#surgeons au

[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.’

[theroundbartable]

Arthur: what the HELL are you doing, Merlin??? You're killing him!!!!

Merlin *through the coms*: Arthur, I need you to stay calm. I know what I'm doing

Arthur: you just cut that guys chest open!

Merlin: Arthur, I need you to breath. Caleb, keep the wound open; Sarah, get the heart ready

Arthur: you're taking out his HEART?

Merlin: I am a physician, Arthur, I know what I'm doing

Arthur: you're cutting that man's heart out!!!!

Second surgeon: Dr. Emrys, should we have the trespasser removed?

Merlin: does he have a sword with him?

Surgeon: ... No?

Merlin *very calm*: good. The entrance is protected by several medicine students and Arthur's lacking sense of direction. But Excalibur can kill the undead, so I'm not sure if a bulletproof window could stop him.

Surgeon: i beg your pardon?

Arthur: MERLIN, I know you can do magic, but this is dark, even for you!

Merlin: Eddie, we're ready for the exchange. Arthur, calm down. This is science, not magic. Science has evolved since you've last been around.

Eddie: when has he last been around?

Arthur: *hectically searching for something to break the window*

Merlin: Five minutes ago if he doesn't shut up. Alright, Eddie, we're good to go.

Arthur: *throws chair and fails to break the glass*

... Later... In the wake up room

Arthur: Sir? Sir! Can you hear me? Do you still feel like the same person?

Patient: *dizzy from Anaesthesia* you got golden hair mate. You must be rich

Merlin: Arthur, you are trespassing. You should not be in here.

Arthur: look at what you did! He's lost his mind! Has no idea who he is!!!

Merlin: that's cause he's on drugs. I'm gonna wait til he's fine and tell him he got through it all okay.

Arthur: wait- he slept through all that?

Merlin: it's one hell of a drug

[bigfatbreak]

"yea I was up late last night"

[bestjeanistmonster]

fun fact! in dc au Eggman did Sonic’s top surgery!

[yuwuta]

got a million asks to answer but i have to greys anatomy-ify jjk i do..... particularly yuuta because the idea of him in a white coat and round glasses yelling at his interns because they made a mistake on his 4 year old patient is driving me. insane. desperately desperately need need him

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason: Ch2 Remastered

-------------------------------------------------------------- late at night when the stars don't look quite right -------------------------------------------------------------- there's something burning in the empty room inside of my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread

Jason nearly falls flat on his face when he sees the photo of Danny. He’s in a warehouse, finishing up with a gang selling drugs on his turf. The guys he’s got tied up are cursing up a storm at him, throwing every insult under the sun his way that he’s all heard before. His eyes drag over to them, and silently Jason adjusts his jacket to reveal the guns strapped to his thighs, his hand hovering over the handle of one. 

They all fall silent, and Jason moves his hand away. His phone in his other hand, texting Oracle to alert the police. Jason hates that he has to; these guys will be out of their cells in a matter of months, and nothing will change. 

But he’ll play nice. 

And then his phone buzzes, and when Jason looks down he sees a banner from Tim. A message he planned on ignoring, but his eyes skim over the text on instinct, and suddenly the air is stolen right from his lungs, and his thumb is hitting the screen before he can really think it through.

[Hey Jason, your best friend just appeared in Gotham for the first time since your funeral.]

Impossible. He thinks, yanking his phone close to his nose, as if that will make it any less real or fake. Danny hasn’t been in Gotham in years, Jason checked. But then the image loads, and then he’s staring Danny Fenton in the face. And then he’s greedily tracing every minute, new detail he can find. The gang left half-forgotten in his mind.

Danny’s got an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks taller. He’s got piercings in his ears, gold and jewels lining up the sides like a magpie’s find. He’s got an eyebrow piercing. 

Something old, something new; Danny is smiling and it still looks just as Jason remembers it. Crooked, lopsided, warm like the sun and belying the mischief underneath it. He remembers to breathe in that moment, and the sound comes in sharp. Danny’s eyes are as blue as they’ve ever been. 

(“I don’ get why books talk so much about peoples’ eyes.” Danny complains to him one day when he’s visiting the manor, his legs thrown over Jason’s back like an anchor tied to its ship. They’re sunk into the mattress of Jason’s bed, sunlight peering through the windows. “They’re just eyes! I don’t need t’know that they’re ‘as blue as the sky,’ or- or the ocean, or whatever blue thing in the world there is.”) 

(Jason’s smile comes to him like breathing, and he twists around to lay on his back. His arms trap Danny’s legs to his stomach. “Pretty sure it’s jus’ for emphasis on how much they’re noticing the person’s face.”)

(Danny’s face scrunches up, and Jason’s smile splits into a grin, heart swelling three sizes on instinct. “I think it’s stupid, s’just some fuckin’ eyes.”)

(“Eyes are windows to the soul, Dan.” Jason retorts, barking out a laugh when Danny gives him a deadpan look. His hands creep for a pillow, one of the soft downy ones wrapped in silk, and he throws it at Danny’s face. “And besides, speak for yourself! Your eyes are the bluest thing I’ve ever seen.”) 

But most importantly, Danny looks tired. 

Hiding is something that comes free with the purchase of living in Gotham, and Danny’s good at hiding things, he always has, but Jason knows him like the palm of his hands. He looks tired, and Jason wants to reach through the screen and ask him why. There’s an age-worn look there, catching in the flint of his iris, where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Jason gets the ETA from Oracle, then leaves as fast as his legs can carry him and his grappling hook can zip through the air. He needs to see Danny with his own eyes, to confirm himself that Danny was here, and that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. Or that it was Tim playing a cruel joke on him — and if it was, he’ll have to rethink his whole killing thing. 

Gotham’s air is warm and suffocating, but her winds bite at him as he soars through it.

It’s second nature for him to find the west end balcony, and Jason finds himself with his feet locked in place on the building beside it. Grappling hook in hand, and a balloon in his lungs, all swelled up and squishing the air out of him. 

It’s just his luck —with whatever he has left— that Danny is there as well. In the same spot he’s always been, with a cigarette caught between his teeth. He’s stuck halfway, head tilting, eyes closed, with the shadows of Gotham on his back and the light of the gala at his front. 

For a moment, for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Jason thinks Danny’s going to tilt himself back off the side.The thought has him blindly tilting himself forward with his heart in his throat. Hands reaching for his grappling hook, swinging down to drop down beside him.

Danny is staring at him before his feet even hit the ground, face nigh unreadable beyond the small, wary furrow of his brows. Danny’s never looked at him like that before, it feels like  stumbling on the last step of the stairs. 

Then, like fire to black powder something flashes and ignites in Danny’s eyes. Mouth curling, eyes burning, for a moment, just a moment, they’re kids again, getting into fights and turning soft hands punch-rough. Danny looks at Jason like he’s going to tear him to shreds.

Jason’s mouth runs dry like a desert in the summer, but his blood chills in fear cold in his veins. Why are you looking at me like that? His mouth opens, but his tongue is leaden in his throat, and no sound comes out. It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?  

Danny yanks the cigarette from his mouth like it burns him, his free hand gripping onto the railing like it’s the tether to a leash, nails threatening to turn into talons. “Red Hood.” He says, voice low and timbre, smoke dripping from his lips like dragon’s breath.  

Oh.

That’s right. Jason suffocates on his heart as it sinks and soars with relief. Danny doesn’t know it’s him. In his tunnel vision, he forgot that simple, easy fact. It’s not because it’s Jason that he’s angry. It still doesn’t explain, though, why Danny looks at him like he ought to sink his teeth into his throat and rip him open. 

He’s half-distracted by that, and then distracted by the need to drink in the sight of Danny again. A photo is one thing; the real person is another, and with his fear subsiding, Jason rakes his eyes over his best friend and swallows him whole. His eyes are bluer in person, his memory and Tim’s photo doesn’t do them justice, and Danny inherited his dad’s height. He’s gotten so tall. They both have. They both used to be such scrawny kids. 

So distracted is he, that he forgets to respond to Danny, to say anything. Not until Danny tries to dismiss himself, and Jason kickstarts into gear. White hot panic fills in his lungs, burning him up like magma. No, no, no, he’s moving without thinking, always when he’s with him, and he nearly latches onto Danny. Nearly wraps his hands around his arm to hold him in place. Don’t leave. You’re finally here; don’t go. 

Danny stays, but he stares at Jason’s reaching hands like he’ll bite them off, stares at Jason with his eyes burning, watchful. Jason’s excuse is lousy and he knows it, but he wants, wants, wants to stay and figure out every new thing about Danny. 

And he feels like he’s losing something. Time bleeds together beside him and Jason feels trapped behind a glass wall of his own making. Something old, something new. The distance of which Danny keeps him at is foreign to him. He hates it. 

Tell me everything, he thinks, because he can’t find the words to say it. He hands Danny a cigarette instead, and hopes that it’s enough. Tell me everything and more, tell me what I’ve missed. 

In the end, he still feels like he’s losing something, but he also feels like he’s missing something. Answers that are water, and that water is slipping through his fingers. Danny leaves him with more questions than answers; something that’s never happened before, and Jason watches him walk back inside with a spinning mind. 

What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?

I told you that the Joker killed me?

Have I told you anything else? Have I already told you everything I’ve wanted to?

What happened while I was gone? 

Is that why you’re scarred?

Because Jason isn’t blind, he’s never been. Not in Crime Alley, not as Robin, not now. And not when it comes to his best friend. He sees the silver lightning scars ripped jagged up Danny’s arm, sees that they disappear under his sleeves. He saw, faded as they were, invisible until the light hit right, as they spread like tree roots up his throat and across the side of his face.

Scars that Danny’s never had before. Scars he didn’t have when Jason was alive the first time. Scars he didn’t have the last time Jason saw him. Or — what he remembers to be the last time he saw him, because apparently he saw him as a ghost. He sees the curve of his ears and how they point more than a human’s should, he saw the glint of his canines, sharper than they should be; sharper than he remembers. Metaphorical fangs turned real.   

Jason should’ve asked where he got them from, should’ve taken Danny by the front of his collar and stopped him from leaving. Who did this to you? He should have said, a fire burning in his chest and wrapping around his throat, pulling his voice into a snarl. He should have said, his guns weighing heavy on his sides; Who did it. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me who. Tell me everything. 

Instead, something crawled into his mouth and died, and his tongue is glued to the roof of it. And he doesn’t say anything, because saying something means telling his best friend who he is. It means having to take off his helmet and mask. It means telling his best friend that he’s alive, that he has been. That despite being two halves of a whole, Jason spent five years letting him think he was dead. 

He can’t tell him, not when he’s in too deep already. Not when Jason is so unrecognizable to who he used to be that if he told him, Danny would hate him.

And Danny is still grieving him. So plain as day mourning, still angry over his death. Angry enough that he wants the Joker dead, angry enough that he wants to hang the noose and kick the chair out himself. 

Jason wishes he told him that he looks tired. 

Instead he’s standing alone on the balcony, trying to get his thoughts in order as music blares muffled through the gold-light door. He’s left staring at the crushed cigarette laying on the ground, Gotham’s ambience at his back and a poem hanging in the air that he has no words for. It’s already there. Like stars on a painted ceiling.

And there are so many questions he needs answers for. 

Like his ghost. His ghost.

What did Danny mean by his ghost? 

Does he really want to kill the Joker himself? Was it just the grief talking? Jason knows — or thinks he knows — Danny like the palm of his hands. He’s been through everything with him, he’s seen him say something and then immediately follow through with it. He knows when he’s being serious, he knows when he’s not. 

Danny wants to kill the Joker. Stealing is one thing; murder is another. And Danny wore a look on his face that looked like he meant it when he told Red Hood that he wanted to kill Joker. But saying and doing are two different things. Jason doesn’t know what to think.  

Something old, something new. Danny is still the same, and yet he’s changed so much. 

What did Danny mean by his ghost? 

Jason doesn’t ever remember being a ghost. But Danny knows the Joker killed him. He knows how he killed him. Danny’s parents are ghost scientists, and Jason remembers the letter he got one day telling him about the portal they were building in the basement. 

He remembers thinking about telling Bruce — this was something beyond the glowing green samples stored in the fridge, giving life to the food inside. This was beyond the weapons, the inventions they made that only saw the light of day when the Drs. Fenton brought them up to showcase them.

And he didn’t, because if he hadn’t told Bruce about everything before, he wasn’t going to start. He admits, it was part fear that Bruce might intervene and prevent him from seeing Danny that he didn’t.  

Neither of them had expected it to work — but it sounds like it did. 

(Jason has avoided Amity Park for a reason. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going there if he didn’t. But now, he just might have to look into it. He’s missed too much.) 

And Danny wants to kill the Joker, and Jason isn’t sure if he means it or not. Because the look on his face when he said it is oh-so familiar. It’s the one he wore when he needed Jason to distract the clerk while he snuck behind the counter to steal cigarettes from the shelves. It was the one he wore when an older kid cornered them near one of Gotham’s many alleys, threatening them over something Jason can no longer remember clearly. 

(He remembers puffing himself up, rearing for a fight. Danny, with glass in his teeth and blood between his fingers, lands a square kick to the spot between the kid’s legs. His knees hit the ground, and Danny’s hand found Jason’s to drag them both out of there.)

It’s the look of a boy, Gotham-touched grime in his soul, soft fingers turned calloused and scarred, about to do something he’s not going to regret. It’s the look of a boy that has set his mind to something and is going to do it. Some might call it the eyes of a cornered animal, but Danny’s never been cornered, not when Jason’s been with him. 

(But Jason hasn’t been with him. Not for the last five years. So can he really say it wasn’t the eyes of a cornered animal?...Yes.) 

Jason gets off the balcony before he can be seen, and he shouldn’t, but he loiters. He should get back to patrol, the night is never over. Not in Gotham. But he stays, hidden atop the roof nearby.

—---------------

An hour later, Danny walks out the doors with a man Jason recognizes as Vlad Masters — another new mystery for him to uncover. The paparazzi have long since left. Gotham’s nights are dangerous and everyone knows that, not even the vultures would stick around for a scoop, not unless there was something worth seeing. 

A black limousine pulls up beside them, and Masters walks around the back to reach the other side. He’s bristled like an angry cat. “I thought I told you not to embarrass me.” He hisses, eyes snake-narrowed.

Danny, for the most part, just looks unbothered, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care. But he narrows his eyes right back, an expression made of stone. “You have a pretty low bar for what you think is embarrassing.” 

Masters just scowls, “I don’t understand you, I would have thought you’d spend the whole time mingling with the Waynes, badger.” He says. Danny ruffles at the nickname, lips curling into a snarl. Jason finds himself unconsciously mimicking him. “And yet, I find you sequestered away in the corner like a little fly on the wall. Were they not up to your standards?”  

‘Sequestered’ Danny mouths mockingly, eyes burning like he was going to claw his hand down Masters’ face. Instead, his hands dig into his arms. “I did talk to them, that’s more than I can say for you. You couldn’t even keep Mister Wayne’s attention for more than a minute.”  

Jason frowns, and Masters scoffs, puffing up like an owl with its ego bruised. “Regardless, I am not the one losing here. Or did you forget what you promised me?” 

Jason’s frown deepens. Danny doesn’t promise anything. At least, he doesn’t promise with just anyone. He deals; he repays; he indebts. But he does not promise. Promises were power, with only one side benefiting. It was trust to promise someone something. Danny doesn’t trust easily, neither of them do.

Something that hasn’t changed. Danny rears up angrily, mouth twisting, teeth baring, snarling out a fury sound. A wire cut live and sparking. He grabs the door handle and yanks it open harshly. “I didn’t promise you anything, Vlad.” He hisses, Jason strains to hear him. “I offered and you agreed. Do not fucking twist my words.” 

There it is. Jason should’ve known better, guilt string-plucking in his chest for his doubt. Danny doesn’t promise things; not to people like this Masters guy, at least. 

Danny grabs something from the car and throws himself back. “Don’t wait up.” He snarls, a wild thing just as Jason is, and yanks on a red hoodie over his arms. It zips up, and hangs off him, smothering the vest and button-up beneath. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” 

Then he slams the door shut, shoulders hunched and with a scowl carved into his face. They’re both made of broken glass; independence — disobedience — and rebellion cut into them from every broken beer bottle shattered on the streets.

(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters — Danny’s never told him about him, so they must have met after he died. The man leaves a rot in Jason’s mouth, and there is a greed festering inside him that Jason knows has left him in decay.)

(He doesn’t like how close Masters acts with him, doesn’t like the affiliations between them both. Masters reminds him of Luthor and every other rich socialite with their hands in something dirty. He hates even more that Danny is making deals with him. What has he missed?)  

Jason follows after Danny, partially concerned that Danny is wandering Gotham alone. Regardless of what he can do, Gotham is still dangerous. It is bone-rotting, lung-choking and unforgiving. Danny knows this, Jason knows he does. He’s partially curious to know just where he’s going, and whether or not it was important enough to visit in the dead of Gotham’s bloody nights.

Danny surprises him — slipping between alleyways, sticking close to the shadows. Someone taught him how to be stealthy — or, at least, refined what stealth Danny already had. More new things that Jason needs to learn. More things he will never get to know. 

Who taught you that? 

Just what, exactly, have I missed?

I want to know everything. 

Five years is a long, long time to be away from someone. If a caterpillar can become a butterfly in two weeks, then what can five years do to a human? It’s a long time to change, to become something else entirely. Jason’s become someone new, and he thinks, so has Danny. 

Dread pools in his ribs, into his lungs, and weighs heavy on his heartstrings. The urge to drop down in front of Danny, to grab him by the arms and ask him to tell him everything, returns with a vengeance. This is why he avoided Amity Park. 

Will I still know you like I used to? Jason trails behind Danny from the rooftops, like a ghost. Do you still love the stars? Do you still take tea over coffee? Will you tell me, if I ask? 

And if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t ask, like he isn’t right now? 

If he doesn’t ask about his ghost — something that still boggles his mind, because it means the Fentons were right and that portal might have worked, and Danny found Jason’s ghost? If he doesn’t ask what his ghost told him, if he told him anything else? Did his ghost tell you that he was Robin, like he always wanted to?  

He will just have to keep his questions to himself. He will just have to tuck them into a folder in his mind, and file it under all of his other regrets.  

He feels like he’s Robin again; keeping secrets and hiding things from his best friend because it simply wasn’t safe enough for him to know. It’s maddening.  

Why has nothing changed since he died? Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive?

—---------------

Danny leads him to the Gotham Cemetery. Jason freezes outside the gates. Oh, he thinks.

Oh.

He thinks back to what he thought earlier. 

What could possibly be so important that he’d go to it in the dead of Gotham’s night? The cemetery. Of course. Something old, something new, something bittersweet sets over his tongue that he swallows down. 

Jason forces himself to follow. 

“Hey.” Danny says as Jason settles behind a tree, voice gentle in foreign familiarity. He’s standing at Jason’s grave, his hands shoved into his pockets. The light is low but it doesn’t stop Jason from seeing the starlight-soft look in Danny’s eyes and his half-tilted smile, the smile that Jason is more familiar with than the wary scowls. “Sorry I’m late.”

Guiltish misery wraps its hands around Jason’s lungs. Pin-prickingly, stabbing at his heartstrings, Jason’s mouth moves on its own; “It’s okay.” but no sound comes out. Danny doesn’t hear him, and neither does Jason himself.  

Danny sits down before Jason’s tombstone, groaning low and tiredly as his legs fold beneath him. He’s older than Jason, and immediately his mind switches over to all the jokes he used to lob him with. 

(“Need help crossing the street, old man?” Jason, eight years old, asks with a grin so wide and painful across his face; giggles in his chest. He hooks his elbow with Danny, and keeps him tight against his ribs. “You’ll need all the help you can get in your ancient age.”)

(“I’m not that old.” Danny says, glaring at him before they scurry across the street with the light still green. Traffic laws are a joke in Crime Alley, it’s like a game of frogger as the sound of honking horns and screeching tires follows their heels. “We’re six months apart!”)

(“Six months and four days, actually.” Jason corrects when they reach the other side, snickering as they race down the sidewalk. Drivers lean out their windows and curse them out as they get away, Danny dodges an empty soda can thrown at his head. “Can’t forget the four days.”)

“I would’ve come sooner.” Danny tells him, pulling him from child-fuzzy memories and back into reality. Jason peers around the tree to see him running a hand through his hair, head ducked down. His palm splaying against his neck. “Sorry I didn’t. I got scared.” 

Scared? Jason blinks, he leans against the bark and bumps his helmet against the wood. The thunk is loud in his ears, but Danny makes no indication that he heard. Of what? 

But Danny doesn’t say what, he drops his hand and glances off to the side. He sits like a man who isn’t quite sure what to do, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes scrunched. Grief carves into the lines of his face like a sculptor carving into marble. 

“I was gonna get you flowers on my way here.” Danny continues. His voice cracks, begins to wobble, and Jason sees Danny’s jaw tighten and his eyes close for a moment. When they open, there’s a wobbling sheen on his bottom lashes; tears threatening to bleed.   

Danny flicks at the tears with the nail of his thumb, it does nothing. It just makes his breath hitch. “Um, but they- uh, didn’t have any open on the way here.” He says, giving Jason’s grave a tremulous smile. “Sorry, I’ll make sure to pick some up on my next visit.”   

Next visit. Jason’s heart squeezes uncomfortably, before he reels at the words. Danny’s going to be visiting again, after five years of being out of Gotham? Next visit, why are you visiting again? Was this the reason he came to Bruce’s little charity ball with Vlad Masters? So that he could come visit Jason’s grave?

It couldn’t have been. There are other ways to get to Gotham that don’t require making deals with shady rich men. Danny’s smart, smarter than Danny himself gives him credit for. He’s brilliant. Why did he need Masters’ help to get him to Gotham?

There had to be another reason why.

God, there were so many questions that Jason wants the answers to. He’ll find them, one way or another. 

But, he focuses in again. Danny is only here for the night. One night, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back again. Jason wants to commit every detail of his best friend to memory before he leaves. 

“You like zinnias, right?” Danny pets the grass at his side absently, and yes. Yes, Jason does, and Danny remembers. Even five years from his death, he remembers. Of course he does. 

“Yeah, you do. You used to pick the petals up off the sidewalk from those uh, fuck — the vendors. The Victorian flower language too, I think. Got a book on that somewhere. I’ll get you red an’ yellow ones.” 

Grief traps in Jason’s chest, and he barely tamps down the bitter laugh forcing itself out of the chokehold of his throat. You fucking sap, you big fuckin’ sap.

Red zinnias. Steadfast beating of the heart. The irony. It’s got double the meaning now, now that he’s alive. But Danny doesn’t know that, so the heart that’s beating could only belong to him. But even with Jason alive, he’s hiding. Between the both of them, the only one here with a beating heart is Danny.

(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)

Yellow zinnias. Daily remembrance. Of course. That doesn’t need any explanation, the writing is right there on the wall. Raised, so that even the blind may read it. It doesn’t need to be said what that means, Jason can hear it on the wind, in the grass, in the trees. His heart crumpling like a rag being twisted out to drain the dirty water soaking in it. 

I miss you.

I miss you. 

I miss you. 

I’m right here. Is what Jason wants to say. It’s what he should say. He should step out from behind the tree; should speak up and say something. To announce his presence. To do something to let Danny know that he’s speaking to someone who is more than a ghost (who feels like one anyways) and a corpse in the ground. 

Here I am. Here I am. HERE I AM.

His feet are gravebound to the dirt, his tongue cut out of his mouth and shoved into a jar. He feels, in some way, like he’s clawing out of his own grave again, but the dirt keeps falling and his arms are burning. His lungs are filled with more soil than air. He’s not getting out. 

Shame burns cigarette smoke in the back of his throat, shriveling up what little remains of his tar-filled heart. It should be his lungs, and it’s got that too. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.

Danny’s begun to cry, much to Jason’s horror. It should be more incentive for Jason to step out. He doesn’t. His best friend sniffles and scrubs at his face, soaking tears into his hoodie’s sleeve. “I’m sorry for not visitin’ sooner,” he says, voice spiraling with grief, “I don’t have an excuse. I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Don’t be, Jason thinks. Finds himself surprised by the truth of it. He should be upset. Five years and not a single visit. He abandoned him like everyone else. Except he didn’t. 

He’s not upset, he can’t be. Not when Danny’s finally here. Not when he’s still crying over him five years after the fact. Not when he’s going to put flowers on his grave that means he thinks of him daily. Not when Danny knows who killed him and wants him dead. 

Jason isn’t sure of what to think of that still. He wants Bruce to kill the Joker. More importantly he wants change in Gotham. He wants something to be done. He doesn’t know if Danny is being honest or not — and honesty doesn’t mean anything if someone doesn’t act on it.  

Danny continues talking to his grave, his voice full with sorrow. He talks about the gala, about running into Bruce and talking to him again. 

Jason listens in dutiful silence, soaking in Danny’s voice like a sponge. This is what he was expecting on the balcony; this easy conversation. Except it’s not a conversation, Danny is talking and not expecting a response. Jason feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave.He should slink away, let Danny have his peace on his own.

He refuses to move. He can’t bring himself to.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him. He can pretend he’s thirteen again, with him and Danny crawled under the bed at the manor and trading all the stories they couldn’t fit in their letters. Danny tells him about another fight he had with Dash Baxter, eyes rolling but smug teeth flashing in a stifled smile. Then he tells him about something Sam and Tucker did; about one of Sam’s protests she led against the biology lab, and Tucker coding his PDA to play Doom. Easy, stupid middle schooler shit.

They’d sneak out to the balcony for their vices, Danny clutching a carton of cheap cigarettes in hand. Alfred always finds the ones Jason hides, so they usually share whenever Danny comes to visit. Jason tells him about Gotham Academy, about the people there and the classes. Prep school is another beast entirely, he likes seeing Danny’s reactions to the politics that goes on inside. 

Or, further back, they’re eight again, climbing a rickety fire escape to the rooftop and hanging their feet over the edge to find Batman and Robin. Danny was in the lead before he left for Amity Park. Jason remembers it clearly; they’d spent all night outside on that rooftop. 

Jason doesn’t close his eyes.

Jazz decided to change career goals; psychology’s become more of a hobby for her, and she’s going to go to med school instead. She’s thinking of doing an internship in Metropolis. Danny says he’s glad that it’s not Gotham, and when he told Jazz this, she laughed at him and told him that she was going to save that for later. 

She’s Gotham-touched too, she knows it’s blood just as much as Danny does. She wants to help the people there, but knows what Gotham’s like. She knows what she can and cannot do. Determination doesn’t equate skill, it just means the willingness to learn. 

Sam is staying in Amity Park and doing online classes for college, but Tucker got a full ride scholarship in software engineering. Danny’s thick with pride as he tells Jason’s headstone. Jason’s happy for him — they weren’t close, not like he and Danny were, but they were still friends. 

Jason soaks it all in; tell him more. He wants to know everything. 

"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says when he’s finally done talking about everyone else, his chin laying on his knees. “S’not like I can be an astronaut anymore, but there’s not anything I can see myself doing.”

The corner of his mouth coils, sardonic. “I’ve had five years to come up with somethin’ new, and I’ve come up with nothin’ at all.” He huffs. It’s a rough, bitter sound. Gotham has been steadily seeping back into his voice since he arrived in the graveyard, and now it comes out thick, like it never left. 

Danny’s face falls slack, like a puppet losing its strings, and he sinks into himself. “I guess I…” He exhales slow. “I’ve just been distracted.” A faraway glaze eclipses his eyes, and before they close, tears begin to bleed onto his eyelids. Again, grief mars the lines of his skin, settling into the curve of his mouth and threading between his brows like second nature.

Fuck, it’d be so easy for Jason to just step out. Move. His best friend is grieving. He could save him the pain of it and tell him now. Move, move, move. 

He doesn’t move.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence, just Jason hiding in his shame; a rat on the street would be bolder than him. Danny’s eyes don’t open. Eventually, his head tilts and slumps into his knees, Jason almost thinks, somehow, that he’s fallen asleep — but Danny’s hand threads into the hair on the back of his head, his finger beginning to tap an invisible beat into his skull. 

It’s the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. Danny’s distracted; lost in his thoughts. He won’t notice if Jason slinks off now. He could go and hide away on a roof nearby, ensuring that Danny gets his rightful privacy without leaving him to the teeth of the streets.  

Jason still doesn’t move. 

Danny begins to hum. It’s a low, breathy sound, and it shakes unevenly. There’s no discernible melody, but a breeze picks it up and travels it through the air anyway, rooting Jason to his spot. His throat swells, and his back sinks into the bark behind him. 

For a full minute, maybe two, Danny just hums. It’s a simple tune, but it fills the graveyard with the sound. When it goes up, he sharpens, when he goes down again, it flats, and sometimes it wobbles.  

When he lifts his head, when he finally opens his eyes, he’s still humming. Soon it dies down, and the next time Danny exhales, it comes out tumultuous and slow. His hand slips heavy from his head and drops into the grass. 

“Where’d you go, Jay?” Danny mutters, and despite his voice coming flat, he still sounds so tired. Danny’s eyes flick up, lifting off the grass to burn into the headstone. He’s not even looking at him, and yet Jason still freezes up, he still feels pinned under the weight of his stare. “I know you’re still out there, somewhere. I know it.” 

Jason breathes in shakily, a sting deep in the back of his throat. He gives no answer; guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows deep into Jason’s heart to make itself a home between the tendons. He’s right here. 

Silence falls over them again, and this time it’s only the sound of the city around them that bleeds into the air. Danny stares at Jason’s grave, staring like he’s expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one. 

Danny sighs out low, and stands. His knees tremble slightly, and he rubs his sleeve into his eyes, catching the stray tears falling from his lashes. Like breaking a spell, Jason jolts from the fog of sorrow hanging in the air. 

“I’ll see you later, an’ I’ll make sure to bring you those flowers you like.” He tells him, and miraculously, a shadow of a smile flits over Danny’s mouth. “Y’better be here when I get back, alright? I’ll kick y’fucking ass if you’re not.” 

Jason bites back a huff, his mouth upturning in a wobble. I will, he thinks, and watches Danny trail out of the graveyard with his hands in his pockets. He waits until he’s disappeared behind the gate before following.   

Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with it eating his tongue. But he makes sure Danny gets back to his hotel safe before he slinks back to Crime Alley; he might not be a ghost anymore, but he can still trail behind Danny like he is. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ayy i finally got chapter 2 of CFAU/TMWS edited/redone! It had to get rewritten because a lot of stuff became obsolete in the wake of the new chapter 1. and also it just kinda. fucking sucked imo lmao

(you can also read it here on my ao3!)

[codenameregnar]

Oh by the way in light of the watershed event that is canon Garashir I'm gonna need links for every ones alternate universe fics about The Brilliant Cardassian Surgeon and His Husband. ASAP.

[jaiscbstash]

[pineabble-soda]

[ahbts]

Kinktober day 13: Jegulus - Wet Dream || NSFW || Words: 640|| Tags: Medical AU(sort of) - Resident/Doctor - Lingerie - rimming (Day 9 and 27 of @jeguluskinktoberr)

The way he is walking over to James is making his head stuffy. He walks across the hall in that white lab coat, clipboard in hand and an innocent look on his face. It’s insane how the boy looks so good in hospital clothes. No one should look this good. 

“Head surgeon Potter, you asked for my assistance?” The sweet voice asks him as the boy reaches his desk. James quickly stands, feeling his own surgical scrubs getting tighter as he looks the boy up and down, from the curls on his head to the crocks on his feet, he still looks like walking sex. 

“Uhm, yes,” James walks around the desk and leans against his as he regards the resident with the sternest look he can muster. “Dr. Lupin is indisposed and we need a set of hands on the kidney transplant, do you think you are up to it?” 

The boy looks at his clipboard before flinging it away and stepping in between James’ legs. “You tell me, Doctor, do you think I am ready?” The long neck stretches up to meet James in the perfect height difference. He feels a hand under his scrubs, touching his stomach and finding a nipple to pinch. 

James lets out a moan and pulls the boy closer. “I don’t know, maybe I can use some convincing?” 

The boy steps closer even and takes James’ bottom lip into his mouth, biting down and dragging it out as he steps back. The lab coat is gone and instead, the boy is wearing lingerie. A thong of deep burgundy lace, with matching garter straps holding up black meshing stockings that match the long-sleeved shrug top. James lets his eyes roam over the whole look and feels his mouth water. 

“Would this help?” the boy asks in a sultry tone, turning around slowly, which makes his black high heels click on the ground. “Doctor.” 

James grabs onto the boy's arm and makes him turn back around. “That will work perfectly.” 

He pulls the boy behind him, bending him over the desk and squatting down behind him. Pushing the lace aside he flicks his tongue over the small, tight, hole he had been imagining since the boy started his residency under him. 

“Oh, you taste as sweet as you sound, baby,” James tells the boy, slipping his thumb into the hole and stretching it with the digit as well as his tongue. 

“Please, Dr. Potter, I think I’m ready now,” the boy croons in a high tone. 

James stands, pulling down the thong quickly and pulling himself out of his pants. He is already so incredibly hard that he will come the second he enters the boy's tiny hole. He thrusts in with one easy thrust and groans in ultimate pleasure. 

“Doctor,” the boy moans, in a lower voice than before but James can hear him clearly. “Doctor?” This time it’s a question and James shakes his head not fully understanding what is happening. 

“Doctor Potter?” 

James blinks his eyes open as quickly as he can, feeling the paper stuck to his face and the crick in his neck from having fallen asleep on his desk for the umpteenth time that week. He smacks his lips, feeling his dry mouth before looking up and meeting the emerald green eyes that he had just seen in his dream. 

Oh fuck. 

He feels the wetness in his pants, realising what is happening as he meets Regulus Black’s eyes. 

“Dr. Black, I’m sorry that was highly unprofessional of me,” James apologises quickly, excusing his sleep habits. “Did you have a question?” 

The boy smiles at him, shaking his head but there is a twinkle in his eye that makes James’ spend cock twitch hopefully. “No, I just wondered if you wanted to grab a coffee, it looks like you need it?”

[fauvester]

svsss demons hospital au scrub choices. SHL is a figs girlie (girl you cannot wear outside figs to the OR, sorry) LBH is kind of a jaanuu guy but occasionally gets mandelas for the colors. MBJ is an exclusively inpatient proceduralist so he only ever wears the cheap hospital provided scrubs that his tits never fit into properly

[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.

[hidden-for-reg]

June 27: heal | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 799

*surgeon x patient au*

Part one, previous part

If you asked Regulus, he'd say he was completely fine. But after he took the tiniest fall of course his idiot surgeon of a brother made him go to the hospital to get it checked out. But then of coursethe hospital in question doesn't allow family to treat family. So, now, of course Regulus is stuck with the hot, dumb doctor. Of course. And for the past 10 minutes that hot, dumb doctor, who introduced himself as James, has been talking non-STOP. 

“Okay, you know what? Stop, just stop talking,” Regulus snapped suddenly, pinching his nose bridge and closing his eyes for a second. “I’m fine. I don’t need surgery. I’m only here because my brother forced me. You can just give me some painkillers or whatever and I’ll leave.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned at James. “Come on, doctor,” he continued, “do me a favor here or something.”

“Oh— er, yeah, well,” James’ face flushed a bright shade of red, “your X-Rays aren’t looking great, and the only way to fix your knee is with surgery so, ah, I— well you can’t leave, basically.” James shifted his feet nervously from where he stood next to Regulus’ bed. He flashed Regulus an apologetic grin as if it might help comfort him or something. It did not.

“I’m fine,” Regulus gritted out between his teeth. The nerve of this doctor, honestly. 

“No, you’re not, but you will be once you get surgery. I promise the surgery is perfectly safe, and I’ve done plenty of them before. There’s nothing to worry about,” James said, voice softening. “And you’ll be able to heal in as little as 3 months.” James sat on the edge of Regulus’ bed and put his hand of Regulus’ leg under the blanket. Regulus decided he would let him stay there for now. “And, uh, not to brag, but I’m a pretty good surgeon,” James added as he leaned in closer to him, “so you’re in good hands, love.” James patted his leg. 

Regulus felt his cheeks grow hot as James flashed him a cocky, lopsided grin. Regulus was trying to look anywhere but James’ eyes. He was dumbly scowling down at his own hands, which now lay in his lap, threaded together. Oh he felt so stupid for this. He would not  be manipulated into this surgery by just a nice man with a nice smile. No. Absolutely not. He felt his cheeks flush harder. 

Regulus risked looking up to meet James' steady gaze. His eyes showed a little concern but were otherwise lovely to look at, not that Regulus would ever admit that to James though. The other man's lips curled up in the corners just slightly, and his thumb was tracing circles where it lay on Regulus' thigh. 

He decided to would probably be okay to share a small smile in return so that's what he did as he still held James' piercing stare. His eyes were so deep with varying hues of dark, chocolatey brown and warm amber.

James opened his mouth like he had been about to say something, then closed it, then opened again slightly, then closed. He drew his lips in a thin line and finally looked away from Regulus. He turned to look at the clock on the bedside stand and abruptly cleared his throat.

Regulus snapped out of his daze immediately at the noise and, instinctively, pulled back from where he was, apparently, leaning in. He trained his eyes back on his hands in his lap again quickly. 

"Um, well, ah, I got to- I have to- uh, paperwork," James mumbled awkwardly, giving Regulus' leg a firm squeeze then letting go and standing up. 

"Oh." Regulus merely stared at him, not really taking it the words yet. "Oh, yes, you.. go do that, uh, yeah."

"Hey," James said, walking to the door, "If you need anything or feel anything weird, just call a nurse and tell them to page me, and I'll be right over. I'm serious, don't hesitate if you need something." 

Regulus nodded, breathless at the moment for some unknown reason.

"And," he added, now already standing in the doorway, "if you could hopefully decide about surgery before tonight, that would- well, it would save me from some difficult conversations. And if you decide sooner, rather than later, you can out of pain sooner. Again, just tell a nurse to page me once your mind's all made up."

Regulus snapped out of his daze... again. "Yeah, okay."

"Alright, see you later, love."

"Later."

As soon as James was nowhere to be seen, Regulus let out a tremendous sigh and flopped back into his bed. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. What was happening to him?

next part

[mesukohi]

2nd Corazon Au

[pt2change]

lovesick emergency — jeon jungkook

[gif source]

pairing: surgeon!jungkook x surgeon! y/n

genre: medical au, jk is head over heels for y/n, he’s also kinda bad at communication, insecure and jealous jk hehehe, fluff, y/n is oblivious, few mentions of sex

word count: 2,376

a/n: my first jk drabble 😣😣 any feedback is appreciated thank u for reading!!!!

↣ bts masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

of course, when you work at an extremely busy level 1 trauma center hospital, it is very. difficult to get time to yourself

but you and jungkook have 15 minutes to yourself

………..….

what other way to spend those 15 minutes than in an empty on-call room?

okay so… the two of you have been fooling around for months

it’s not always that too

sometimes you go over to each other’s apartments and hang out

or you have dinner together after a long day at work

there’s been plenty of times where the two of you are just enjoying each other’s company without hooking up

but the both of you are not…. officially dating

and the only reason is because the two of you have accepted that you have feelings for the other

but both you and jungkook won’t confess to each other.

so you stick to touching each other and kissing and having sex whenever you both want

but neither of you do that with someone else

so you’re both in the small bed that sits in the on-call room

he’s hovering over your body, kissing you

both of your lab coats are on the edge of bed frame, while the dark blue scrubs have been tossed somewhere in the walkway between the door and the bed

jungkook intertwines his hands with yours, laying it just above your head

and the two of you spend the little break you have quietly moaning each other’s name

and in between it all, someone tries to open the door

probably a nurse, or a doctor, or either one of your interns

but neither of you noticed as you’re lost in each other

after finishing, jungkook lays next to you on the bed, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek

“how does sex get better with you everytime we do it?”

you laugh, playfully hitting him

one of the pagers goes off suddenly, and he reaches over to the bedside table they were on

“it’s yours.” he says handing it to you,

you groan softly, “that’s perfect” you say sarcastically

getting up, you begin to pick the scrubs from the floor, placing jungkook’s on the edge of the bed

and he watches as you slip your clothes back on

he sits up quickly and reaches to hand you your coat

“gotta go, i’ll see you later?” you turn to face him before leaving

“yeah” jungkook nods with a small smile

“okay” you nod and head towards the door

but you quickly turn around and walk back over to the bed

bending down slightly, you kiss jungkook one last time, “see you later”

you smile and walk back over to the door, unlocking it, and walking out

jungkook sighs happily and closes his eyes hoping to get some sleep

….

he doesn’t…

….

his pager went off approximately 36 seconds after you left

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“oh thank god i found you, dr. y/n!-“ an out of breath intern, your out of breath intern-

who btw you’re not sure which one of them it is because you don’t bother to know their names unless they give you a (good) reason to

- stops you as soon as you walk out of the on-call room

“you’re needed in operating room three” she finishes, trying to catch her breath

“i was just paged, i’m on my way there now!” you say, walking right past her.

“oh! nurse min is looking for doctor jeon, is he in there?”

that makes you stop dead in your tracks

“and why would he be in there?” you look at the intern, raising your eyebrow at her

“oh… no reason, i-it was just a random question” she says quickly, clearing her throat

you glare at her one more time before walking over to the elevator to head to the surgery floor

while you wait for the elevator, you look back for your intern and see she’s knocking on the same door of the on-call room where jungkook is

hmm…

you could’ve sworn you and jungkook were more discreet than that

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

when jungkook’s done with his surgery, he begins to think about you

wondering where you are, he goes and looks for you

even though the two of you were together a few hours ago

he just can’t help but miss you

after asking nurse min, he tells jungkook you’re on the 7th floor, checking on your patients

jungkook makes his way to the elevator and heads to the 7th floor

after walking down the hallway, he sees you in a room with your heart transplant patient that you talked to him about a few days prior

then jungkook started thinking…

maybe he should just get back to work?

he knows he’ll hear from you at some point later in the day or evening

and you’ll probably have your next meal together

or with other staff members

like nurse min :) who you and jungkook get along with very well even though he intimated you both when he started to work at the hospital

anyways

he makes up his mind but then he hears something that makes him linger around the door

he’s hidden just enough to wear you or the patient can’t see him but he can most definitely hear the conversation

“tell me dr. y/l/n, as someone as gorgeous as you, you must get hit on all the time.”

and it sends shivers down jungkook’s spine when he hears your patient tell you

and jungkook scoffs quietly

you’re a hard ass cardiac surgeon who is feared by all the interns and intimidated by some of the other fellow surgeons

and no one had the guts to hit on you for those reasons

well…

except jungkook.

and he’s happy that he did.

because even though he’s unsure as to where your relationship with each other stands, it’s one of the most beautiful things that has happened to him.

and he just hasn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time

his thoughts are interrupted by your laugh

“what’s your pain on a scale from 1-10?”

“maybe like a 2, don’t try to change the subject now, doctor!”

jungkook sees you nod your head and chuckle at the patient

“i’ll look at your stitches, and if everything looks fine, you’ll be discharged either this evening or tomorrow early morning”

even though your back is facing him, jungkook can definitely envision your contagious smile

his own smile quickly fades as he hears your patient starts talking again

“then i’ll be back to take you to a nice romantic candle lit dinner?”

you chuckle once again, “i don’t go out with my patients”

“and i can’t be the only exception?-”

and jungkook frowns slightly when he hears that

“-you’ve taken really good care of me since i got here, i think it would only be fair if someone did the same for you”

he frowns again

:(

jungkook has seen this patient many times because he’s been at the hospital for quite awhile

and well jungkook thinks your patient is definitely attractive enough to where he feels almost….

threatened….

but jungkook doesn’t wait to hear what you say to your patient

instead he walks away

and he’s upset and just kinda filled with jealousy

but???

at the same time, he feels like he can’t get upset

because even if you did turn down the patient, somewhere along the line, someone else would hit on you and ask you out to another romantic candle lit dinner

and the worst part is you could say yes

i mean technically you are single

and jungkook hasn’t had the time or courage to officially ask what was going on between the two of you

and so he rushes into the stairwell where he can calm down before his insecure thoughts become overwhelming

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“no!” you say quietly to your patient, laughing

you grab your set of gloves and begin putting them on, “i need to look at your stitches”

and your patient looks at you, “just tell me, are you seeing someone?” he raises his eyebrows

you open your patients gown and begin examining the stitches that were on his chest

“i’m not really supposed to talk about my personal life, you know?”

you look back up at your patient

“but i am, and he’s really really wonderful… and he takes care of me.”

you pause, and your mind just begins to envision jungkook

you could go on and on about him

instead you smile to yourself, “he’s my best friend”

your patient nods his head, understanding what you're saying

“but you know… there is a really gorgeous woman just down the hall, maybe she wouldn't mind some company” you raise your eyebrows at your patient and close his gown

“hmmm….. what’s she like?”

you nod your head and take your gloves off

then you sit in the small chair next to the bed and begin telling him about the beautiful blonde woman that’s recovering just down the hallway

you told the woman about your patient as well when you checked on her

and well..

turns out they were perfect for each other.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

okay….

so you haven’t seen jungkook in almost 5 days

you were surprisingly off these last 2 days without getting paged for an emergency surgery

but jungkook never called or texted you

which was really weird because even on his busiest days, he still send you at least a few messages before you tell him to get back to work

and the other 3 days you worked, your paths just never crossed

it was really weird…

you also walked through his department but never saw him

and when you texted him asking where he was but there was no response

AND you even told him to meet up in an on-call room and nothing!!!

and jungkook was never one to turn that down

this was the longest you had gone without seeing him and it was really starting to irritate you

you even began to think that maybe you had done something wrong without knowing it

and that also bothers you because the last thing you want to do is make him upset :(

you just like him so so much and don't want to ruin your relationship with him

now you haven’t eaten in the hospital cafeteria since your last intern year

but today you decide to take a look in there

okay………

you were probably in the cafeteria for 10 seconds before making direct eye contact with jungkook

but you’re taken back when he just stands up and leaves through the back doors as soon as your eyes meet

………

what???

you put your hands in the pocket of your lab coat and walk out as well

but you make your way to the nurse’s station

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

jungkook runs to room 618 after getting paged a 9-1-1 when the elevator door opens

he scurries inside to the middle of the room

only to find nurse min standing there and no patient

“what’s going on? where’s the patient?” he exclaims, trying to catch his breath

nurse min steps aside, when the restroom door opens and you walk out

“shit…” you hear jungkook mutter

“what… that’s all you have to say?” you walk in front of him crossing your arms

meanwhile nurse min walks out the room and slowly closes the door

and when he steps out he sees a few other staff members watching you and jungkook through the blinds

“y/n, you know you can't page me if it’s not actually an emergency”

you scoff, “jungkook, don’t give me that-”

when it looks like he wants to walk towards the door

you beat him to it and stand in front of it

“why have you been ignoring me? did i do something?”

you look up at jungkook

but he avoids looking into your eyes

“i just.. i’ve been really busy”

“don’t lie to me either.” you tell him softly

jungkook sighs and rubs his hand across his mouth

“what are we, y/n?”

this catches you off guard

it certainly wasn't what you thought this conversation was going to be about

“what?

jungkook shrugs

“i don't know-” he pauses

now he’s looking at you

“i’m just wondering if we’re a couple or not.”

“jungkook-”

and he cuts you off

“i know we hang out alot and we have sex, but i like you so much. and i’ve felt more with you than anyone else. i want more with you, y/n.”

he sighs, “i don't want us to be nothing.”

and he looks at you, waiting for you to respond

“we’re not nothing, jungkook” you shake your head

“then what? because i want you to be mine-”

jungkook doesn’t get to finish rambling on with his sentence

you bring him in for a kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulder

jungkook holds onto your waist

and you feel yourself backing into the door and he deepens the kiss

when he pulls away first, he opens his mouth to talk more but you stop him

“of course we’re a couple jungkook”

and he lets out a sigh of relief

“we are?”

and you nod your head

jungkook bends down to give you another kiss

and from the other side of the door you hear:

“finally, it was about time”

you pull away from jungkook and open the door

on the other side of the door, you see other nurses and surgeons listening and watching the interaction between you and jungkook

“don’t just stand here! you all have patients to see!” you yell

anddd there’s the surgeon everyone is afraid of

suddenly everyone moves to different rooms or they head towards the elevator

jungkook laughs behind you

he pulls you back in and shuts the door

and he closes the blinds completely

“can you believe that?”

“mmhmm…”

when you turn back to see jungkook, he’s in the middle of taking his coat off

“this isn’t the on-call room, jungkook.”

you cross your arms as he sets it down on the bed

you watch as he pulls the curtain around the hospital bed

when he’s done, he walks back over to you

“i don’t care” he says grabbing your arms and guiding you towards the bed

[valoale]

WIP

Harry claims he hit his head on duty (he did not). In other words he constantly finds reasons to go to the hospital just to see Dr. Malfoy only to ask him out

#if you wanna see your favourite neurosurgeon you gotta do what you gotta do

My little surgeon AU is growing and I can't help it, so, firefighter (& EMT) Harry, anyone? prev & prev