was already ready to go whenever you needed.

They know that during your second pregnancy- your daughter was a toddler and learned to walk on cold penthouse tiles and that he complained about her room bringing in little light for her. They saw Brendon immediately spring into action- knew how he spent days looking at neighborhoods with good schools nearby and he settled on the perfect house for you to raise your kids in. Two stories, 6 bedrooms, giant backyard with space for a swing set and a garden. He spent one of his rare weekends off painting the rooms for his kids, setting up the crib for his son that you’re due to have soon and- building that swing set that your kids will play on and grow up with.

They were called aunt Yoli and aunt Emy by your kids- they knew Brendon cried on your daughters first day of school because she let go of his hand and ran into her classroom with excitement and awe. That you had to console him and spent the entire day telling him to not pick her up early- and then spent the rest of the day sitting outside the school way too early to pick her up because he was antsy. They knew that Park made waffles on Sunday mornings for you and his kids. He would wake up early- kiss your cheek before leaving you in bed to go check on his babies down the hall. Your daughter at the age where she can attend one of those good school that Brendon pays for- your son still in preschool but it makes his heart feel sad that in another year he’ll join your daughter.

And with your third pregnancy? They knew that Brendon now realized what was the most important factor in raising a family- time. God there wasn’t enough and not even all the money in his accounts could give him more time- because he remembers the panic when your oldest was born and now she has her first ballet recital and he made sure to block out the day to not be on call. Birthdays are a special event and he takes the day off to make sure he can join you in blowing up balloons and making pancakes with sprinkles and candles for breakfast. Brendon’s life was changed because he’s present for every event- soccer games even if he son is the most uncoordinated child ever, piano and ballets recitals, softball games, and school plays. They know that Park refuses to let time slip from his hands when it comes to you and his kids because the second they become known he’s there for every appointment, anatomy scan, blood draw, and ultrasound.

But everyone knows how frustrated Brendon Park “the Shark” gets when he’s gets called in the middle of the night for an ortho trauma-

“Mmph, Brendon~” huffing out his name with a shaky breath when a heavy hand slides up your nightgown to cup at your chest- his lips busy with the skin of your neck to nip and bite at before using his tongue to soothe the pain. You were both woken up by your middle child- monsters and scary men in his dreams that required his big mean daddy to take care of for him but after slaying the demons, your husband had some other plans for the night. “H-happy Father’s D-day,” muffled by his needy lips and desperate touches- little grinds of himself between your thighs to quell the ache that was growing between you both.

“Give me another one,” groaning- drunk off your taste and the pretty way you sound underneath him while he struggles and paws at the neckline of your nightgown so he can get better access for his mouth to occupy your chest. “One more baby, honey- you give me such pretty babies,” he was lost in it now- mouthing dark marks on your skin while nearly slurring his words against your body. “We have one more room to fill- just one more baby- please,” it was hard to deny him now- sounding so needy and desperate and pulling at his boxers before the sound of his phone interrupted you both. You’d think he got fired with the way he whimpered and whined a loud ‘no!’ against your lips- but duty calls and he was the one who had to answer for this shift. Which left him annoyed. Grumpy. Pouting against your lips for a final kiss before tucking you back into bed and mumbling “this isn’t over,” before finding his way to PTMC for a trauma. He’s not sure what makes him more irritated- the denial of soft, half-asleep 3 am sex with his wife or the fact that he’ll miss breakfast with his family on Father’s Day.

“Dr. Park,” his favorite scrub nurse old woman, has been in the practice for years and also doesn’t take shit from Brendon called out over the music- “it’s yours.” He almost didn’t hear her- today felt like a good day for Knocked Loose. But he nods- telling them to turn the volume down when she answered his phone. She also knew of his family- because she was the only one who could see that his background lock screen was a trio of babies who had a familiar blues and sweet smiles that let them get away with anything. Ice cream for breakfast, cookies in bed, a treat just because-

“This is Park,” answering almost on autopilot- stiff voice while he finished the last touches of the ex-fix before asking for a 4-0 Dacron.

“Daddy?” The entire OR paused- a soft, tiny voice broke through the speaker and immediately the tension from Park’s body melted- his eyes softened and they could see the way he smiled from behind the mask. Immediately after Brendon answered his oldest child, another other tiny voice- that of your oldest son spoke up and he could hear the distinct babble of your youngest son trying to keep up with his two siblings. The Shark personality was gone- there was no biting off heads or the voice he saves for chewing out interns. The OR listens while a trio of voices wish him a happy Father’s Day- his oldest giving him her best rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star while his son started yelling his ABC’s to show Park he’s been practicing. And in the background? A very loud chanting of ‘dadadadadadadada’ from your youngest who needs to make it known that his favorite person was also his first word.

Park is engaged- intently listening to your kids while you try to calm them and listen for him in case he needs you to step in if his surgery gets dicey and he has to hang up. You know your husband can multitask- focusing on the delicate tendon reattachment while the kids go on in detail about the breakfast they had. He doesn’t use fillers or just nod along while they speak- no he’s engaged and asking questions and- “did you have any fruit or just syrup?” Because your son would eat it with a spoon if you let him.

“Daddy what are you doing?” Your oldest has become interested in his job lately- tells everyone she meets that her daddy fixes bones. She’ll stay up and crawl into his lap while he reads case studies softly to her until she falls asleep- safe and warm in his arms until he decides to carry her back to her room and tuck her in.

“I’m fixing someone’s leg,” some poor bastard who ended up on the wrong side of a car accident. No casualties but the years of physical therapy will be hell for this kid. Your daughter knows that bone! Excitedly exclaiming that clearly that’s the femur- ‘that’s in your thigh’ she’ll do an aside to you as if her and her dad that’s their own little language now that she can understand. After another few minutes of your kids asking if Brendon will kiss their owie like he does their own- you finally manage to get a second to speak before leaving him to work. Giving the entire OR a view into your life- a view of the Brendon that’s yours. That he’s loved- has a family and a wife and does ingest more that protein he actually has a major sweet tooth believe it or not- having found him and your kids in the kitchen late at night sneaking spoonfuls of ice cream and loud shhhh’s because ‘mommy is sleeping!’

“I love you Brendon, happy Father’s Day,” you know he hurts- how he can’t always be there for you and your kids but it’s not like he’s willfully abandoning you. He always comes back. They know he leaves but what’s even more important is that he comes back to them- tired and drained but he never lets them know. Body exhausted and mind busy but the second he comes home and hears their excitement of ‘daddy’s home!’ You remind him that you and the kids will be waiting- you’ll always wait up for him. And that he has a few gifts to open when he comes home. A nice new scrub cap that you had made of your kid’s drawings of sharks for him- ‘dada!’ your youngest shrieked- already having made a connection between sharks and his dad.

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Kind- Rabbit is kind to her. He always smiles when he sees her running towards him. He lets her hold his hand when she’s getting her shots or a check up and squeezes her eyes tight and his hand as hard as she can. He sneaks her popsicles when she’s waiting for you to get off your shift. He sits with her in the break room- perched on his lap while she colors on old ER charts as he reads case studies aloud for her and stops when she asks what a certain word he said was. He listens to her yap away about her day at school- knelt down even if his leg is killing while she goes into detail about the pb&j she had for lunch. He answers her millions of questions- always in a way she’d understand and smiles when she follows up with “why?” Her dad would get annoyed- her dad says “because” and doesn’t answer her. Her dad says she talks too much.

Funny- Rabbit is so funny in a way that makes her giggle so much that her little stomach and sides hurt. When they argue over the last pudding cup- “I’m older so I should get it.” “I’m cuter,” she’ll retort and when he rolls his eyes and say that’s not fair she’ll laugh. His dry wit and deadpan expressions make her giggle- when he says “this is not a serious medical issue,” as she holds her stuffed rabbit up by the ears because “Mr. Bun is sick.” Or when he tells Shen he needs two cc’s of apple juice for them both stat. Her dad isn’t funny. He’s always serious. He’s always angry around her- his face grumpy but not the way Jack’s is. He tells her to stop laughing when things weren’t funny to him.

Brave- because her Rabbit isn’t scared when she is. When he stayed by her bedside on the peds floor because she was sick- sleeping cramped in that uncomfortable chair so she didn’t wake up alone and scared. When she said she was afraid that she'd have bad dreams while she tried to sleep- “that’s why I’m here kiddo- to fight the bad dreams while you sleep okay?” When she asked about his leg- he told her how he lost it protecting his friend years ago. That means he’s brave right? Because her dad didn’t answer her when she’d cry at night over her bad dreams- when she’d knock on his door late at night and ask him to tuck her back in he’d tell her to leave him alone or would ignore her altogether.

Strong- Rabbit was clearly the strongest. He easily carries her when she throws herself at him. Swings her over his shoulders and holds her upside down while she kicks her legs and giggles. When she’s sleepy after waiting for you to get off your shift and her head is heavy on his big shoulders- he walks to your car with her snoring in his ear like she weighs nothing. She’s seen him hold up a grown man that passed out on the ER floor- and she’s seen him hold you while you cried. After her dad told you he didn’t want to see her this weekend- trying to be quiet but she could see how Jack rubbed your back to calm you down. He’s calm when the entire ER is in chaos. Her dad isn’t strong- he doesn’t try to hold her or pick her up. He can’t even open her water bottle after a long day or even stop her tears.

Patient- this one was hard to understand but her Rabbit sounded patient. When she cried because her drawing didn’t come out the way she wanted or when she couldn’t do her math homework right he didn’t yell or even raise his voice. “That’s okay- let’s try again together alright?” He sounded out the words for her- his big hand holding her finger across the pages of the book to help her read and understand the book. When she needed help tying her shoes he bent down and smiled- narrating what he was doing so she could learn too “you make two bunny ears first.” He never got angry with her. He waited for her to take her time. Her dad sighed- groaned- rolled his eyes and told her to hurry up. Her dad hardly wanted to even see her.

Because Jack Rabbit, she’ll correct you when you say Jack is all of that. For Father’s Day her teacher had the class draw their dad who fits all these categories and clearly that’s all her Rabbit. You should’ve seen her- tongue poking out the side of her mouth and brows knitted up in concentration while she dug through the crayons for what she needed. It was a masterpiece. Her magnum opus. She even signed her name in the glittery sparkle pen that Jack let her have from the nurses station pen cup. She was so excited- digging through her backpack the second the babysitter brought her to the ER after she was picked up from school. You were worried- Father’s Day was this weekend and your baby’s sperm donor wanted nothing to do with the beautiful bright eyed little girl that you gave him.

“Look mama!” Proudly waving the construction paper at you- big letters that say ‘My Father Is:’ that makes your chest ache a little. Because her dad will never care about the love and time she put into it- the detailed drawings and stickers and figure that looks nothing like her dad. And not in the way that’s difficult because she’s four years old but-

“Who’s this baby?” Bending down- pointing at the figure at the bottom of the paper that has grey swirls on its head and angry eyebrows that are scribbled dark- black scrubs on and- only one stick leg and-

“That’s Rabbit!” Like it was obvious- rolling her eyes even because clearly it’s her favorite person in the entire world- how could you mistake it for anyone else? The grey swirls were drawn to depict his hair- curls that have lost their color due to age and probably stress. Angry scribbles of his brows because he’s always so serious when he works sometimes. And then the obvious single leg. That’s her Rabbit. And your heart aches- blinking back a stray tear because she’s right. Everything good about a dad is everything you love about Jack. He’s everything you would’ve picked for your daughter and when you take her hands to explain to her that while the drawing is beautiful- Jack wasn’t her father and- “Rabbit!” She cuts you off- little shriek of excitement and always so quick to escape your grasp. Her favorite person coming into work for his night shift- uneven steps and backpack slung over one of his shoulders and that scowl that immediately softens into a grin when he hears her. “Look! Look! Look!”

“What? What? What?” He lightheartedly mocks her with a smile- kneeling down to her level and carefully taking the colorful paper that she all but shoved into his face while she babbles- going on about how its Father’s Day this Sunday and how her teacher had them draw someone who’s kind and smart and funny and- “this is amazing bunny!” Face lighting up- soft awe because he can see how much better her drawings have gotten. He remembers her scribbles over the old charts and how he’d reply “of course it is” when she’d say it was a shark or a fire truck or-

“It’s you! I made it for you,” looking down at her single unlaced shoe- a little nervous habit she picked up when she realized she was being perceived by someone. For him? Something in Jack cracks- because this little girl that he’s watched grow up understands him as someone she can trust and love and- it’s everything he wanted. He looks up from above her head- making eye contact with you while you smile softly with an apologetic look.

The last thing you wanted was to guilt him into being appreciative- to make him feel forced to accept your child but there’s no one he’d rather accept into his life. No two people he’d rather have. But this isn’t about his feelings- this isn’t about how the hole in his heart has been filled with you and your bright, happy daughter who he’d do anything for. He loves his nights where your daughter sleeps in one of the empty bed in the ER- where he can watch over her while he charts because he needs some peace and quiet and he likes how her little snores silence his mind. He loves the way you laugh at his sarcastic comments- even more so when you throw one back his way because- “$20 says that patient did not slip and fall on the cucumber,” “well it had a condom on so I’ll take that bet.” He loves sitting next to you on the roof when it’s been the shift from hell- leaning back and sitting against the railing and watching the sunrise while you split a pizza “okay your half is the nasty pineapple one,” “just say you have no taste- it’s okay I won’t judge you,” and clink the bottles of your beers together. He misses when you’d doze off in the silence of the city before it starts to wake- your head resting on his shoulder where he can smell your shampoo and feel your warmth against him and the grounding weight of you reminding him that there’s so much more than this hospital.

He misses her because she started school and left the hospital’s child care- because for so long she was a constant in his life. You remember when you’d find him in the hospital’s daycare- laying on the floor while she crawled around him and smacked at his face while he droned on about a patient that was presenting with stroke like symptoms and yet his CT was clear. He would talk his problems out with her and when she’d babble back- “look I get your point but you don’t have to be so rude,” deadpan because she’d giggle and clap and her laugh relaxed him the same way your soft hand on his arm would. He’s so happy she’s making friends at school- but she still says- “Rabbit, you’re my best friend,” softly when he’s in the break room helping her with her math homework.

God- the rage he felt when he found your daughter alone in the break room with her backpack on a few weekends ago- “he promised me,” forcing the tears back because she didn’t want you to see her cry. Because you were arguing on the phone with her dad again- after he spent a week hyping her up about taking her to the park today but he called you last minute because his girlfriend’s son had a baseball game and- “why doesn’t he love me?” lower lip wobbling- voice so broken before she throws herself into Jack’s arms. He hates seeing her cry, wondering how anyone could abandon her when she’s the greatest kid he’s ever met- she’s so funny, smart and energetic and sure she talks a lot but so does he and- “shh, it’s okay- I’m here okay?” Meeting your eyes when you walk back into the break room- a sad little smile on your face because it makes your chest ache when she hurts for a man who didn’t care for her but here Jack was who doesn’t have an ounce of blood shared with her yet he would die for her.

Sure he’s a little obvious about his feelings for you but you’re not too subtle with yours either. Lingering touches when he passes behind you- a warm hand on your lower back or at your hips. Your fingers curling around his when you pass him a patient's lab results. His solid chest at your back when he’s reading a chart off the computer right behind you- cheek pressing into your temple or chin hooked over your shoulder. When he says “you’d be surprised,” when you say that no one wants to date a divorced single mom. “No one wants to date a one legged veteran widower,” with a shrug but- “you’d be surprised,” as you meet his eyes while you sip on the coffee he bought you- soft smile playing on your lips before you walk away and he swears he saw you wink at him.

And it keeps him up at night when he remembers the almost kiss. After you lost a patient who was too close in age to your daughter and he found you hyperventilating in the supply room- panicking because the babysitter wouldn’t answer her phone and you needed to know your daughter was okay and Jack was the one who brought you back down to earth. Strong hands on your face- making you look into those hazel eyes that you dream about- telling you to breathe with him, letting your hands wrap around his wrists but you nod and inhale. Exhale while your faces get closer. Inhale when your eyes drop down to his lips. Exhale when you feel his nose brushing against yours. Inhale when you feel the shaky breath of his lips on yours- exhale when you pull away because the babysitter was calling you back.

He puts the drawing in his locker- carefully taped to the metal where he can see it everyday and smile because this little girl loves him and he doesn’t know how to accept the love you both have for him. Or the love that he has for you both. And neither of you say anything. Not about the bright red holographic heart stickers or the crooked hearts she drew with every crayon in the box. Not about the way she wrote “I love you” on the side- shaky and uncoordinated but he could make those words out and he traces them after a bad day. Not about how he wishes he could come home to you both at the end of a long shift. How he wishes he could crawl into bed with you and have her sneak into the bed and wedge herself between you both with that stuffed rabbit that she can never leave behind. Or how you wish you could kiss him at the end of your shift and say “we’ll see you at home.”

Not about the way he wishes it were that easy.

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