Chapter Text
Fitz walked through the sliding doors of the emergency room, his palms sweaty and his heart hammering somewhere in his throat. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he walked up to the triage desk.
The nurse behind the counter looked up briefly, then grabbed for a clipboard that she slid through the gap of the glass window separating her side of the desk from the waiting area. “You’ll need to fill this out,” she said routinely, without really paying him full attention.
“Um, yeah, no, I’m not a patient,” Fitz stammered.
The nurse’s head shot up in confusion. “What?”
Fitz lifted his bandaged arm. “I mean, I was a patient three days ago. I—um—I’m looking for Dr. Simmons. She treated me.”
“You should see your PCP for any follow-up questions. I’m sure Dr. Simmons told you that upon discharge.”
Fitz nervously drummed his fingers on the counter. “Um, yes, she did, but—um—but this isn’t a medical question, so—um—my PCP wouldn’t be of any use.”
The nurse raised her eyebrows skeptically, clearly having figured out why Fitz had shown up at the ER.
“Is she working today?” Fitz asked, a hopeful smile playing on his lips that faded when the nurse pressed her lips together, her eyes widening even more.
Fitz slumped his shoulders. “You’re not allowed to tell me, right? Privacy regulations and all that. Makes sense.” He sighed, wetting his lower lip with his tongue as he pondered his next move. “Could I at least leave a message for her?”
One corner of the nurse’s mouth ticked up. She grabbed a piece of paper and pen and wordlessly slid it under the window.
Fitz couldn’t help but grin widely. He grabbed the pen and stared at the blank page in front of him, trying to figure out what to write, when the sound of his own name made him jerk up and look to the side.
“Doc—Doc—Doctor Simmons,” he muttered, a little star-struck, his heartbeat back to an unhealthy pace.
“Did you injure yourself again?” she asked, her question laced with curiosity, concern, and a hint of teasing.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Fitz blurted out.
“If your old injury is giving you trouble then you should follow up with your primary care physician. I thought I had mentioned that,” she remarked.
“Oh, yeah, no, that’s not why I’m here.” He raised his bandaged arm. “The old injury is doing just fine.”
Dr. Simmons furrowed her brow. “Then why are you here?”
“He wants to ask you out,” the triage nurse piped up, arms crossed in front of her chest and a sly smile playing on her lips.
Fitz glared at her in panic, mild annoyance, and embarrassment.
“Is that so?”
Dr. Simmons’ question brought Fitz’s focus back to her. He scratched the skin below his ear, his gaze somewhere between her face and the floor. “Um, yes, yes, I was wondering if—if you’d like to go out for dinner some time.” He cleared his throat, feeling as if it had been drained of all fluids.
Her lips pulled into a beaming smile that nearly took what was left of his breath away. “That sounds lovely.”
“Really?” Fitz muttered, feeling that speechlessness was the next symptom on his list.
She reached for the pen and paper in front of him and scribbled down her name and phone number before sliding it back to him. “I have Wednesday and Thursday next week off, so Wednesday night would be particularly suitable.”
Fitz’s eyes wandered from her to the piece of paper to the triage nurse and back to her. He couldn’t stop the smile that slowly spread across his face. “Wednesday sounds perfect. I—um—” He picked up the paper with her number and waved it in the air. “I’ll text you to hammer out the details?”
“I look forward to it,” she replied, her face still lit up with a wide smile. “But now I need to get back to work,” she added almost apologetically.
“Yeah, no, of course. I’ll be in touch,” Fitz replied, holding her phone number tightly, afraid it could suddenly disintegrate into thin air.
She walked past him, heading down the corridor. Fitz watched her leave until the triage nurse’s voice pulled him out of his racing thoughts.
“Well done,” she said, grinning at him one-sidedly.
Fitz couldn’t help but smile himself. “Thanks,” he replied, adding a friendly, “Nice meeting you,” before turning on his heels and leaving the emergency room much like he’d entered it, with sweaty palms and a hammering heart.