#butch bea 🥺����

[possibilistfanfiction]

anything surgeons au, especially butch!bea omg

[an accidental 2.7k words of baby tai for the culture]

//

you don’t ask for beatrice to consult on the case just because the baby really does look like her in a tangible way: brown eyes that shine in the sun; gold skin; soft dark hair; a happy smile. tai — an orphan, which you also don’t prioritize when you ask her, but whatever — is small for her three months and quite sick, a bad valve in her tiny heart doing more damage than good. 

it’s a difficult surgery, complicated and intricate and, even though you’re the best in your field, a hardcore rockstar, you’re not a cardio surgeon. you ask beatrice to consult on the case because, even if you’d never admit it aloud in front of her, she is the best in the world.

‘dr. villaumbrosia,’ beatrice says, meeting you outside the picu. she’s not operating today, you’re fairly certain, or at least hasn’t yet, based on her neat navy slacks and oatmeal-colored sweater under her white coat, chelsea boots certainly not what she would wear in the OR, her buzzed hair not hidden under one of her surgical caps, her wedding band still on her finger rather than tucked away, pinned to the inside of her scrubs. you’ve known her for years and years, have watched her fail and succeed and succeed and succeed, have watched her fall in love and get married, have watched her build a home, a life — which includes you, in all the ways that matter, in the ways you will very rarely thank each other for and feel anyway. 

but still, ‘dr. choi,’ you say, ‘thanks for coming.’

she nods. ‘it sounded like an interesting case from your summary.’ she takes the ipad you offer her and looks at the scans of tai’s heart, then her vitals, then the scans again, a little closer and with something like wonder filling her eyes, just at the corners but enough for you to feel a spark of hope in your chest. she looks up at you. ‘we can do this, i think.’

‘yeah?’

‘it’ll be —‘ she pauses, nods to reassure both of you, sets her shoulders, and you know that’s it — ‘it’ll be difficult, but it’s not impossible.’

‘agreed.’

‘can i meet her, then? the patient? i’d like to get an idea of how small this heart actually is.’ 

‘of course.’ you open the door and it’s just like any other consult; beatrice is always brave enough to partner up on any peds cases, even the most heartbreaking, the most hopeless. 

tai smiles at beatrice, who is always good with children the same way you are: you talk to them like human beings, and you listen, and you take things seriously — their pain and their fear and their recovery. tai is too little to tell you anything, but beatrice still leans toward her gently and smiles at her babbling, runs a gentle hand over her soft hair, makes sure to warm the head of her stethoscope up on her thigh before pressing it to tai’s chest. 

there’s no way for you to realize it at the time, but you will swear for years that you knew, even before beatrice and certainly before ava, that tai was special; beatrice closes her eyes and listens to tai’s failing heart carefully. ‘i’ll need an updated echo,’ she tells you and your intern, standing uselessly behind you. ‘and then, if you’re free afterward, dr. villambrosia, let’s meet in the skills lab? i’d like to run through the procedure.’

‘that works for me.’

she nods once, seriously. ‘no parents?’

you shake your head. ‘she’s here through my org, from chengdu.’

beatrice considers this briefly but soldiers on, like she and ava haven’t had quiet, sad fights about children and adoption and a family and a home. ‘if you feel comfortable, i can hand off my follow-ups this afternoon to dr. amunet and we can get this taken care of. it’ll be a long recovery, so i’d rather it not degrade any further if we wait.’

‘as long as the run-through feels good,’ you say, ‘i think it’s the best course of treatment.’

beatrice nods, smiles once down at tai and rubs her little chest while tai squirms and babbles happily. for such a sick kid — on oxygen and a feeding tube, two ivs because her veins are so small — she’s generally happy, bright in a way that peds usually isn’t. she’s not guaranteed to survive so, like all of your patients, you don’t get too attached. beatrice hasn’t had that problem before, either, caring but not too much, unlike ava, who feels each loss as if it’s his own. but the way that beatrice lingers and lets tai hold onto her fingers while she tells your intern exactly what she wants from the ekg and bloodwork — you think this might be different. 

/

it’s touch and go for a while: you and beatrice are brilliant surgeons but, even with all of the tests and scans and practice, tai’s surgery is longer and more difficult than you could’ve prepared for: her heart is weak and so, so small; even beatrice struggles to place the careful, clever sutures you’ve watched her throw with ease, most surgeries, and for years. it takes longer than you would’ve liked to get her off bypass, much longer than you would’ve liked for her heart to start beating again in beatrice’s hands. 

but: it does beat. weak and small, yes, but sure, and steady, and even, all the valves and ventricles ready to heal as they should be. tai’s cheeks, once she’s settled in the picu again, are rosy, her skin warm, her oxygen sats already up comfortably from before. you’d wired her sternum shut and the incision running down her tiny chest will leave a scar, and she’ll probably need another procedure or two as she gets older — but she will get older, as far as you can tell. 

beatrice goes through — a little unexpected for the aftermath of a successful surgery, and far beyond the end of her relatively easy scheduled shift — all of the potential complications tai could face, how she was without a flow of properly oxygenated blood to her brain for an amount of time that frustrated her — maybe even frightened her. for as long as you’ve known beatrice — dr. choi — through undergrad and medical school, then residency and fellowships, into your first few years as attendings, she’s as unflappable as they come, unless it’s someone she loves who might be hurt, who might not get well. you’ve seen it with ava and her back, and shannon and mary after a car accident that looked much worse than it actually was, and even one time camila got the flu. 

it surprises you in the moment when beatrice, carefully taking off her scrub cap — patterned with little otters and rainbows, a ridiculous gift from ava that beatrice horrifically wears with not a single ounce of hesitation or embarrassment — slips into her hospital-issued fleece quarterzip and sits down in the chair by tai’s bassinet once you and the nurses get all of her machines situated. 

‘i’ll stay with her, dr. villaumbrosia,’ beatrice says, soft and formal.

‘there’s plenty of nurses, and dr. amunet, if you want to go home.’

beatrice shakes her head and leans over tai’s sleeping form, heavily sedated for the next few days so she’s not in pain, and runs a gentle finger along her cheek. ‘she — she doesn’t have anyone,’ she says, as much explanation as you need. ‘plus, dr. silva is on call tonight anyway.’

you resist the urge to say something mean about ava; he’s actually very talented and smart and he makes your best friend, your sister, very happy, and very full — even if he is the most annoying person you know. tai is alone, and all beatrice has to go home to, right now, is a beautiful house that’s empty of all of the life ava brings anywhere, leftovers in the fridge, a house that you know has an empty bedroom just down the hall from the primary, holding a lot of ava’s patient, quiet hope in the space.

‘okay,’ you say, not bothering her, just this once: tai is very small and still very sick; you’ve read enough studies to know that comfort, especially with babies who haven’t known as much of it as they should, can be extremely monumental in their ability to heal. ‘i’m sure you can handle if anything pops up, but i’d like to know anyway. text me.’

beatrice looks up from tai to nod, a grim smile on her face mellowed, seemingly, by tai’s steady breaths against beatrice’s palm. ‘will do.’

you nod and don’t bother to ask for anything else from her, taking your leave while she takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes, then slumps a little in the chair but keeps her hand on tai’s stomach, soothing and warm and present. tai has been alone her entire life, even if it’s only been very short; you believe that her body will know that she’s not anymore, at least for now.

/

it’s not often that you choose to come to work early, not often that you allow yourself to have much attachment to patients and their outcomes beyond whether or not you practiced the best medicine possible — no one would be able to do peds and neonatal surgery if they did — but you park far before the sun comes up and force yourself to grab three cups of coffee from the cafe before you head to the picu.

it doesn’t surprise you when you see both beatrice and ava by tai’s bassinet now, beatrice fast asleep, slumped over fully on ava’s shoulder, and ava scrolling through an ipad, probably taking care of charting here rather than in her office. ava smiles up at you, never deterred by your grumbling or eye rolls, and, just this once, you smile back.

‘dr. silva,’ you greet. ‘how’s she doing?’ you ask, handing him the coffee.

‘totally steady all night,’ ava says quietly, sounding far too proud of a baby that isn’t even really beatrice’s patient, let alone theirs. ‘she’s really strong, even if she’s small.’

you look over tai’s vitals from the past night quickly and it’s true, she is getting better even faster than you could’ve hoped. ‘she is.’

ava smiles, then looks over at a fast asleep beatrice, a little aching. ’bea said she’s an orphan?’

you sit down next to them both and nod; you assume beatrice gave ava enough of the details. ‘we’ll work to place her with a good family once she’s recovered well.’ the warning is unspoken: don’t get too attached.

ava looks over at beatrice, who has spent the entire night asleep in the picu over a baby whose heart she massaged until it beat again in her hands. he nods. ‘yeah,’ he says, hopeful despite it all. ‘yeah.’

/

‘i — i can do it.’

‘dr. choi.’

‘no,’ beatrice says, ‘it’s fine. i’m on call tonight, and it’s good for her.’

it is, you both know it, but tai is healing and, if all goes according to plan, will be released in a week or two, hopefully to a family who’s equipped to care for her, to raise her gently and generously and well. beatrice — and ava, whenever they make up a very flimsy excuse — have been in tai’s room often, and you know they’ve grown attached even though you warned them not to. but beatrice taking her scrub top off and picking tai up gently, careful of her leads and her still-tender chest, and then holding her close and settling into a rocking chair. 

‘beatrice,’ you say, sitting down across from her. 

‘have you — has there been a family chosen?’

you’re not the one in charge of any of that, your contributions to the organization being both your sixth-generation-surgeon money and your sixth-generation-surgeon talent, but you know there hasn’t been a decision made yet. you shake your head. 

she nods. ‘we…’ she swallows, readjusts so tai is held even closer, her left ear close to beatrice’s heart. ‘i spoke with ava. a lot, actually. and, well, you obviously know i’m chinese; i can teach her how to speak mandarin and make mapo doufu and she won’t — she won’t miss that part. and ava knows about not having a family of origin, and he’s, like, the best. and,’ she continues, ‘we’re both surgeons. you know she’s going to need care now, but also her whole life, and i — i fixed her heart.’ she can’t even look at you, just looks at tai’s peaceful little face as her voice gets wobbly and she sniffles. 

beatrice, above all, means what she says. she’s maybe one of the least impulsive people you’ve ever met, agonizing for as long as you’ve known her over haircuts and new hiking gear and dinner reservations, as methodical as it comes when she practices medicine. 

‘i —‘ she looks at tai once more and then takes a deep breath and meets your eyes. ‘i love her.’

you know, more than anything, ava has made beatrice want to be brave. you let it sink in, let it hit you like a tidal wave of easy warmth, then really let yourself look at your oldest friend and every careful thing about her, lean muscles and long-healed scars, the most careful thing held against her chest — the same skin, bathed in the light of an easy sunrise. ‘well okay then.’

beatrice seems surprised, for a moment, as if you would say no, or doubt her, or discourage or argue. ‘really?’

you nod, brusque mostly so you don’t cry. ‘i’ll connect you with aja; she’ll be able to help you with all the paperwork. i’ll put in my recommendation, of course.’

beatrice adjusts tai so she can free a hand to wipe a few tears. ‘thank you, lilith.’

‘let’s just hope she takes after you, not ava.’

beatrice laughs, and it makes tai smile.

/

‘no.’

‘she’s —‘

‘your daughter,’ you say. ‘you’re not tai’s doctor any longer, haven’t been in months.’

beatrice frowns, arms crossed. ava smiles far too serenely for your liking next to her.

‘she’ll be fine, babe,’ she says. ‘it’s just a post-op, super normal.’ she turns toward tai, happily squealing at a nurse playing peak-a-boo with her while they get her situated on the exam table. 

beatrice glowers but concedes, softening immediately when ava squeezes her bicep. they’re both definitely exhausted but happier than you could’ve really imagined; the empty bedroom now filled with a plethora of toys and clothes, colorful animals on the walls, a safe crib with a space mobile you’d personally given them. it makes sense to you, easily, that they’re good parents — kind and attentive and funny — even if, right now, they’re driving you insane. they’re both in comfortable clothes, not bothering with anything more on their shared day off. 

you have to physically shoo beatrice away as you’re listening to tai’s heart, which is ridiculous because you’re sure beatrice does it at home, probably every night. you’re more relieved than you would ever let on that her heartbeat is normal and steady — perfect, as far as you’re concerned. you go through the rest of her check-up and she’s as healthy as can be, gaining weight well, rolling over, holding her head up, starting to eat baby food — yes to bananas; no to green beans so far — not sleep regressing as much as they’d feared. 

‘she’s doing great,’ you reassure. 

‘fuck yeah she is,’ ava says, then sighs. ‘before either of you start, first of all, language is all relative.’

‘ava, we can’t have her first word being f—‘

‘— secondly,’ ava interrupts, then looks at beatrice putting tai back into her dinosaur onesie, slipping a warm cap onto her head, ‘she’s the best baby of all time.’

‘she is wonderful,’ beatrice says, still a little reverent.

ava elbows you as beatrice carefully pulls socks onto tai’s feet. ‘one of the better ones i’ve met,’ you concede, because you really do love tai, and, all things considered, she’s an easy, happy baby. ‘certainly better than i thought would be possible with either of you.’

ava rolls her eyes. ‘i read your recommendation.’ horrifyingly, she starts reciting it, so you move as quickly as you can.

‘i have a tight schedule today,’ you interrupt, beatrice laughing quietly, smiling at both of you with far too much amusement.

‘bye lil,’ she says. ‘thanks for everything.’

‘yeah, yeah,’ you say, but there’s no bite to it. ‘see you at dinner.’

[princington]

i felt finally myself

inspired by @possibilistfanfiction 's new fic you wish i'd seen the saint (you were before)

[michaels-reality]

I need butches with curvy wastes and big boobs so I don't feel so feminine 🙏🏽

[darby-draws]

Thanks everyone for voting on the poll, now Bea has an actual committed design, yay!!! She's ready for Art Fight, as is the rest of the Cowboy Dogboy crew! :3

[unicyclehippo]

absolutely loved ur contribution to the butch bea universe <3333

cheers mate, v honoured to offer smth to @possibilistfanfiction butch bea 🥺🫡 is a fave of ours. it’s probably slightly more accurate to say it’s a contribution to girls against god? but it’s both truly

[possibilistfanfiction]

Surgeons au: "please take a break"

[idk where this started & idk where this went but boy is it soft lol]

//

beatrice is exhausted.

you get home — to her house, but you have a key and most of your things have migrated over steadily: a drawer for your underwear; your favorite coffee roast in the cabinet; your spare cane in the corner of the bedroom; the garden you’d planted and tended in the back yard in full bloom now — and see her slumped over, her head in her hands, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. it’s been like this for days, since she lost a patient from a routine surgery that went badly and then went worse than badly. it wasn’t her fault, not at all, but beatrice, you’ve found, despite her reticence and calm, is a person who feels everything deeply. for all of your differences, you think this is maybe the similarity that makes the most sense to you, the one that lets you navigate what she needs when things are too big and too near and impossibly sad.

she lifts her head, a blush rising to her cheeks, when you come in from the garage. ‘oh,’ she says, like she lost track of time; she probably did.

‘hello to you too.’

she smiles apologetically. ‘hello, darling.’

you toss your tote on the couch; on a normal day, when things aren’t so heavy, this would make her sigh in fond exasperation, but now she just waits, still, for you to slip your shoes off and pad over to her. 

‘i’m all sweaty,’ she says, holding up a hand before you can hug her. you glance down and see that she’s still in a pair of her climbing pants and an old hoodie, her hands still slightly dusty with chalk. 

‘you went to the gym?’

she nods, and you spare her the lecture of why it’s a bad idea to go bouldering after a marathon shift, especially when she hasn’t been sleeping even on her days off.

‘i just needed something else to think about, to — to feel with my hands.’

you’re, like, the most mature person in the world now, basically, because you read the room and refrain from making one of many of the dirty jokes that immediately pop into your head. it’s too easy anyway. ‘are you feeling better?’

she sighs, slumps even further onto the stool. ‘i’m feeling tired.’

‘yeah, i bet you are.’ you don’t care about her being sweaty, don’t care about any of it, really, but how to possibly comfort her. you rub your hand along her back, her perfect, strong spine, her exacting, taut muscles, the grief wedged between them all.

‘i have to read dr. adebeyo’s new research article, and review for my septal myectomy on thursday, and —‘

‘you’re not at work right now, babe.’

‘i can’t think of anything else.’

you don’t often ask things of her, mostly because she offers so much so readily but also because asking is still hard for you, impossible some days. but you’re working on it and, besides, this is for her: ‘please, please take a break.’ what happened wasn’t your fault, you want to say, but it would be too much and you get the feeling that she still isn’t quite ready to hear it yet.

she leans into your side then, a little awkward but bone-weary and still, you can tell, in love. it’s scared you for so long, what it’s like to be adored by someone, to be valued and admired; it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever felt in your life, worse than your accident and the scars along your back and the hollow of your throat and all the surgeries to follow, worse than the horribly hopeful future spread out in front of you when you got accepted to work with jillian, worse than when you matched with your dream program. beatrice simply is — in love with you, loving you — and, finally, finally, you’re starting to trust it. 

‘you need a haircut,’ you say after a while — beatrice usually buzzes her hair every week, neatly and like clockwork, because ‘it’s easy, and, so i’ve been told at least, that it looks good,’ she’d told you, to which you’d rolled your eyes but had no argument against — and she snorts a laugh from where she’s pressed her face into your arm. it’s amused and exhausted, all at once. ‘i can do it, if you’d like.’

she waits for a moment, considers it. there’s the intimacy you’re familiar with: how warm her center is with your fingers curling inside, the way her mouth feels when you’re about to come. the way your body was able to feel during sex was the wildest, most heartbreaking discovery for you at first, but you settled into it with joy after a while. after chanel had very seriously given you a lecture your second week of college on how to be safe, it was fun and light and never so serious. with beatrice, it’s easy intimacy: you know that kissing her pulse point makes her arch her back and beg, that you know how to be kind, even when rough, every single time.

the intimacies of life, though, are where you sometimes both get stuck, the smallest parts of you that had hurt the most, that had had to heal so slowly, that you hold so tight to your chest. you hate playing all your cards, and you’re certain she does too: to be cared for can feel suffocating, in the wrong circumstances. to be cared for, though, you’ve discovered a few weeks ago when she brought you a heating pad and picked up the new pain medication your neurologist wanted you to try, in the right hands, in beatrice’s hands, is a miracle.

beatrice looks up at you, the question clear: you would do that for me?

you smile softly, lean down to kiss her like things are easy, like things are good. in so many ways, in the ways that sit in the marrow of your bones, they are.

she smiles back, finally, eyes brightening, unfurling after days trying to hide in the dark. ‘you think you can manage it?’

you nod. ‘you can trust me.’ it comes out so sincere, despite the fact that you add in a wink to try to dissipate it.

she straightens up, then, and squeezes your hand. ‘thank you, ava.’

you tell her, ‘of course,’ because, of course. 

‘you know,’ she says a few minutes later, sitting on a kitchen chair in the big primary bathroom, her shirt discarded in the hamper in your room, ‘i’ve never let anyone do this for me before.’

‘really?’

‘yes.’ she’s quiet for a moment, the buzz from her clippers, with the guard she’d precisely put on, the only noise as you run them along her scalp. ‘well, it’s fairly simple, for one.’

you hum. ‘and for two?’

she rolls her eyes, shrugs, blushes. you love her. ‘i didn’t…’ she pauses, tries again, ‘it’s close.’

‘yeah.’

she meets your eyes in the mirror, quiet. you know from what she’s told you about her past, when she was younger, when she knew who she was but was made to feel scared and so ashamed : the tears and the heartache and how much she thought her life wasn’t worth anything, the heaviness that sits around her like a soft cloak sometimes, even still. but, right now, you see her, and you care for her, exactly as she is. it’s different than anything you’ve ever had before, more than you could’ve convinced yourself to want: she’s going to stay. she wants to stay.

a smile grows on her face and it’s like the whole world lightens. ‘lilith thought i was having a breakdown, the first time.’

you laugh, go over the spiraling, small cowlick a few more times so it’s all even. ‘was she maybe a little bit right?’

she hums. ‘a little, perhaps. but i’d been curious for a long time, and i knew — it would feel right. i knew it.’

you resist the urge to kiss the top of her head, one of your favorite activities, only just avoiding it when you brush all the little hairs from her bare shoulders and some of them stick to your hand. ‘well, it suits you. i mean, i think anything would suit you, probably, but i get it.’

her smile softens, just for you. ‘plus, my mother almost fainted the first time i went home for the holidays. worth its weight in gold, honestly, for both me and lil.’

it’s rare beatrice mentions her parents, especially in a way that encourages a little laugh to bubble out of her chest. you grin. ‘i would’ve paid to see that.’

she fiddles with her watch band, one of her only nervous tells, and then sighs. ‘well, they’re visiting in a few weeks, after my boards.’

you take the guard off and tilt her head forward slightly so you can clean up her neckline. it gives her time to take a deep breath, and for you to calm your nerves. ‘oh. how do you feel about that?’

‘i mean, well, it’s fine. i suppose this is the sort of things parents would be proud of.’

‘any sane parent would be, like, bursting at the seams proud of you. i need you to know that.’

‘i —‘ she pauses, puzzles through it. ‘i do, for the most part. when they’re a continent away, it’s different. easier.’

‘for sure.’ you walk around in front of her and brush hair off of her forehead, the tip of her nose which she scrunches up. you’d told a patient the other day, scared and hurting, that dr. choi was the best, and, in all the ways that matter — her steady hands and kind hugs and the stretch of freckles across her cheeks — you had meant it. 

‘do you — would you like to meet them?’

you’d like to fucking punch them, but — ‘do you want me to meet them?’

‘yes,’ she says, certain and stoic. ‘you’re my partner, and we live together, and i’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.’

there’s such tenderness, such assuredness, the rain calming and her strong shoulders and the smile you feel on your face. it’s quiet, now, the clippers turned off and sitting on the counter. ‘we live together?’

‘that’s what you got from that?’

you shrug.

she takes your hand, laces your fingers together. ‘your lease is up next month, right?’

‘yeah.’

‘i can’t remember the last time you didn’t spend the night here, and i certainly can’t remember the last time i didn’t want you to.’

‘you’re full of big declarations today.’ it’s ineffective, because your laugh comes out as mostly a snot-filled snuffle when tears press at your eyes. you’ve never, really, had a home before.

beatrice just squeezes your hand. 

‘you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with me?’

‘ah, there we go.’

‘you do know that i’m, like, a whole lot.’

‘yes,’ she says. ‘and i love you.’

just like that. just like that, and it’s so easy. ‘i love you too.’ you wipe under your eyes, grimace for a moment when stray hairs get stuck on your cheeks, but you let out a big breath. ‘i can’t promise i won’t at least tell your parents off.’

‘if they say anything that warrants that, i’m fine with you causing a scene if you’d like. shannon loves to, so she’ll have fun.’

‘i think that might be too much of an opening for me, honestly. i’ve been waiting to yell at them since like, two hours after i met you.’

‘there’s no way you knew after two hours on my service.’

‘i could sense the, like, childhood trauma, gentle, brooding, gay vibes. i’m talented that way.’

she rolls her eyes but she’s clearly so fond of you, still holding your hand. ‘well, shall i shower, and then we can order in? catch up on the traitors, maybe?’

‘god, that is my love language. for real, bea.’

‘would you like to shower with me?’

‘okay, i take it back. that is my love language.’

she laughs, and stands, and you clean up and get in the shower and kiss her. you don’t do anything more, not tonight, not when things are still the raw end of a live nerve wire, hurt dissipating near the surface. you cuddle on the couch and steal bites of her biryani and she falls asleep, warm and soft, her head resting on your chest while you scratch her scalp. you live her, for real, you think, as you pause the episode before the roundtable because she hates missing it even if she pretends to not care — asking for a full recap the next day — and then rouse her as gently as you can and lead her by the hand to bed, to rest.

[possibilistfanfiction]

happy new year! maybe a prompt for sleep/nap bc i need one lol

bea 🧑🏻‍⚕️🐝❤️‍🩹 (4:27 am): If you’re done with your post-op and would like to stop by, I’m in the on-call room. 

it’s so late it’s almost morning, and you really should be headed home because, technically, your shift is over and you’d been at the hospital for, like, too many hours to really want to keep track of at this point. but bea — beatrice choi, md, the resident in charge of you — is, like, so handsome, and kind, and an incredible teacher, with her perfect handwriting and her free gender-affirming clinic and all the languages she knows fluently. you think you’re a little in love with her, but who can blame you — you’re sleep-deprived and sometimes in awe of the skill and calm she has, even in just her third year. 

Dr. Ava Silva (4:31 am): sweet yah omw :)

when you open the door, a little harried, you immediately still and quiet as much as you can. bea has the room darkened, the only light coming in from a sliver under the window curtain, blue and red from the ambulances and easy white-gold from the street lights in the hospital parking lot. you’ve spent so much of your life — way too much of your life — in dark rooms in hospitals in uncomfortable beds that, for years, you could barely even feel, so you should want to run away. you should want to leave as soon as your shift is over and go home to your cramped apartment with its rickety table you found on the side of the road and its lumpy couch and the chipped mug in the kitchen — it’s not much; you can’t afford more, but it’s yours.

but you’re starting to think in some way maybe beatrice is yours too. all of the tension in your shoulders from the day — from countless central lines and three boring laparoscopic surgeries and one fatal stabbing in the er, from sutures and journals and so much to learn — melts away when you see her fast asleep. bea is on her back, scrub top off, one arm over her head, the blanket pooled around her waist, her phone face down on the flat plane of her chest — scars you haven’t seen before there that make you smile, just a little, beautiful — like she’d fallen asleep texting you. based on the fact that it’s only — you check your watch — 4:35 am, you’re pretty sure she did. 

camila keeps pestering you, and probably bea too, knowing her, to just talk to chief superion about your feelings so you can be on another resident’s service, so that there won’t be any issues and you can kiss bea if you want, but it’s, like, totally terrifying to imagine not only telling beatrice your feelings, let alone dr. superion, who puts up with your antics but just barely. 

you could leave. you could sneak out the door right now back to your apartment. it feels like a cliff to jump off, or a knife’s edge — but maybe it’s not that. maybe it’s something warm and easy and not really a choice at all, to love the steadiest person you’ve ever met. 

it’s easy to pull your running shoes off and discard your white coat and climb into the small space in the small bed next to her. she stirs a little, and so you say, ‘hey, i’m here.’ and she puts out her arm so you can lie down. it’s an invitation, albeit a sleepy one, so you make sure: ‘is this okay?’

she hums and nods. ‘hi ava.’

her voice is heavy with exhaustion; later you’ll come to find out that the hardest part of residency for beatrice — beyond literally everything else you personally find abhorrent and impossible — was just a lack of sleep. 

‘hey bea,’ you say, close enough to count her freckles and take in the warmth of her skin. she curls into you when you scoot closer to her, and it’s cramped and these beds are horrible for your back but it’s still basically heaven. you feel such deep fondness for her, small and in the dark like this, so different from her ramrod straight posture and clever hands in the light. 

she mumbles something incoherent and pulls you closer, and you fall asleep just like that. you’re awakened by the sound of her pager — a crime in your book, totally homophobic — just as the sun has risen. she’s disoriented, seemingly, as she wakes up painfully, and you kind of expect her to panic upon seeing you. but she smiles apologetically, a little nervous but apparently happy you’re there.

‘i don’t remember you coming in,’ bea says, searching for her scrub top until you hand it to her from where it was discarded over the side of the bed. she looks at you questioningly for one second, the tiniest bit of trepidation crossing her face, and so you just smile. 

‘you were very asleep, mere minutes after texting me. kinda rude to knock out after inviting me, don’t you think?’

her little blush is worth everything as she checks her pager and slips into her clogs. ‘you’re lucky i even managed to get that text off.’

’the er was that bad?’

she groans. ‘worse than.’ 

you’re ready to just lay around for a few minutes before you go home, but then she pulls on her quarter zip and you think about the scrub cap she’d had on earlier, blue with little otters all over it, unexpectedly adorable, and you decide to get up anyway. ‘have time for me to grab you a coffee as i head out?’

‘i’m sorry i kept you here. that can’t have been comfortable.’

you have to physically hold back the urge to tell her about how good she smells, even smooshed near her armpit. you’re, like, the best at all things self-control though, obviously, and so you don’t. instead you just shrug and stand, thankful for the last round of jillian’s shots that seem to be helping your back. ‘well, if you weren’t so ripped.’

she rolls her eyes, but her blush remains. camila is right, you think, because all you want to do is kiss her right now. but you don’t, you’re good for once, and you get ready too, as quickly as you can, and then hold the door open for her. she blinks a few times at the light, rubs her eyes behind her glasses, but then smiles at you — just for you.

‘maybe, soon,’ she says, taking a brave little breath after you’d waited in easy silence at the coffee counter, ‘you might want to join me on a hike? i go most days off if i can.’

and, like, that’s a terrible idea for you maybe, but whatever, some of your most ambitious terrible ideas have earned you an md and a phd and this very cool person in front of you, offering. ‘i’d really love that,’ you say. ‘text me.’

she nods, definitely pushing the time it would take to answer a page — lilith is going to be pissed, a delightful detail — and then reaches out to squeeze your hand, just once.

‘have a good day, dr. choi.’

she smiles. ‘see you soon, dr. silva.’

[possibilistfanfiction]

omg hallmark au?!? how abt christmas tree?

[uh. there's a tree at the end lol]

//

beatrice kisses you. it’s snowing outside and smells like pine and cinammon and her cologne and you’ve kissed her before, in an alley in the dark, but the light from the fireplace here is gentle and bathes her in warmth and she kisses you. it’s a revelation, you think, to be kissed like this, with your eyes closed and a tender hand combing through your hair and the whole world tucked away somewhere else, off this mountainside and hundreds of miles over valleys and rivers and roads away from you here, and now.

beatrice kisses you and you tug on the bottom of her fleece and pull it over her head, the t-shirt underneath coming with it, and a million thoughts run through your head — she’s ripped, first of all, a delight you will revisit soon; the scars that stretch across her flat chest aren’t overwhelmingly surprising, not old but not new either, gorgeous and healed and healing, so much of her unspoken that she wants you to understand; she has a few freckles on her strong shoulders — but she’s looking at you like this is a lot more than a fling while you’re running away from your real life.

you think it clearly, then: this is your real life, too. this is real. beatrice is real.

you trace one of her scars, just for a moment, and then let your fingers trail lightly down her stomach.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say and hope it’s right, hope it’s enough.

beatrice, stoic and kind and faithful, takes it in, her eyes meeting yours, gold in the light, and then she smiles softly. ‘you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.’

you feel the weight of her jaw in the palm of your hand when you bring it to her face; the lightness of it, sharp and soft. i love you runs through your head, unbidden, i’m in love with you, but it’s too much and too soon and you’ll leave anyway, and this isn’t home but it isn’t something else entirely either.

‘please,’ is all you can say, but she seems to understand because she kisses you deeply, like there’s something there she’s searching to tell you. you sink into it, let it wash over you with its warmth.

////

the sheets are still warm when you wake, even though the bed is empty. you don’t mind; the world is heavy sometimes, and you understand.

you take your time to stretch, to wiggle your toes, to flex your hands. it doesn’t escape you, even still, the miracle of touch and movement, the life you have that seems, despite the days that feel intolerable, bigger than you could’ve dreamed.

you put on one of her hoodies — soft and warm and smelling of laundry detergent and a little like her cologne, musk and clove and fresh pine, like this place, an unnamable magic — and pad out to the living room. she’s on the couch looking out over the mountains, snow covered, from her huge a-frame windows, theo asleep at her feet. beatrice seems larger than life sometimes, her seriousness and kindness and strength, her bright, quiet laugh — another magic entirely.

she smiles, small and shy, when you curl up next to her and take her coffee with a wink.

‘this is… disgusting,’ you say, surprised to taste at least three spoonfuls of sugar, and you wait a beat before you both laugh. ‘i would’ve thought you had black coffee, very solemn.’

‘i’m still not quite used to the taste, admittedly, but i thought you might like some instead of tea.’

it’s thoughtful in a way that makes you want to cry, but instead you clear your throat and lean into her side.

you stay like that for a while, her strong arm wrapped around your shoulders and theo snoring softly every now and then. it’s a bluebird day outside, bright and clear and beautiful.

‘even though you’re leaving,’ she says after a while, ‘i’m thankful i’ve known you.’

it aches in your chest, this desire to never move from this spot, to stop running once and for all, to rest in this warm house with its glass wall and the mountains — flowers in the spring, orange leaves in the fall — a home.

she continues, ‘i would’ve longed for you forever, i think, if we hadn’t met.’

and — what do you even say to that? when you imagined this little adventure, you had thought you’d spend quiet days in a silly little town, drink some hot chocolate, instagram the view of the mountains from your window; maybe — maybe — going home with the town hottie and leaving before they woke. you take a deep breath and look at the soft planes of beatrice’s face and then the big, full christmas tree in the corner of the room that camila told you she cut down herself, its carefully strung lights and a few unexpectedly silly ornaments. you can imagine all of it, her care and quiet humor; you had ached, for so long, to be treated with kindness, to be seen and found whole.

you hadn’t expected her — how could you?

‘well,’ you say, your voice rough in your throat, but she gives you the same grace as always, allowing you to clear it without comment, ‘i haven’t left yet.’

she braves a smile. ‘that’s true.’

‘take me back to bed?’

she stands, unfolds herself elegantly and offers her hand. you think you could hold it forever, but your plane leaves this evening and your life looms. still, you kiss her and, after she comes, trace words you can’t say into the soft skin on her back; you think about saying them aloud, but you don’t.

[possibilistfanfiction]

More surgeon suffering pls! Maybe bea learning more about Ava’s injury?

[definitely sooo gentle & no present-day suffering lol but here u go]

//

‘you can ask.’

beatrice’s gentle, callused, careful fingers still along your back, their patterns you can’t quite decipher gone quiet. ‘i would never do that.’

her voice is so soft and so relaxed, it’s not at all a reprimand; you can’t say it aloud, not yet, but you love her. you roll over so that you can see the gentle planes of her face through the silvery-blue light from the moon and the night outside her big windows, the blinds not yet drawn. she looks at you openly, patiently, like there’s nothing she wants to take from you; everything she wants to give. you know — in your heart and through your friends and your family and your therapist telling you over and over again — that you have so much to offer: you’re beautiful and funny and very smart, and you love the world more than anyone you know. you also know that beatrice is sometimes less sure of herself than she seems: she clams up every time her parents call, unable to tell them to, unequivocally if it was up to you, fuck off; she loves to be lazy and sleep in and wants no one to know; she still is in the habit of downplaying accomplishments, anything from a surgery she mastered (impressive in that you know how hard it is) to a new route she climbed at the gym (you have no idea but lilith was jealous and you can imagine it’s hot); she’s a horrible cook.

‘i know,’ you say, and you do. you let a finger drift down the bridge of her nose, count her freckles, feel the chapped bow of her lips beneath your thumb. she has a scar, small, through her left brow, and you trace it. ‘what’s this from?’

she smiles, always so quick to understand, always so generous. it makes you feel like you could light up the entire world sometimes. ‘i was five; my brothers were trying to teach me how to rollerblade.’

you think about it: beatrice’s gap-toothed grin and the delightfully terrible bob haircut she had for so much of her early childhood, the photos making you laugh when, unprompted, lilith showed you a few weeks ago when you’d all had dinner at a good oyster place near bea’s house. ‘can you rollerblade now?’

‘no, it frightened me. i never learned.’

‘putting that on the short list of things that scare you. good to know.’

she holds up her right arm so you can see the small scar on her elbow, the skin darker than before. ‘at university, i was drunk and my crush dared me to climb a tree.’

you can’t help the laugh it pulls out of you. ‘oh my.’

she nods. ‘yes, quite. needless to say, amelia and i went our separate ways fairly soon after.’

‘well, her loss. i’d have paid to see you fall out of a tree.’

‘i didn’t fall,’ she says. ‘i scraped my elbow on the way up, but i did continue.’

‘of course you did.’

she shrugs. you trace the scars across her chest, ones you love. 

‘camila told me you tried to go back to classes a week after your surgery. like, the day after you got your drains out.’

bea laughs. ‘yes, and promptly fell fast asleep about three minutes in.’

‘front row?’

‘well, the second.’

‘knew it.’

‘i can keep going, if you like. i have a good story about a scraped knee during field hockey at boarding school.’

‘homoerotic, i hope.’

she rolls her eyes, but based on her silence you know you’re right.

she lets you sit in it, easily, and her house is beautiful and warm and, you’re beginning to think — to hope — it might be full of your things one day, too. it’s easier to be brave here, but your words, the worst of them, still get stuck in your throat. ‘well, what do my scars tell you?’

she weighs it. ‘you know i’m more interested in cardio.’

‘you’re the smartest person i’ve ever met.’

‘well, you favor your left hand when you’re practicing sutures, and i know your left foot gets numb often. you have trouble with temperature regulation and walking long distances, but an easier time standing for the most part; your neck aches, i think all the time.’ she pauses. ‘your handwriting is abysmal, although i suspect that has nothing to do with your injuries.’

you’re about to start crying, but she makes things lighter, even now.

‘all i care about, ava,’ she says, soft and sure, a hand tangled in your hair and then gentle on your cheek, ‘is that you get the care you need, that you tell someone — me or anyone else who can help. and you can tell me whatever you like, if ever you feel ready.’

‘i can’t — i want to.’

she kisses your forehead. ‘like i said. it’ll always be up to you. i’m here.’

you take a deep breath. ‘my mom had a garden,’ you say. ‘she died, uh —‘ you get a little caught, stuck on the way her eyes looked when she wasn’t alive anymore, when you couldn’t move, when you were stuck for so long, screaming and so, so scared — ‘she grew all kinds of vegetables.’ your voice shakes but beatrice only nods. ‘and flowers. we were going to —‘ you sniffle and beatrice just wipes your tears — ‘i think she wanted to keep bees. i don’t even know if that was possible; we had a little yard. but everything grew.’

‘that sounds wonderful.’

‘it was, even though i hated eating my vegetables.’

beatrice laughs softly, admonishing in a way that’s harmless, fond. ‘you’ve grown so much since then.’

‘hey, i’ll have you know just today i ate, like, seven bites of a salad.’

‘very impressive.’

‘can i — not right now, because i think i’ll just cry too much, but — can i tell you more about her? i wish you could’ve met her.’ i wish i could remember her more; i can’t forget.

‘i would love that. and, if she was anything like you, i’m sure she would’ve lit up an entire room. it would’ve been an honor.’

‘bea, i really don’t want to cry again,’ you whine.

‘you should know,’ she tells you, a little firm, so there’s no argument. ‘she would be so proud of you. i know it; who wouldn’t be?’

‘that’s —‘ you bury your face in her neck, just for a moment, soft and warm and safe. 

‘would you like to plant a garden?’

‘in my tiny ass apartment?’

‘no,’ she says, and you can’t see her but you can practically feel her rolling her eyes. ‘here. i have the whole back yard and, frankly, no real interest in a lawn.’

‘i —‘ you back up so you can look at her, and her eyes are clear. ‘really?’

‘of course. i’m actually quite interested in self-sustaining agriculture, and the pacific northwest has great growing conditions for so much wonderful flora and fauna.’

‘wow. okay, but — it’s your house.’

she pauses. ‘ava.’

‘i just — you’re sure?’

‘i would really enjoy it, if you’d like. also, my friend marco, from the climbing gym, runs the community garden in their neighborhood and has been pestering me to meet you.’

‘you talk about me?’

‘of course.’

‘well, if marco will do all the heavy lifting, and preferably both of you not have shirts on, i’m so in.’

‘it’s february.’

you shrug. ‘you’re tough.’

beatrice laughs, and you sink into it, delight in it. you could light up the whole world, ava, she told you after two glasses of wine and half an edible the other night, entirely serious, crammed onto the small couch in your small apartment, your life expanding far beyond, past any walls you knew. 

‘next weekend, when we’re both off,’ she says, ‘we can go to the nursery nearby and get started.’

‘you’re —‘ the love of my life sits right on the tip of your tongue, but you kiss her instead. ‘thank you.’

‘thank you for telling me about your garden, and your mother.’

all you can do is nod, and then hold her after she turns over and falls asleep.

[possibilistfanfiction]

for surgeons au.,, perhaps some hurt/comfort :,)

[hbd @gohandinhand. sorry but tbf... u asked for this lol (also so many of you asked for 'what if bea gets hurt' bc we all share one collective grey's anatomy-ass braincell // also on ao3]

//

‘dr. silva is still in the tumor resection?’

it’s only, like, your fifth week being a doctor, so there are so many things you don’t know all the time; you add dr. villaumbrosia asking this question to the list. still, she’s kind of the scariest person you’ve ever met in your life — unflappable and a little mean to everyone but her patients and their families, talented and whip-smart beyond belief, willing to take on the hardest cases — and so you answer anyway with a nod. you only know this because zaire promised he would come find you just after he’d finished with dr. silva — to celebrate at the bar down the street and hopefully more than that too — but you don’t add that; you don’t think dr. villaumbrosia would appreciate it all that much.

‘okay,’ she says, more shaken than you’ve ever seen her.

‘is something… did something go wrong, or?’

‘with ava’s surgery, no, i don’t think so.’ 

ava is new; you’re not embarrassed to admit that you and basically your whole intern class has been keeping track of who’s with whom amongst the attendings, so you know they’re all either dating or friends or some kind of family. still, dr. villaumbrosia never uses first names at work. 

‘there’s a trauma being flown in,’ she continues. ‘there was an avalanche, and dr. choi was skiing in the backcountry today. i don’t — i don’t know more details.’ she worries her hands for a moment. ‘she hasn’t answered her sat phone.’

‘oh,’ is the best you’ve got, disarmed by the obvious fear that lingers around every inch of her.

‘dr. silva can’t know, if she does come in. not until after he’s finished the hardest part of the procedure and can pass it off.’

not that you were going to be the one to randomly decide to go to dr. silva’s OR and say any of this, but you nod. ‘of course.’

‘i need you to go check on tai; she’s in daycare.’

‘uh, i don’t — i’ve never —‘

dr. villaumbrosia waves you off. ‘she’s cute. looks like choi, acts like silva.’ 

when you don’t respond immediately, dr. villaumbrosia just glares. ‘yeah, of course,’ you hurry to say.

‘and then i need you to go to the ER for the trauma. dr. masters already knows you’re coming; you’re going to see what’s going on and tell me and no one else. got it?’

‘yes, dr. villaumbrosia. will do.’

‘great.’

to be honest, you have no idea where the daycare even is, and this certainly isn’t what you went to a bazillion years of school for, but whatever. maybe this will get you on dr. villaumbrosia’s good side. 

‘and dr. al-najjar?’

you nod.

‘i know this seems ridiculous. but dr. choi is — she’s my favorite person. it’s important.’

you understand in your own way: you facetime your little brother every day, no matter how tired you are, no matter how late or early it is for you. ‘i’ll tell you everything as soon as i can.’

‘good.’

/

tai is, apparently, a fourteen month old, very cute toddler, who really does look like dr. choi. when you explain, very briefly, to one of the daycare teacher that dr. villaumbrosia sent you to see how she’s doing, make sure she’s okay, she nods and shows you over to an area of the room with soft mats and some wooden blocks. tai smiles at you, all baby teeth and big cheeks, and says mostly nonsense but a few words — blocks, doctor, mama — and then promptly knocks over her block tower with definite glee. 

you snap a nice, cute picture of tai smiling in her little giraffe hoodie and send it off to dr. villaumbrosia. you’ve never been a baby guy, and you’re certain she isn’t either, because there’s no way you could ever possibly choose her specialty if you were, but she loves the photo anyway — the first and only time she’ll ever respond to a text from you like that, you’re absolutely certain — and it makes you smile, just for a moment. when you wave goodbye to tai she laughs, and you hope, very concretely, that she goes home with both of her parents tonight, or soon, at least, that her family stays as full and happy and warm as it had been this morning.

/

you feel genuinely nervous and way too invested: you’ve met dr. choi in passing a handful of times, and she’d assisted on one of dr. villaumbrosia’s surgeries once that you’d gotten to hold a retractor for, but according to emma — the best gossip and also dr. choi’s favorite intern, allegedly — says that dr. choi is kind and quiet and a wonderful teacher, patient and skilled and efficient. you’d been looking forward to being on her service soon, honestly, and, even in the past few weeks, you’re starting to understand that the people here, that you spend so much time with, are starting to feel like family.

dr. masters nods at you, her braids already tucked away beneath a cap, trauma gown on. you’re on peds, so you don’t know if you’re really here to help with anything — dr. villaumbrosia wasn’t called down for any consults, still set for the routine bowel repair she’d been scheduled for this afternoon, so you’re fairly certain there weren’t any children coming in — but she gestures toward the gown and gloves anyway.

‘just in case we need more hands on deck,’ she says as way of explanation. ‘there’s four people, and we don’t really know the extent of their injuries.’

you nod — what else is there to say — and things are very, very still until dr. masters gets a page and then everything is moving — loudly, organized, seamless — and you’re in awe, for a moment, of dr. masters’ ER. you love trauma surgery and she’s, like, kind of the biggest badass in the country, and it’s pretty fucking cool to watch her very quickly get everyone exactly where they need to be in the amount of time it takes for her to walk to the elevator that leads up to the helipad.

the wind whips from the blades when the doors open, rainy and miserable, and your heart is caught in your throat when the door opens. you see dr. masters’ hands shake, although you’d never, ever mention it, locked behind her back in tight fists, until dr. choi’s face — a bruise along her jaw, a scrape that runs underneath her eye, all the way into her hair, the tip of her nose and the tips of her ears a painful red, probably from frostbite — comes into view.

dr. choi, strapped into a stretcher, covered in a blanket and hooked up to an IV, immediately starts talking, before the stretcher is even fully out of the helicopter. ‘the three coming out,’ she starts, ‘i dug them out as much as i could. i did an emergency thoracostomy on david, you need to push a ton of antibiotics. anna needs to go to the OR immediately for her pelvis, make sure cam —‘

‘—beatrice,’ dr. masters says, rushing to her side and, if you were to bet, wanting to sink to her knees in relief. ‘oh my god.’

‘i’m fine,’ dr. choi says, annoyed at being made to stay on the stretcher. ‘i properly deployed my avalanche airbag. but mary, listen —‘

dr. masters holds dr. choi’s face in her hands and then kisses the top of dr. choi’s head. it’s tender, and you wonder how long they’ve known each other to afford that level of intimacy, that level of care. ‘i got them, bea. i promise. we gotta take care of you too or ava will kill me.’

dr. choi relaxes, just minutely, but you can tell — maybe because you would trust dr. masters with your life or anyone else’s, maybe at the mention of dr. silva, maybe some combination of both — and she nods.

dr. masters rolls her eyes and kisses the top of dr. choi’s head once more. ‘stupid hero. let me go make all your hard work worthwhile.’

dr. choi smiles, definitely reassured now. ‘you better.’

/

you’re not surprised, exactly, that chief superion is waiting to take over dr. choi’s care, but you are a little surprised when dr. superion squeezes her shoulder gently and smiles, a little sad. 

‘ava is still in surgery, so let’s get the worst of it taken care of before she’s done, yes?’

dr. choi nods, growing more exhausted by the minute. which is fair, you think, as she tells dr. superion — and you, because you’re stuck in this room until you have a real report for dr. villaumbrosia beyond the text you’d sent that just said Dr. Choi is talking and moving, no head or neck injuries — about how the avalanche airbag had worked, even if it was frightening; about how her transceiver, according to SAR, had helped them get there faster than they would have otherwise.  

‘ava always teased me about how expensive the gear was, but look who’s laughing now.’

‘well, to be fair,’ dr. superion says, looking at dr. choi’s x-rays, ‘i don’t think either of you are laughing.’ 

‘oh, yikes,’ dr. choi says, looking at the films too. she’s on a fair amount of pain medicine at this point, but she’s right: there’s a few nasty fractures along the bones in her left wrist. but, other than those and a few cracked ribs and some mild frostbite on her nose, ears, and the tips of her fingers, it seems like it’s just cuts and bruises: nothing she won’t heal from, and far better off than the others who came in with her.

‘i, uh — sorry,’ you say, feeling like you’re interrupting, but they both just shake their heads, waving off your apology. ‘dr. villaumbrosia sent me to see if you’re okay, and i’m supposed to go talk to her once i know. which, i guess i know now.’ not your best work, and in front of the chief, but oh well.

dr. choi smiles fondly. ‘thank you for telling me. i’ll never let lilith forget it.’ 

dr. superion doesn’t smile, but it seems like she wants to. ‘go ahead, dr. al-najjar. you can tell her that we’re admitting dr. choi to ortho; dr. alvarez will operate tomorrow, once the swelling has gone down.’

‘and tell lilith i love her too.’

‘i — uh—‘

dr. superion laughs. ‘go, dr. al-najjar.’

/

you’ve just finished your report to dr. villaumbrosia — in the middle of a surgery, but it’s clear her shoulders relax immediately, continuing to operate smoothly — when dr. silva flings open the door of the OR.

‘hello ava,’ dr. villaumbrosia says, not even looking up from the stitch she’s putting in. ‘she’s okay.’

dr. silva, breathing so hard her mask is getting sucked into her mouth and nose, doubles over, her hands on her knees. ‘i gotta do more cardio, oh my god,’ he mumbles, then takes a deep breath and stands. ‘you’re sure?’

‘yes,’ dr. villaumbrosia, ‘i had dr. al-najjar make sure personally. he also checked on tai; she’s doing great.’

‘very cute,’ you say and then debate just quitting residency here altogether, but dr. silva smiles at you.

‘thanks man,’ she says. ‘sorry you missed this surgery.’

‘the bowel was perforated,’ dr. villaumbrosia says. ‘it was quite disgusting, to be honest.’

‘well then,’ dr. silva says, ‘hey, you’re welcome! you got to see my adorable kid and my sexy wife. who, as lovely as your company always is, lil, i’m gonna go see now.’

‘she deployed that avalanche airbag, dug three other people out, and did a field chest tube by the time SAR got there.’ 

‘hot.’

‘insane, actually,’ dr. villaumbrosia says. ‘but give her my love.’

/

two days later you’re back on shift — after drinks and truly, genuinely great sex with zaire that still ended up happening despite everything, god bless — and you swing by ortho before you go up to peds. you’re not friends with dr. choi or dr. silva, but you do want to see how things are going anyway. your mom always says it’s better to be kinder than necessary, and you’re starting to believe it.

they’re an adorable family, you think, tai showing dr. choi her lion stuffy and babbling excitedly, sitting on the hospital bed between her legs, turning every now and then toward dr. silva in a chair by her bedside. dr. choi, her arm in a brace and a sling, looks pretty good overall: her eyes seem clear, the bruises along her jaw are already starting to turn green and yellow, a great sign of healing, and the redness on her nose and ears has lessened considerably. 

also, she’s sitting up and talking animatedly, clearly happy with her daughter and her wife there. from her chart — you looked it up in the system before you came, whatever — you’re pretty sure she’s going to get to go home today, which you suspect is what the small duffle bag by dr. silva’s feet is for. 

‘all i’m saying,’ you hear from dr. silva, ’is that your nose could’ve fallen off.’

‘ava,’ dr. choi says, exasperated and laughing.

dr. silva sits back and pouts, exaggerating with crossed arms. 

‘i will be more careful,’ dr. choi concedes, but it doesn’t feel much like a concession the way she smiles at tai and then runs a gentle hand over her wispy hair. emma — who is an incredible gossip but you’re starting to think she also just has a giant crush — had told you and zaire that dr. choi is, like, an experienced outdoors person with certifications in all kinds of different safety courses and activities; you know she and dr. villaumbrosia have done stints with MSF together too. 

‘good,’ dr. silva says. ‘because lord knows i cannot raise tai by myself.’

dr. choi frowns, then offers her good hand to dr. silva, who scoots closer and takes it with a kiss to her scraped knuckles. 

‘plus, while i would deal, obviously, you’d probably be less hot if your nose fell off.’

‘“probably”?’

dr. silva shrugs. ‘i love you.’

‘i love you too.’

‘would you still love me if my nose fell off?’

‘ava.’

/

‘good morning, dr. al-najjar,’ dr. choi says when you knock lightly on the open door of her office. it’s impeccably neat, a few pictures of dr. silva and tai on her desk. she’s wearing the brace on her wrist still but no sling; her bruises and frostbite have faded. in her scrubs and white coat and clogs, a fresh buzzcut and a cup of coffee in her good hand, she looks exactly the surgeon you’ve looked forward to working with. 

‘good morning, dr. choi. welcome back.’

she smiles and closes her office door, starts leading you down the hall. ‘thank you. and, apologizes in advance that you won’t have any surgeries with me for the next two weeks until i’m officially cleared.’ she rolls her eyes. 

‘that’s okay,’ you say. ‘more sleep, honestly.’

‘true. and,’ she says, opening a door to the most incredible, brand new lab you’ve ever seen, ‘i can promise that the research we’ll get to work on will be worth it.’

‘i always thought i would go into trauma,’ you tell her, ‘but i think i just fell in love.’

she grins. ‘the heart wants what it wants.’

you pause a moment but then you can’t help yourself: you laugh.

‘in that case,’ she says, ‘let me show you around, and let’s get to work.’

[possibilistfanfiction]

surgeons au word prompt - "breathless"

[early days, also if u like climbing this is a bonus fun one lol]

//

you’re already kind of gassed when beatrice gets to the gym, mostly hanging out on the mat with marco and watching jehan slip from a hold on a new v6 over and over again. 

the first time you met beatrice, a few years ago, when she had just moved and was new to the gym, she had climbed a few lower grades and stretched and then quietly and calmly puzzled her way through a hard v7 that you’d been trying to send for days. she’s, like, totally sick and also really reserved, so it’s extra cool when she sits with you and asks about how your landscaping job is going or how your cat is enjoying the new perch you’d gotten, always remembering the most important parts of all the stupid shit you tell her. 

you — and the rest of the guys, too — have also been trying to set her up for, like, two years now. in your opinion, you’d had the best shot with lucia, who you’d flirted with at the coffee shop next door until she laughed kindly and told you she wasn’t interested in men. which, totally cool, because obviously, no offense to jehan, but his sister kind of sucks, so of course that was going to be a bust with someone as cool as beatrice. 

disappointingly, though, she and lucia had decided to just be friends, a huge bummer because beatrice would’ve had a hot girlfriend and danny would’ve owed you twenty bucks, but it’s cool. she climbs on her days off from work — it’s, like, fucking wild to actually know a surgeon — and blows you all out of the water with what seems like just a moderate amount of effort. 

today, though — in addition to the free barbecue your boss had bought for lunch — fucking rocks, because someone very pretty walks in, holding hands with beatrice and smiling as they talk animatedly, using a cane with most steps but gesturing with it when something in their conversation is extra exciting, which makes beatrice smile a smile you’ve definitely never seen before. she had very briefly mentioned a few weeks ago that she had gone on a first date, blushing profusely when you had gotten excited and then flying up a few routes in quick succession, which had made you laugh. you hadn’t gotten anything else out of her, but you’re not offended because she mostly just listens and climbs, always willing to talk you through a route that you’re struggling with that she’s sent before. 

‘hey beatrice,’ you greet, maybe too eagerly, when she stops by the cubbies to put her clogs and jacket away. 

she smiles though — not the same one as earlier, but definitely kind still. ‘hey sam.’ she turns to the person next to her, who is grinning, bouncing on their toes a little even. ’ava, this is sam, one of my friends here. sam, this is ava.’

there’s no more explanation, and you’re momentarily a little worried that ava’s feelings might get hurt, but their happy expression doesn’t change a bit, and they shake your offered hand enthusiastically.

‘i’ve been asking bea for weeks if i could come watch her climb.’

beatrice, for her part, doesn’t change course from where she’s slipping on her climbing shoes, situating a beanie — typical in general for her, but not this pale blue she has on right now — after she’d taken her hoodie off. her t-shirt is also new, worn and faded from a school you know she definitely didn’t go to, and it’s kind of, like, the best day ever. your mom always reminds you that, sometimes, you come on a little too strong when you’re excited, so you take a deep breath and remind yourself to be totally normal.

‘bea’s amazing,’ you say, normal but honest too. 

ava looks toward beatrice fondly. ‘she told me that she was competent, which, in beatrice translation, means totally fucking awesome.’

you laugh.

‘and,’ ava adds, following when beatrice nods once and then chalks her hands, keeping it all inside her bag so neatly — enviable, always — and then stands, silently, in front of a v3, ‘i imagine it’s, like, really hot.’

thankfully, beatrice doesn’t turn around, so she misses your absolute beaming smile at ava. theoretically you guess they could be friends, but you’ve never seen beatrice voluntarily touch another person in two years, so you think, for someone to get to hold beatrice’s hand, to make her happy like that, probably means they’re something. 

beatrice glides through the route, smooth and patient, just warming up, and ava sits down on the edge of the mat next to you and sighs.’ i love being right.’

you laugh. ‘that’s just a warm up for her too.’ sure enough, beatrice stretches a bit and then climbs up and down two v1s in quick and easy succession. she’s calm and fast; even if you can sometimes send routes she’s, honestly, just a little too short for, you’re fairly certain you never make things look effortless. 

‘are you gonna try climbing?’ you ask, because it’s easy and because ava’s only half paying attention to you anyway. jehan and marco start talking to beatrice about the route they’ve been stuck on, and she puts her hands on her hips and looks at it critically, ava watching the whole time.

‘nah,’ he says. ‘i’ve got a lot of hardware in my spine.’ he turns his back to you, and you see a few scars between his shoulder blades, up to the middle of his neck and going down below the hem of his tank too. 

‘dude, gnarly,’ you say, which, like, whoops, maybe, but you’re super relived when ava just laughs.

‘keeps me up and walking most days, but i don’t think i can do that.’ she gestures over to where jehan has gotten stuck, once again, on an admittedly difficult crimp on the overhang. 

‘well, to be fair,’ you say, as jehan walks over to you both in easy defeat, ‘neither can he.’

‘ha ha,’ he says, then smiles and sits down next to ava, offers his hand and introduces himself. ‘you’re here with beatrice?’

‘yeah,’ ava says, softening a little. ‘i’m her — we’re dating? i guess?’

jehan hums, taking his shoes off for a break and sitting back on his hands. ‘well, we’ve tried to set beatrice up with people for years now, and no one has really gotten past a second date, so i’d say you’re doing great.’

ava laughs, delighted. ‘we’ll circle back to all those failed dates later, because that could definitely be mostly your fault.’

‘hey—‘

‘but, i don’t know.’ ava shrugs. ‘i met her at work and things have just felt, like, really good. easy, even if she’s so quiet sometimes. makes my rambling even worse.’

you all laugh. ‘happens to the best of us,’ jehan says.

‘you’re a surgeon too?’

ava nods, a little pride straightening their spine, lifting their shoulders. ‘i’m still just an intern, but, yeah.’

‘that’s so cool,’ you say, and jehan nods in agreement. ‘jehan’s an engineer —‘

‘— very boring —‘

‘— but i barely graduated high school. i can’t imagine eight years after that, jesus christ.’

ava nods. ‘i have a phd, so even more than that.’

‘jesus christ.’

she just laughs. ‘bea was actually my boss, but i charmed her so much she admitted to the chief of surgery she “had feelings for me” and “needed me to switch to another resident’s service” so she could “pursue something.”’ the air quotes give you a moment of pause but then ava gets all soft. ‘which is awesome, because now we can actually date instead of just, like, yearn or whatever.’

‘ah, the yearning,’ marco says, joining you. ‘sounds gay.’

‘it’s about beatrice,’ you say, ’so, yeah, definitely.’

marco introduces themself and gives ava a high five. ‘are you, like, co-yearning now, or do we need to pester beatrice into committing?’

ava’s smile turns smug. ‘oh, she’s committed.’

the three of you whoop happily, which causes beatrice to turn toward all of you with a glare. it’s not intimidating, though, because her eyes are soft when she looks at ava, who shrugs with a smirk.

‘oh, you’re like, beatrice kryptonite, aren’t you?’ marco asks.

‘maybe she’ll finally get dinner with us tonight then,’ you say, excited about the prospect of beatrice actually coming with you to the brewery next door rather than saying next time again and again. ‘if you’re, like, not busy, obviously.’

ava gets a little distracted by beatrice carefully setting her hands on the wall, but he shakes his head. ‘no, we both have tomorrow off. but you owe me a round if i can convince her.’

‘oh, deal. easy.’

ava returns your fist bump but watches, a little breathless, as beatrice gets to the hold that’s been getting all three of you all afternoon. of course — of course — she breezes right through it, getting a foothold that you’d all missed too to send the route.

‘first try,’ jehan whines. ‘not fair, beatrice.’

she laughs from the top of the wall, then climbs halfway down and lands silently on her feet, walks over to you and sits on the edge of the mat.

‘have they been bothering you?’ she asks.

ava shakes her head, delighted. ‘definitely not. i’ve divulged all of your greatest secrets, though.’

beatrice rolls her eyes but she’s clearly happy, happier than you’ve ever seen her, for sure, comfortable and, when she gets up to do one of the hardest routes in the gym, a horrible v10, marco laughs. ’oh, now she’s just showing off,’ they say.

‘yeah,’ you agree when beatrice decides to just dyno the last hold, totally insane, ‘she never climbs like this just for us.’

‘well,’ ava says, ‘i am prettier, no offense.’

you all laugh, and you finally get the v6 with beatrice talking you through it, ava cheering you on. you climb for an hour longer — mostly, you watch beatrice climb and talk to your friends — until she gives up on a v8 and calls it. 

she sits down next to all of you, the kind of tired only climbing makes you, and slips her shoes off. 

‘bea did a six hour valve replacement today,’ ava says, looking at beatrice with overwhelming affection and easily identifiable pride, nothing hidden. ‘so this was extra crazy.’

‘fucking nuts.’ jehan bumps his knuckles with beatrice, who just looks down at her hands, dusting the remaining chalk off, shy all of a sudden, before she stands and pads over to the cubbies to put her hoodie on and gather her things. 

‘she’s, like, our favorite,’ you say. ‘just so you know.’

ava nods, gentle. ‘yeah. she’s my favorite too. it’s good to meet you guys; she loves coming here, even if she won’t tell you.’

you shrug. ‘she shows us everything we get stuck on, so we know.’

beatrice walks back over to get her shoes and, presumably, also ava. 

‘we were just talking about you,’ ava says with a grin, far, far too confident for beatrice to not be wary of. 

‘hmm?’

‘yeah, how you and i are gonna join your friends for dinner next door.’

‘oh, i — uh, well, we have food at my house, and —‘

ava just bats her lashes and puts a hand on beatrice’s hip, runs her thumb under beatrice’s t-shirt for, like, one whole second, before beatrice gives in.

‘fine,’ she says, not sounding overly enthused but she’s relaxed and happy so it’s all a front anyway. and, this time, gentler: ‘fine.’

ava just kisses her cheek and then turns to the three of you and winks.

‘oh, you’re lethal,’ marco says while jehan laughs.

‘one round on me,’ you tell ava.

‘this was a bet?’ beatrice asks, as indignant as she can possibly be holding ava’s hand carefully and still blushing from being pecked on the cheek. 

‘only a bet if there’s a chance for both sides to win,’ ava says, smug as hell, which makes you laugh. ‘but whatever, i want a burger.’

beatrice sighs. ‘well, then, let’s go, i suppose.’

ava ends up getting free rounds of beers for everyone, somehow charming the server, and beatrice just watches quietly, comfortable and pleased.

‘happy for you, dude,’ you say when marco and jehan are showing ava their favorite pinball machine. 

beatrice smiles, genuine. ‘thank you, sam. i’m sorry if i —‘ she shakes her head — ‘i’m glad we get to climb together.’

‘you’re a dope climber,’ you say, ‘and a dope friend. i’m glad too. and ava’s fucking rad.’

beatrice laughs, looks over to where ava is cheering for herself, succeeding at one level of pinball. ‘yes, he is.’

[possibilistfanfiction]

surgeons au - when they get engaged?

[@gohandinhand hbd pt2 lol // ao3]

//

‘chief superion?’ dr. alvarez says, poking her head into your office and looking more frazzled than you expect and much more frazzled than you ever want to see any of your doctors, especially your head of ortho. ‘do you, uh — do you have a moment?’

you never have a moment, but you close your computer and nod, motion for her to come sit.

‘actually, i… can you come with me? it’s for…’ she sighs. ‘please?’

it worries you, instantly, because this would never happen if things were business as usual, if everything was running smoothly. ‘what’s going on, dr. alvarez?’

she hesitates. ‘it’s ava,’ she finally admits after a few seconds. 

you’ve spent decades perfecting the art of looking calm when you are very much not, but this tests you immediately, the jolt of panic that shoots through your body. when silva had joined your residency program, he had frustrated you beyond measure: you thought her unserious, impatient, selfish — the only reason you had any patience to begin with is because jillian had recommended her so warmly after ava’s time as her doctoral candidate. but you were so, so wrong — about her work ethic, her overwhelming compassion, her deep bravery and even deeper capacity for love. beatrice, from even before she had matched with your hospital, had been your favorite in a way that you trusted her to, one day, take over your program and continue to make sure it’s the best in the world — even better, you’re certain. she’s unshakably calm under pressure, good with patients and colleagues alike, a skilled surgeon and even more skilled teacher.

but ava is special in a way that feels too close to even say — your mentee, the incredible leader of next generation of neurosurgeons and researchers: miracle after miracle, delivered with a bravado and a kindness that’s impossible to teach.

so you nod, stand and grab your cane with the steadiest hands you can manage. camila leads you, silently and quickly, clearly also trying to act calm, to the nearest staff bathroom to the OR, and you open the door and then see ava sitting on the small bench there, slumped over a little to one side. normally, ava never stops moving, always fidgeting, gesturing, greeting you with a wave and a daily attempt to get you to come up with a secret handshake with her. but now, ava’s face is set in a pained grimace and her body is noticeably still.

‘hey, dr. s,’ they say, trying to smile, but it doesn’t work.

‘hello, dr. silva.’ you feel caught in no-man’s land for a moment, with ava so still and camila hovering worriedly. 

‘so, i, uh. well, first of all, my surgery went great. secondly, please don’t tell bea until we know what’s going on.’

‘ava —‘

‘— i can’t move.’

you don’t have any comforting thing to say: you’ve seen ava’s scans over the years, especially when her back has flared before; you know about how jillian is always working on more effective injections, better tech. you hear about it when you visit her lab for business, and you also hear about it over quiet dinners at either of your houses, with the lights low and her voice taking on a sadder timbre than the determined, professional clip when she’s talking only of science, not of love too. 

so instead you nod and walk toward ava, crouch down with only a few clicks in your knee — you’ll take it. ‘numbness? tingling?’

‘i —‘ ava’s voice shakes and she takes a deep breath, steadies herself. ‘i can’t feel anything. it’s — there’s just nothing.’

you go through a few more questions and she answers with what you can tell is honesty: she’d been in pain lately but nothing out of the ordinary, especially with the winter weather rolling in; there wasn’t anything concerning before operating, or else she certainly would’ve postponed; after she finished — eight hours of concentrating and microscopic movements later — when she sat down, things degraded quickly from there.

‘i had my intern page cam,’ they say, ‘because i just — bea is going to panic and go into worst-case-scenario mode, and i don’t know if it actually is worst-case-scenario or just, you know, a passionate flare-up.’

all of you can guess that this is not a normal flare, but, ‘okay. let’s get an mri then. but i don’t want to move you without a brace and a backboard.’

ava pouts.

‘you know i can’t justify just helping you transfer to a chair right now.’

‘yeah, but it doesn’t mean i have to like it.’

you place a tender hand on the top of her head and she leans into it, just for a moment: a comfort, quiet and small and, you imagine, as much as she can accept right now.

‘alright,’ ava says, sniffling. ‘let’s get this show on the road.’

/

you would never take away ava’s autonomy, especially not now, but when you show her the scans — the worst worst-case-scenario results — she bites her bottom lip, clearly trying not to cry, and you say, ‘can i page dr. choi for you?’

ava looks toward the ceiling in frustration, in fear, in anger, in grief. ‘yeah,’ she says eventually. ‘yeah, i want her here.’

/

it’s a risky surgery, one that even you feel unsure about: if things go wrong, or, really, even if they go right, ava could have worse chronic pain and irreversible paralysis. beatrice accepts those risks steadily when you talk to her privately, when camila is doing one final pre-op update of ava’s vitals, her mouth set in a firm line, jaw clenched tightly.

the risks that shake both of you are much worse: too much blood loss, stroke, a lack of oxygen to the brain. you don’t want to say them, let alone think them about ava, but they both deserve to know, to choose.

but, ‘there’s no other options, are there?’ beatrice says, finally sitting down and putting her head in her hands, running a hand over her hair and then sitting back in the stiff chair, slumped, horrified. 

your silence is the only answer she needs, because she’s brilliant and there’s nothing else you can say: you will do everything in your power. she knows that. 

‘just — i love him.’

‘i know,’ you tell her. ‘i do too.’

she nods. ‘okay,’ she says, steeling her resolve as she looks to ava’s room. ‘okay.’

/

‘hey,’ ava says, ‘can you scoot where i can fully see you with this stupid neck brace on?’

even without being able to move, even scared out of her mind, ava glares at you. it makes you want to smile, the fight that sits in her bones. 

beatrice sits carefully on the side of ava’s bed fully in her line of sight. ‘what do you need, my love?’

ava smiles softly. you wonder, briefly, if she feels the grief of not being able to touch her partner, always so tactile. ‘don’t pretend this couldn’t end really badly, please.’

‘ava.’

‘bea.’ 

beatrice frowns, staring down at their linked hands, held tightly even if ava can’t himself.

‘i’ve lived way longer and better than i ever thought i would,’ ava says.

‘and you’ll have plenty of good time left,’ beatrice says, stubborn even still.

‘well, i hope so,’ ava concedes. ‘but i just — i gotta ask you something, just in case.’

beatrice swallows, clearly fighting back tears, and nods.

‘there’s a ring in my tan purse, the one i never use.’

beatrice does start to cry then; she shakes her head.

ava’s smile is so, so sad. ‘i was waiting for, like, the perfect moment or the perfect plan. which you still deserve, but, well.’ she shrugs with her jaw clenched in pain. ‘i can’t get down on one knee right now, but i know you’ll like the ring.’

‘i — i’ve known,’ beatrice admits, which has them both laughing through tears. beatrice dries ava’s cheeks first, then her own.

‘and you didn’t say anything?!’

‘i knew you wanted to ask. also, i was just looking for a spare mint; it didn’t seem fair to ruin your surprise for such a ridiculous reason.’

ava shakes her head. ‘that’s very kind.’ and then, ‘so, what do you say then?’

‘i, um — i have a ring too, in my winter pack.’

ava grins. ‘so that’s a yes?’

‘yes, ava,’ beatrice says, then leans forward to kiss him softly. ‘of course it’s a yes. as soon as you can, i’ll marry you. i’ve wanted to for years.’

‘wow,’ ava says. ‘okay, cool. sweet. it’s a yes from me too, obviously. also — is it a big diamond? family heirloom?’

beatrice laughs, despite it all. ‘i thought a diamond band might suit work better.’

‘hot,’ ava tells her. ‘well, when i wake up, i expect it.’

‘i’ll send lilith to rifle through all our belongings as soon as i can.’

ava sobers. ‘i wish i could feel you.’

beatrice cups ava’s jaw gently, her thumb grazing over her cheek. ‘i’m here.’

‘i love you,’ ava says.

‘i love you so much, ava silva.’ beatrice smiles, watery and terrified and sorrowful and grateful. she kisses ava, who leans her head up as best she can with a neck brace on. ‘in this life.’

ava nods, sniffles, and then looks at you, resolved, determined. ‘let’s do it.’

/

‘promise me,’ ava says, loopy from the drugs already administered in her IV but not asleep yet, ‘that you’ll take care of her if things don’t work out.’

‘things will work out.’

ava shakes her head. ‘we both know they might not.’

you smooth your hand over ava’s hair. ‘you are both loved beyond measure,’ you say, and ava takes it in.

‘well, try your best not to fuck it up.’

you laugh, and ava grins, and then her eyes flutter closed.

/

you explain to beatrice — now changed into joggers and a hoodie you’re sure was once ava’s — her alma mater not even close to beatrice’s — since it’s the middle of the night, lilith sitting stiffly beside her — that ava is alive but there were complications: too much blood loss, low oxygen levels. her spine is stabilized and you think — you hope — that part, at least, was successful, but you’re just not really sure if ava will wake up — or, if she does, what her cognitive function will be, who she’ll be. 

beatrice takes it, just for a moment, like a physical blow, but then she nods. ‘thank you,’ she says, quiet and polite without fail, but lilith looks on, concerned. 

‘we’ll monitor him closely in the neuro icu,’ you say, ‘and hope for the best.’ you don’t think beatrice has prayed in years and years, but there’s a rosary, probably lilith’s, clenched in her hand. 

‘okay,’ she says, and follows you quietly there. 

even though beatrice is a surgeon, seeing ava hooked up to so many monitors, drains and leads and an oxygen cannula in her nose, seems to give her pause, slightly unsteady on her feet — just for a moment, but enough for you to think nothing of it when you take her in your arms and hug her tight. unlike ava, who is always physically affectionate, beatrice has been reticent for as long as you’ve known her. but she sinks into it this time, letting out a shaky sob while you rub her back, and then steadies herself eventually. 

she sits down by ava’s bedside, faithful as always, and brave, and fishes out a box from her pocket, opens it and then slips a beautiful ring onto ava’s left hand. ava’s hands are cold, you know, because you made personally sure that she was comfortably settled in bed; but beatrice just holds steady, brings it to her lips, kisses the cool, still skin there. 

she murmurs something — please wake up; please don’t leave me; i love you, you’re not sure. 

you’re technically both done with your shift and also behind on so much paperwork, but you settle down at the nurse’s station and watch ava’s vitals as beatrice prays.

/

jillian brings you breakfast early the next morning, kissing your forehead in a show of affection that you both rarely allow at either of your workplaces. but she loves ava too, for years now, even longer than you, and so she takes you by the hand and leads you into her room. beatrice is asleep on mary’s shoulder, shannon bringing coffee for everyone. there certainly aren’t this many people supposed to be allowed in an icu room, but it doesn’t stop anyone because it doesn’t really matter: whenever a nurse comes in to change a dressing or an iv, you all stay out of the way. it’s quiet, small conversations only. you think ava would probably hate it — the lack of stupid jokes, beatrice’s bright laugh, mary and lilith’s fondness not at all masked by their snark.

you take turns getting beatrice to eat; you sleep lightly. eventually jillian makes you shower, changing out of your scrubs and into comfortable slacks and a soft sweater she’d brought you. 

it stays like this for two days: so many people from the hospital dropping by to see how ava’s doing, to drop off flowers, to check in with beatrice too. ava’s kindness is remarkably present even when he’s not fully; being returned tenfold. you don’t even ask or say anything, just make sure that beatrice’s shifts are covered by your other cardio attendings, and so she waits, sentinel. 

and then, just as beatrice is about to doze off again, 46 hours after you’d finished surgery, ava groans. beatrice shoots up like she’s not sure it happened, a specter too good to imagine. 

‘ava?’ she asks hesitantly.

it seems like a herculean effort, and you wait with bated breath, but then ava fights and opens her eyes. ‘hey bea,’ she says, weak and rough but coherent, aware, sure. 

beatrice smiles, immediate tears running down her cheeks. ‘hi.’

ava lifts her left hand — a miracle in itself — an inch or so off the bed, but easy, natural, and sees the ring there, beams. ‘hot.’

beatrice kisses ava’s forehead, her cheeks, her mouth — joy, everywhere.

/

you walk ava down the aisle, almost a year later — it was slow going, at first, and then more and more progress in physical therapy, beatrice’s steadfast reassurance through even the most frustrating, painful days. but now you’re here, ava smiling at your matching canes. 

‘wouldn’t be here without you,’ he says, in his wispy, beautiful white dress and immaculate makeup. 

you smile, hug her to you. ‘it’s an honor.’

you walk her down the aisle, steady and easy, both of you, and then watch as she stands, grinning at an already emotional beatrice. visible below her hair that falls just at her jaw, the newest scar along ava’s neck — from your scalpel, as careful and neat as you could — has faded; is still fading; has healed.

[possibilistfanfiction]

I love your butch!Bea AU, so maybe something where Ava is just a silly little guy and Bea is just so done with Avas tomfoolery

‘do you have to be so…’

you grin. ’so what, bea?’

‘it’s just not going to work,’ she says, utterly worn down. it’s fun, though, to be honest, making her huff and roll her eyes and laugh at your antics with no stakes involved.

‘well, how do you know?’

you watch with a fair amount of delight when she goes through, quite passionately, a list of everything known about the halo and its healing capabilities, its protective nature over you and the ones you care for. she’s in a soft, big hoodie and blue socks that are wearing out at the heels — her favorites, so she’s reluctant to part with them, you think — curled up on the edge of the comfortable couch in your living room, a pillow in her lap. she’d gone to the barber yesterday, as she does every three weeks like clockwork now, and her fade is as neat as you’ve ever seen it, the short top, an inch long, perfect for you to run your fingers through, as far as you’re concerned, messy from sleep. her glasses are a little smudged and she’s languishing with her cup of coffee so, even though she could kill a man in less than a second and has been into triathlons (terrible) lately — you are not intimidated or deterred by her in the slightest.

there’s a whoosh of sulfur and then mary and lilith are popping into your house, effectively stopping beatrice’s laundry list of reasons your plan will never work.

‘what’s he trying to do now?’ mary says, headed to the kitchen while lilith settles into her favorite reading chair, seemingly disengaged but you know she’s listening.

beatrice looks pointedly at you. 

‘i’m feeling like doing something impulsive,’ you announce.

‘you? impulsive?’ lilith scoffs — a point for you, though, because she was paying attention. ‘who would’ve thought?’

‘whatever,’ you say, no bite in it. ‘i thought it would be fun to get a piercing, but beatrice is claiming i can’t.’

‘you want to pierce your —‘

she turns red without even saying it. ‘nipples,’ you finish for her, a grin on your face.

‘never mind,’ mary says, walking over to lilith with two cups of coffee. ‘i can’t listen to this. beatrice, text me,’ and then they’re gone.

‘did they just abscond with our mugs?’ 

beatrice sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. ‘what’s this really about?’

‘uh, it would be hot, i think. obviously.’ you roll your eyes. ‘and, like, everyone normal can do all kinds of impulsive shit that i can’t. what if i just really wanted to, like, skydive? or get a face tattoo?’

‘ava,’ she says, undeterred and a little weary. ‘what’s wrong?’

you swallow, the question hitting you square in the chest in a way you didn’t expect. it’s something, to be so seen and understood by someone. ‘nothing is wrong, really, i guess. i don’t know.’ 

she reaches for your hand and you sit next to her, lace your fingers together.

‘i just — with everything going on with my back, i guess i just feel, like…’ 

‘a loss of control?’ she asks, patiently after you’d been quiet for a while. 

you feel yourself let out an honest-to-god whine before you can stop it.

she smiles, a little sad and a little determined — she’s been waiting for this, you’re pretty sure, which is equal parts sweet and annoying. ‘i have an idea that i think might work better than nipple piercings to help you feel better. we can leave tonight even, if you want.’

you perk up and her smile blooms even further. ‘while i do definitely want to hear your idea of impulsivity, i just also need you to know that nipple piercings would be hot.’

she really does consider it. ‘perhaps,’ she offers.

‘i’ll take that as a yes,’ you say. ‘tell me about your idea.’

she sits up a little straighter and explains, hesitant enough at first to gauge your reaction, that she’s been researching adaptive ski and snowboarding programs. 

‘the alps?’ you ask, immediately a little teary.

‘if you’d like.’ she picks at her nail for a moment. ‘i’ve found ones closer to here as well, so wherever you’d like to go, we can go. just say the word.’

‘you really mean that?’

‘of course i do,’ she says, so sure, so steadfast. ‘and, plus, you know i’ll enjoy myself too.’

‘ah, yes, with your double black diamonds. insane.’

‘well, and the aprés ski with you.’

you grin and kiss her cheek. ‘as long as you promise to dance with me.’

‘i’ll do anything you want to make you happy, ava,’ she says, and it hits you in the chest that she means it. she means it, even though you’re mostly full of nonsense half the time, and you like to play pranks on her, and sometimes you get stoned and pester her to watch grace and frankie with you even though she’d been trying to read. she loves you through it all, the worst days, and you love her the same: when her hands shake; when she’s frustrated; when she worries so much about decisions she’s immobilized; when she’s too strict, even now. partnership, you’ve realized, is a practice.

‘switzerland, then?’

she smiles and kisses you. ‘i’ll book everything now.’

‘you have a spreadsheet, don’t you?’

‘of course,’ she says, as if there couldn’t be any other option. you laugh and she pulls it up on her laptop — there really are tabs on the sheet for at least six different programs that vary geographically and by difficulty level, and she’s also mapped out places to stay and restaurants you might enjoy, as well as other local attractions. 

‘this is so extra,’ you tell her, your voice a little shaky and the glance out the side of her eyes telling you, without words, she’s onto you. but it doesn’t matter: she gets everything all set up for tomorrow morning, and it’s there: love greater than this world, laid out in confirmation emails and conditionally formatted columns. ‘maybe we can visit jillian after,’ you say, the alternative being bursting into tears.

beatrice hums, never opposed to the idea of a trip to spain.

‘she could figure out how to pierce my nipples,’ you say, and beatrice groans. it’s the little victories.

[possibilistfanfiction]

hey!! saw you reblogging some of your butch bea stuff & just wanted to tell you that it lowkey changed my life and that if you ever want to revisit that universe you’d have at least one very avid & enthusiastic reader. there’s no pressure though — im grateful it exists at all!!

[i am going to be completely honest, i have no idea what this little prompt fill is but i love butch bea sm, it's soft & basically plotless. feeling so normal about her this pride month lol. also some lilith pov for the culture.]

//

not that you like people, but if you had to pick a favorite, under deep duress, beatrice would be at the top of your list. not that you would ever, ever tell her that, but, unfortunately, you're also pretty certain she knows. and, to your utter horror, you find that you have a reluctant soft spot for ava — you try to contribute it to beatrice being your sister, and therefore ava is basically your sibling-in-law, because they're not married yet but you watched beatrice say goodbye and you watched her grieve and you watched her fall in love, disgustingly, every second of every day, when ava returned. and, sure, ava is steadfast and faithful and far too brave and saved the world, twice, but, like. his relentless optimism and terrible sense of humor is too much sometimes.

but, you remind yourself when you get his text — he's your family too. someone who should have never forgiven you, you remember, like acid leaking in your stomach, but ava has always been too generous. and so you answer with an eye-roll emoji but also I'll be there in ten.

it's not the first day that ava has asked for help, and you're sure it won't be the last, but these days don't happen all that often anymore. you understand, though: your wings ache and sit heavy some nights when you can't sleep, and even if you fly over mountain ranges or tropical fjords or the flat, gorgeous planes of the savannah, deserts and oceans, the world — this admittedly beautiful earth, better than all the heavens — isn't quite enough to hold your sorrow. or, maybe it holds it along with you, and you can't quite put it down.

so you diligently mask your scales with jillian's annoying but very useful tech, and you put on an outfit that nun-you would have deemed inappropriate and nun-beatrice would have blushed furiously at, and teleport from your favorite room, tucked away in the middle of nowhere on a tiny island off the coast of iceland to beatrice and ava's sunny, big house on the beach. it's cool today, though, the day covered in a marine layer that's lingered for months. beatrice looks surprised when you show up in their kitchen, where she's staring off into space while, apparently, very slowly unloading the dishwasher. ava says hello from the living room, where you assume they're on the couch with korra by their side.

'hello, lilith.'

you pop a fresh grape into your mouth from the bowl sitting there in lieu of greeting.

'those are for ava,' beatrice says, and her hands shake and you can tell from the set of her shoulders that ava was right, that the world stings in your palms and up your spine, and sometimes you just need someone to see you through it until it calms.

'he can share,' you say, eat another one and swipe the bowl with beatrice scowling after you as you walk into the living room. ava is, unexpectedly, watching some reality tv drivel — so what if you're caught up on all ten seasons of vanderpump rules, it reminds you of hell if anyone asks — but she smiles sincerely when you hand her the bowl, one you're pretty certain beatrice had sculpted and glazed with her own hands.

'i can share a few,' ava says, and you don't bother to stop yourself from scratching korra's head in greeting when ava nods. you can admit that korra is awesome; she has loyalty to ava but at least you can understand that one. she's wearing a hoodie you know is beatrice's favorite, so it's ava's favorite too, and a beanie; ava hadn't mentioned it, but you know on really bad days her body has trouble regulating its internal temperature too — and if the pile of blankets at the foot of the couch is anything to go by, you're guessing that's happening too.

'you've looked better.'

ava rolls her eyes and beatrice flicks you on the back of the head. 'so have you,' ava says, but you look hot and so you know by that lackluster insult she really is in a good deal of pain.

'ava's back is bad today,' beatrice says, as if that wasn't completely obvious from the way ava has a heating pad and special pillow and is propped up on the couch with korra attentively lying next to her, ready to get anything or alert if she needs to.

'lots of hand spasms,' ava says, 'which are the worst, who knew?'

the only reason you refrain from making a dirty joke is because you'd never want them to think you have ever, for one moment, thought about their sex life. 'well, i'm taking beatrice for a bit,' you say, which is just what ava asked for, 'so maybe some heavier duty pain meds and a nap? we can bring you a late lunch.'

you feel beatrice stiffen behind you. 'i need to be here today,' she says, clipped and anxious. 'what if ava —'

'what if i what, bea?' ava says, without any malice, but with a glint in her eye that even you know to be careful of. 'i just need to sleep today and watch some stupid tv. we can go through all my rehab exercises in the evening again, like we always do.'

beatrice's jaw is clenched, and she bites her bottom lip.

'bea,' ava says, and reaches for her hand, and, not for the first time at all, do you feel a little out of place. lonely, and sad, and aching: they are in love, however much it annoys you. there's a care there that you're fairly certain you will never have, and never be able to give.

'a few hours, beatrice,' you say. 'that's all.'

ava had texted that beatrice had been losing track of time and tasks all morning, which is a sign you'd all started to understand as a bad ptsd day, not infrequently leading to a panic attack or a flashback if she's left to her own devices. usually, they won't have bad days at the same time, some divine knowledge of something, but today the stars hadn't lined up.

but beatrice sighs and then nods: she knows herself, knows when her brain is misfiring or misaligned, when things aren't quite as real as they should be. ava's hands are in painful, involuntary fists and so it's up to you today, to hold beatrice's through it.

'great, now that that's settled,' you say, when she offers nothing else. you take her wrist and, just for fun, teleport her right into the middle of the ocean, until she's spluttering and yelling but then, blessedly, lets out a laugh. you teleport her right back to her shower and even ava is grinning from inside. 'get ready,' you tell her, throw a towel at her from the neat stack in their patio bin. 'see you in fifteen.'

'don't have too much fun catching up on vanderpump rules without me,' she says, color back in her cheeks and a clarity seeping into her eyes.

'i hate that show.'

'sure,' she says, dismissing you with a wave of her hand, and, fine, you do join ava on the couch, but it's only because he's high and divulges, eagerly, beatrice's latest cooking mishap. beatrice comes in from their bedroom a few minutes later, looking a little steadier still, in soft, tailored pants and an oversized t-shirt, tucked in precisely. she's put contacts in and has sunglasses slipped into the collar of her shirt, a thick, fancy watch on her wrist. ava, even in a lot of pain, looks like they might start drooling. 'great.' you fling a pair of pristine birkenstocks at beatrice, who catches them with a scowl, 'you look fine to be in public. let's go.'

'bye, baby,' ava says, frustratingly unfazed by you. beatrice smiles, gently, her eyes clear for the moment when all she has to focus on is ava, and kisses her forehead, gently cups her jaw in her hand. 'love you, have fun.'

'i love you too,' beatrice says.

'no fun,' you say, and ava's still laughing as you touch beatrice's elbow and teleport on your way.

/

'this is my sister, lilith,' beatrice introduces, and, like, whatever, your heart swells in your chest and you feel warm and kind. you sink into it — only for a moment.

'nice to meet you,' beatrice's barber says, offering her hand with a genuine, easy smile, not batting an eye that you and beatrice look absolutely nothing alike; you feel warm and kind again when you think about beatrice talking about you as her sister to people you've never met, that you matter to her enough to mention. 'i'm xavi.'

'xavi, cool.'

beatrice sits down in the chair, comfortable and present, even though her hands still shake, but it's clear that this is a space she's always been made to feel safe. somewhere she's always been made to feel seen, which you realized, over the past few years, she had never had, despite how much you had — and still do — still love her.

'same thing, bea?' xavi asks.

bea nods. 'you can take the skin fade up a little higher, i think. it just grows so fast.'

xavi nods. 'sounds good.'

and it's not like you don't spend a fair amount of your time with beatrice and ava, because they live somewhere beautiful and it brings you deep joy to annoy them, and, like, drag brunches and queer bars are admittedly very fun, but to see your sister just be is kind of moving. and maybe she realizes that too, that it's special you're here, that it's special you're allowed to be here, in this space that is very much hers, the quiet hum of the clippers in the background, while she chats with her barber about the latest ridiculous episodes of love island — which, yes, you have watched; yes, you do participate in the conversation after beatrice includes you immediately, because you're only so strong and it's always been a summer tradition of yours to watch nightly — and they laugh together. you laugh too, and then all of a sudden beatrice is crying, and xavi turns the clippers off carefully. beatrice snakes a hand out from under her cape and tries to wipe her eyes.

'i apologize,' she says, really trying to get it under control. 'i — sorry.'

'she's having a weird day,' you offer, and beatrice nods with a sniffle. you don't bother to explain further — that's beatrice's to tell, if she ever wants to — but it seems to calm beatrice a little bit.

'sorry,' she says again. 'i — i'm just happy to be here,' she says, adds a quiet, 'as i am,' and xavi just squeezes her shoulder.

'i'm happy about that too.'

beatrice lets out a big breath and steadies herself; you feel relieved too that you won't have to deal with a panic attack in the middle of a barber shop while beatrice's hair isn't nearly faded properly. 'i never cry.'

you roll your eyes. 'if by "never" you mean five to ten times a week...'

beatrice shoots you a glare through the mirror and you just grin, all teeth.

xavi laughs a little and turns the clippers back on. 'it's okay,' she says. 'you're secret's safe with me.'

/

admittedly, beatrice's hair does look great, a clean fade and a little messy pomade on top, but you've already complimented her on this haircut twice so you're certainly not doing that again. you walk with her along the street her barbershop is on, that she knows well and it hits you quietly that you know it well too. you don't have a home — you haven't had a home in a while — but this might come close.

years ago, before the war, before all of it, on a bad day the two of you would go at it for hours sparring, blood on your knuckles and along your teeth and once mother superion had been irate when you got such a good shot in beatrice's eye was swollen shut for days — but there is no war anymore. there are small battles, but beatrice hasn't fought since she got hurt; even though she's better now, with a sturdy rod down her femur and scars that don't seem to bother her much down her abdomen, you think, unofficially, that she's not ever going to fight again.

you don't have the same fate, you know, but for today you look beautiful in an easy bright blue shift dress and sunglasses, your hair dark and long, and beatrice's hands have stopped shaking.

'sushi?' you ask, a reach, maybe, but when she smiles you know you were right.

it makes you realize, too, when you sit down at a restaurant you've come to so many times with her — and ava, too — that you know the server, who greets you both by name and brings you shishito peppers and spicy edamame without you even having to order. beatrice relaxes in her chair after a second on the patio, lets out another deep breath.

'all right?'

she takes her sunglasses off and nods. 'thank you.'

you shake your head. 'you're my sister.'

you mean it: i have not forgotten who you are; i have not forgotten who i am. you mean it: i love you. even if the words get stuck in your chest, even if you can't quite say them — you mean it.

'plus,' you say, 'you're paying, and i'm ordering the best sake on the menu.'

she laughs, bright and easy, and shrugs. 'you know the catholic church and my horrible parents are footing the bill anyway. we should order whatever we want.'

you remember when you were nineteen and beatrice was brand new to the ocs, how much you felt frustrated by her, deeply: she was earnest, and so serious, and very hurt, but kind in a way you never could be. the pressure sat heavy on both of your shoulders, but she held it with grace. 'could you have imagined this life when we first met?'

she seems as surprised by your question as you are that you even asked it, but her smile is easy and she runs a hand along her buzzed hair with a laugh. 'i think i would have had a heart attack if anyone had told me even a sliver of what my life is now.'

you wait a beat but then you do laugh, because it's true. your server brings you your sake and some sashimi you'd ordered, along with some scallops that are your favorite. ava sends a text in the group chat the three of your have — which you refuse to really participate in, but fine — saying that she's doing fine, that she had to take a fever reducer but korra's been on top of anything she needed to get so ava hasn't had to try to get up, that the protein smoothie beatrice had made her had been fine and she's just going to try to sleep some more. it makes beatrice relax even more, palpably, and you understand, in some way.

'you've retired, haven't you?'

she calmly swallows her tuna and then puts down her chopsticks. 'fighting? yes.'

it's simple and it's big and it's quiet. you knew already.

'but i'll be around. you know i enjoy research, archival, collaborations with jillian. i'm not — this will always be part of my life.' it's unspoken too: you will always be part of my life. and you know she means it.

'good,' you say, and for the first time in longer than you can really remember it feels like you're able to offer a benediction.

her eyes are soft as the clouds burn off, finally, as the afternoon turns warm. 'i — i want to live a long life.'

you can't say anything, but you can nod. you want that too — for her, for all of you. 'plus,' you say, 'ava was even worse than normal when you got blown up.'

she rolls her eyes, as glad for the levity as you are. you drink more sake and order more sushi and laugh as you watch people walk by on the street and beatrice offers — delightfully and playfully kind of mean — commentary about some of them. she's been your person for a long time, you remember, her gentleness despite bullets and arrows and bombs, despite holy wars, despite knuckles — yours, or hers, or both — split open to the bone. beatrice holds her chopsticks easily, steadily, and the scars on the tops of her hands shine white in the sun, but they've faded. you can only see them if you know where to look.

[possibilistfanfiction]

for surgeons AU could we get some early days, maybe first date or something? obsessed with your work as always

[s/o to everyone who asked for their first date, love u, crossposting this au to ao3 now too i guess lol!]

//

‘don’t laugh.’

‘i’m not.’ 

you glare. 

‘i swear, i’m not,’ she lies.

‘cam, you’re actively laughing. physically. audibly. at me.’

camila takes a deep breath and forces herself to frown. ‘okay. sorry. continue.’

‘bea is just — hot.’

you can tell that camila fights a grimace, which is fair, maybe, because she’s known beatrice for years through medical school. ‘she’s also very kind and understanding, if you wanted to, like, do something that would actually be fun for the both of you.’

‘hiking sounds fun.’

‘ava.’

it’s not all that often you feel the tightness in your chest that you remember from childhood: things are far less limited to you now. you have care you need, and your physical therapy and surgeries and medications are usually effective at letting you do whatever you want day-to-day. ‘just — don’t.’

camila sighs. ‘okay. but i promise bea wouldn’t think any less of you.’

you flop back on her sofa. ‘i know that, i really do. but it’s just so not sexy. and you know what is sexy? beatrice without a shirt on hiking ten miles, all sweaty and —‘

‘— it’s november, i’m pretty sure she’ll be wearing a shirt and a jacket —‘

‘— that’s not the point.’

camila loses her battle and does outright laugh at you now. ‘okay. well, to answer your question, you can borrow whatever of my gear you need, and i won’t tell bea.’

‘you’re a saint.’

/

to be fair, beatrice picks you up in her extremely clean subaru — you refrain from saying anything; it’s way too easy for it to actually be fun anyway — and offers you a breakfast sandwich and a coffee from, apparently, her favorite place near her house. it’s a cool, cloudy morning, typical november fair, and it’s still dark out, but you’re used to being up early or really at any time of day or night at this point. you’d done every spine decompression stretch you’ve ever learned in physical therapy, taken some ibuprofen, and truly have no plan other than hoping camila’s trekking poles — a very serious name for very fancy walking sticks — are enough to see you through.

beatrice, for her part, is clearly nervous, and it’s charming: she spends at least twenty minutes talking to you about all of the features of the hike and why it’s an ideal one for the two of you — ‘it’s moderate elevation gain up to the crest, about 2.5 miles, and, since it has southern exposure, we won’t get too much wind today.’ and, ‘if you want to keep going, it’s beautiful along the ridge, and there’s two mild peaks we could summit.’ and, ‘i’ve packed enough food and water for essentially however long we want to go; you can carry some if you’d like, if you didn’t pack much yourself.’ and, ‘anyway, the entire thing is wonderful and, in my experience, fairly empty, especially as it grows colder. but, just our luck: not much rain forecast for today.’ — and then asks, almost painfully awkward, about your last shift.

‘it was fine,’ you say, finishing your sandwich and making sure your trash is neatly packed up in the bag, with hers too. ‘but enough shop talk. i want to know about you.’

she blushes and you see, not for the first time but maybe in a way that’s more obvious than you have before, that beatrice is just a person after all, even if she’s unflappable at work. 

‘it’s okay,’ you say, so she doesn’t shut down or feel embarrassed. ‘i don’t mind shop talk, but i’m just — i’m glad to spend the time with you, away from work. plus you’re like a total enigma. very mysterious. it’s kind of hot.’

you haven’t said explicitly this is a first date, but you’ve been on lots of first dates and you’re fairly certain this is one. you’re definitely certain when she laughs, her shoulders loosening down her spine, away from her ears, and says, ‘only kind of?’

‘well, i wasn’t sure if we were just colleagues or just friends or whatever.’ 

‘or whatever?’

you groan. ‘you’re extremely hot, are you kidding? i think it’s affecting my residency, actually. i get distracted by your hands and then i lose the plot.’

she takes that in, maybe more than you had meant to say but who cares at this point; you’d gotten up at 5 am for her on your day off, so it’s fairly clear how you feel. ‘you’re quite distracting yourself, dr. silva.’

‘in a good or bad way? like, sexy or annoying?’

she rolls her eyes; you can tell, even if she’s still watching the road. ‘it depends. often both.’

you grin, lean back in the seat. ‘i contain multitudes, what can i say. triple threat.’

‘sexy, annoying, and… ?’

‘brilliant, obviously.’

‘oh yes, obviously.’ you pull into a deserted parking lot amidst a lush green forest and a heavy early morning fog; it’s beautiful, and you don’t ever regret that you ended up here, but you feel particularly grateful for it now. ‘you are brilliant, ava.’ it’s serious, the way she says it and the way she squeezes your hand, just once, before she gets out of the car with a soft smile. 

you watch her as subtly as you can as she puts on her gear, following suit as closely as you can without being too obvious about it. you know this is, objectively, really stupid and unnecessary, and jillian is probably spidey-senses yelling at you from somewhere in the world, but you have never wanted to impress someone so badly in your entire life. once beatrice is all ready to go, in her warm fleece quarterzip underneath a waterproof shell, a similar setup for her pants, her boots tied securely and her pack neatly zipped, poles ready at the correct height — so your elbows are at 90 degrees, camila had explained yesterday — and a beanie pulled down securely over her buzzed hair and ears.

‘the most important part for me,’ she says.

it takes you a second, but then you laugh. ‘you’re being funny.’

she makes sure her car is locked, zips the keys in a pocket inside her jacket, and then takes off down the trail. ‘i’ve been known to have a sense of humor from time to time.’

she’s not even walking that fast but it’s cold and jillian is mad at you all the time for how much you have to stand just for work, definitely without the however-many-long mile hike you’re about to go on. ‘the other interns are terrified of you, you know.’

beatrice turns toward you with a smirk. ‘and you’re not?’

‘well, i’ve seen you cry, once not even about a patient but about the fact that the coffee cart was out of earl grey tea.’

‘i hadn’t slept in thirty hours.’

you shrug — that’s probably true, but still — and bump her in the shoulder. ‘i like you,’ you tell her, honest, finally, amongst the moss and the ferns, the sun barely up, no one around to hear you. there’s a different kind of fear you feel when it comes to beatrice: not as dr. choi, indomitably talented and ruthlessly efficient resident, but as someone whose cologne you recognize, as someone who you want to make your grandma’s vatapáfor. ‘you’re kind to me.’

beatrice slows down for a moment — thank fucking god — and takes you in. you feel out of place often, and especially here, but the best thing about her is that, even if she senses it, she never faults you. ’that’s what you deserve.’ and then, ‘i hope i am. i want to be.’

you don’t know much about her, really: you know that she went to boarding school at 14 and had been at the top of her class at the best schools and programs in the world ever since; that she loves to be in nature and has known lilith for forever; that her accent loosens, just slightly, when she’s especially excited or especially exhausted. she likes otters, you’ve gathered, from a little pin on her coat, and she wants to go into cardio because it’s endlessly fascinating to her, and impossible, and miraculous. she runs so much admin for the free gender affirming surgery clinic even though it’s not her speciality and she certainly doesn’t have to; she learned asl last year, in addition to a host of other languages she speaks, to better communicate with patients and colleagues. you think, of anyone in your program, maybe of anyone at the hospital entirely, she’s chief superion’s favorite.

there are so many things you want to learn about her: what makes her scared and who she let take care of her after she had top surgery and what her favorite song is and what book made her cry as a child and if she likes comedies or is more of a drama kind of girl. you want, you can admit to yourself, to know everything about her in a way you’ve never quite wanted anything before.

‘you’re the best person i know.’ you’re worried it’s too much before she smiles — not at you, too shy, but you catch it anyway before she looks away.

‘that’s generous.’ 

‘still, true.’

she worries her lip before saying, ‘i am, technically, your boss.’

‘barely.’

‘ava.’

‘hmm. not dr. silva? doesn’t sound very position of power to me.’

‘i — i like you too.’ you watch her push her poles into the soft ground a little harder, like her whole body is fighting — to say what she means, or to not say it, you’re not sure. 

you’ve had crossroads in your life before, most of them really fucking horrible — until they weren’t, until the world stretched out before you and opened up before you. you’ve talked over and over about this with jillian and the therapist she made sure you went to before you consented to any truly dangerous and experimental procedures or injections: disability was limiting, sure, but the real harm was done by the lack of care afforded you, not your lack of movement. you work so, so hard to believe it on good days; it’s nearly impossible on the worst.

but this is the best day, you decide. camila is right: beatrice is kind and caring and brave in ways you know; in ways you have yet to find out. 

you’ve made it maybe half a mile into the hike but your back is aching, left foot going numb already, your right hand clenched too tight around the handle of the pole, so much so that even the soft cork of it hurts. so, instead of moving and moving and moving like you always do, like you have since the moment you could close your hands into fists so tight you swore you’d never let the world go: you stop.

bea takes a few more steps and then notices; she turns around and looks at you curiously.

‘sorry,’ you say, impulse and fear and habit, then shake your head. ‘actually, uh. i’m not? yeah, i’m not.’

she stands steady, unfazed by that. ‘okay.’

‘uh, well. i like you too. i already said that, but i really like you. i don’t — god, this sounds so stupid. but i don’t want to be your intern.’

the small, amused smile on beatrice’s face makes you feel better. ‘am i not a good teacher?’

‘i think there are lots of other things i would enjoy you teaching me.’ you close your eyes for a moment as she laughs, trying to regroup. ‘okay, i am sorry for that one.’

‘don’t be. i quite enjoyed it.’

‘before — before we tell chief superion anything, if you wanted to try, just — you should know that i shouldn’t have said yes to going on this hike.’

beatrice’s brow knits together, so immediately concerned you reach for her hand. 

‘not because — it’s beautiful,’ you say. ‘you’re beautiful, and i’m so happy you asked me.’

she doesn’t look any less worried, which is fair.

‘i have a spinal cord injury,’ you say, and her face softens into something you’re terrified of for a moment, until you realize it’s only patience, only an opening for understanding — not pity, and certainly not anything close to contempt.

‘okay,’ she says, calmly and as kind as ever.

stupid, annoying tears burn at your eyes. ‘i just — you love hiking, and you asked and planned so nicely, and you wanted to share this special thing with me, and —‘

‘ava,’ she says, then brings her thumbs to wipe your cheeks with a gentle smile. ‘i just wanted to spend time with you. you’re right, i enjoy hiking, but i also enjoy lots of other things. things that i would also want to share with you.’

‘i should be using a cane at work,’ you admit, in the middle of this beautiful forest where no one but her can hear you. ‘i haven’t been because i didn’t, i don’t —‘

‘— while i think it’s wise you’re moved off my service,’ she says, ‘i will burn down that entire hospital if anyone looks down on you for that.’

‘that seems counterintuitive to do no harm.’ the way you say it is wobbly and your nose is full of snot and it’s kind of all so terrible, but then you catch up: ‘you don’t want me on your service?’

beatrice steadies herself. ‘i want to kiss you.’

‘even after —‘

‘ava, listen. i want to kiss you.’

‘yeah,’ you say, and lean forward.

it feels like your entire body lights up, even though it aches in the damp cold — golden light everywhere. 

/

you laugh a little afterward, then beatrice smiles and takes off back toward her car without any complaints. 

‘it’s still rather early,’ she says as you go on your way, ‘and we’re only about twenty minutes from the car.’

you grimace. ‘yeah, sorry.’

she shakes her head. ‘there are undoubtedly so many things you need to apologize for daily, ava —‘

‘— hey —‘

‘— but this is not one of them.’

‘fine,’ you huff.

she’s unfazed. ‘i was going to ask if perhaps you wanted to come over to my place. among other things i like in addition to hiking, i do like to catch up on rest as well. and then perhaps lunch? there’s a spot near me that has wonderful oysters.’

‘a nap? in your sexy house? lunch? with your sexy face?’

she ignores most of it: ‘it’s a rather normal house.’

‘i bet it’s sexy. lilith told me you were rich.’

beatrice grimaces.

‘it’s okay. like, really. i just bet you’re, like, the kind of person who has bespoke everything, aren’t you?’

‘no,’ she says, but she’s blushing and looking away from you.

‘you know, you’ve got a terrible poker face.’

‘only when it comes to you, i’m afraid.’

‘ah, what a terrible fate.’

‘the worst,’ she agrees, shaking her head with a smile. ‘it’s got a good view, i will say.’

‘well, lead the way then.’

‘ava, we’re just walking back to the car.’

you roll your eyes. ‘you know what i mean.’

/

beatrice’s house is beautiful, perched on a hill with giant windows overlooking the sound and the olympics. she laughs — not unkindly — when you admit that all of your hiking gear is actually camila’s, says, ‘i thought that pack looked familiar,’ and then lends you a hoodie and some comfortable running shorts to change into. you don’t ask her so many things brimming inside of you; she doesn’t ask you either, although you’re sure she — as bea and as dr. choi — has a billion questions. you’ll ask and answer everything in due time. 

for today, you bully her — with far too little bullying involved to make her argument of i’ve never seen it before and i don’t waste my time on shows like this — to start binging season 4 of real housewives of salt lake city; even less convincing when she knows all about jen’s escapades last season and then clamps her mouth shut when you laugh into her shoulder.

‘it’s compelling, fine,’ she says with a very dramatic pout, and you’re kissing it off her face before you can think twice.

she smiles into it, your nerves dissipating, and it’s good, and right, and safe. you eventually kiss her cheek and run a hand over the soft bristles of her hair — which you’ve been dying to do — while she smiles and then settle into her side. 

‘thank you.’

she lets out a big breath, peaceful under the blanket, thick socks on your feet, cold rain outside but only warmth in this house with you in it. ‘no, ava. thank you.’

[possibilistfanfiction]

I loved the little Detail where Ava wears a strap in footy!Au so my prompt is just any AU but Ava wears a strap (you can decide if its smutty or silly lol)

‘just because i struggled to accept my sexuality doesn’t mean i’m not open to…’

you wait for a moment, raising a brow when she doesn’t continue.

‘toys?’ you offer when it’s clear from her deepening blush she’s definitely bluffing.

‘yes,’ she says, trying to act very sure and certain, and truly you are god’s strongest soldier for not laughing at her, which would be both unkind and also detrimental to your mission. and, sure, you’ve died a few times, whatever, and won a holy war a few months ago, but there is, at the moment, no task more important to you than getting bea to finally go to the sex store with you. you’d talked about it in couples counseling for weeks now and you really, genuinely can’t stop thinking about how hot the potential is. whenever bea has been out you’ve taken care of those thoughts yourself, but sometimes you just stare at her hands while she does the most mundane tasks and feel like you’re about to explode.

‘sooooooo, we can go? now? like you said?’

she rolls her eyes but you’re unfazed. yes, ava, we can go.’

‘fuck yeah!’ you gather all of the things you might need — phone, wallet, sunglasses, backup pair of sunglasses, a little crystal someone on the venice boardwalk gave you — into your purse and grab your cane; beatrice neatly tucks her wallet into one back pocket, her phone in the other. her bun is perfect and, while her button up is slouchy and oversized, it is tucked impeccably into her slacks. you’re so, so fond of her you have to kiss her, and you feel her smile back.

she’d made you research which sex stores are queer-friendly, and even, if you were lucky, queer-centric, and you were relieved to find one not too far away. she’s turning red before she even parallel parks a few stores down from it, her neck flushing, and sometimes you forget the shame she’s felt around want. you’ve felt shame; you were intimate with it for a long, long time, a bedfellow you could never move away from, but never for this. 

‘hey,’ you say, as soft as you can while you’re so excited, ‘if you feel overwhelmed, we can totally leave. there’s ice cream, like, right there.’ you point across the street. ‘and you know i’m always happy to have ice cream.’

she takes a deep breath, as brave as always, braver by the day. ‘while i appreciate the sentiment, and trust that you do love ice cream, i — i would like to try this with you, ava.’

she’s so sincere you might cry, but you shake it off and nod. ‘okay. okay! let’s do it. if you feel weird, do you want a safeword.’

‘for a sex store?’

you laugh, shrug. ‘i mean, they support it.’

she smiles, clearly amused, and squeezes your hand, then gets out of the car to open your door, chivalrous as always. ‘i’ll be okay. thank you though.’

‘sure thing. kumquat, though, if you do need one.’

she laughs.

/

‘okay,’ you say, ‘ready?’

you wait for her quiet but confident yes and then walk out of your closet. beatrice had been the picture of casual composure in the sex store while you excitedly looked at everything, and had nodded when you decided on the strap and harness you liked best — with the help of a very cool employee who seemed to find bea’s blush very endearing, understandably so, and was kind and patient answering all of your questions — but now, when you walk out of your bathroom, her eyes widen and she worries her bottom lip in a way that makes you feel absolutely insane. 

‘oh,’ she breathes, lying on her back on your big bed in just a pair of practical black boxers, her hair loose around her on the pillows.

‘yeah?’

you crawl over to her, on top of her, so the strap just barely pushes against her, and you can feel her tremble beneath you, trying to keep all that desire inside. it’s the second most intoxicating thing you’ve ever felt. she touches your hip, then the leather of the harness, then the silicone of the ribbed dildo — a very nice teal, if you do so say yourself — you picked out. ‘i — wow,’ she breathes. 

you smile into her neck, follow it with a kiss. ‘let’s get this show on the road, then.’

‘ava.’

you push up a little so you can see her face; she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear sweetly. ‘sorry. i’m just really excited to fuck you.’

that gets her to take in a shaky breath and pull you down so your bodies are flush. and, like, you’ve been to a lot of different realms, seen a lot of holy shit, but nothing really compares to the expression on beatrice’s face when you, very carefully — after going down on her first, thank you very much, and then making sure to coat the dildo with lube — push into her. she clutches so hard to your shoulder blades you’re a little worried but then she moans, obscenely, by her standards, and breathes out a pained, desperate, ‘keep going.’

it’s, like, the best fucking thing, oh my god, and, afterward, you take the harness off and drop it unceremoniously on the floor next to the bed, then she curls up by your side, rests her head on your chest. you run your hands through her hair, sleepy and soothed, even though it’s definitely not late enough to really sleep. 

‘thank you,’ she says.

it’s sweet and so genuine; you smile to yourself and bend to kiss her forehead. ‘for railing you with a strap? my pleasure.’

you can sense her roll her eyes, even if you can’t see them. ‘for… i don’t know,’ she says, and you just wait patiently for her to gather her thoughts. ‘for helping me enjoy being myself.’

and, oh. ‘of course; it’s my favorite thing in the whole universe,’ you tell her. ‘and if it involves that, count me in, quite literally any time.’

her laugh is bright, happy, unafraid.