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A big reason why Katsuki Bakugou picked a government hospital to intern at, was that it was so busy for everyone, that the medical residents usually just gave them free reign to pick their schedules, as long as someone showed up to do their scut work.
Which was why, seven months into his post-graduate internship, he was still fuming as to why in God’s name he was saddled with a fuckin’ grade-conscious, anal-retentive nerd of a group leader in the form of Tenya Iida. Bakugou wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass as long as Iida remained competent and gave him a fair schedule. But being the goody two-shoes he was, he had succumbed to the senior residents’ demand that Bakugou be kept out of the OB-GYN admission section, where he tended to yell at mothers in labor for not bringing their complete labwork and ultrasound results.
This, of course, meant being exiled to back-to-back labor room duties for two whole weeks. He could still smell the lochia on his scrubs if he concentrated hard enough.
So he felt he was well within his rights to complain when the bespectacled man gave him the day before Christmas to go on duty, right before they started their General Surgery rotation. “God fuckin’ dammit, Iida!” He stood abruptly and slammed his hands on the plastic table that took up most of the space in their tiny call room. To his credit, Iida didn’t flinch. “Christmas Eve duty? Did you forget you owe me for the Obstetrics rotation—”
“I'll be on duty on Christmas Eve, too!”
Bakugou’s mouth was still pulled into a snarl when he whipped around to see who had a death wish — but it promptly sagged to a confused frown when he saw that it was Ochako Uraraka who had her hand up in the air. Her smile was bright, but not enough to cut the tension as the group waited to see how Bakugou would react.
But like the airhead that she was, she went on cheerily, “It's gonna be great, Kats! There's not many patients in the ward, and there's tons of food! The duty won't be toxic, I promise! I mean, you got me — I'm pretty benign!” She punctuated her declaration with a thumbs-up to his face.
Bakugou grunted, and crossed his arms as he sat back down, but heavily so his stupid groupmates know he’s still pissed. “You're such an eager beaver, fuck.” Uraraka laughed sheepishly.
The rest of the group released a collective sigh of relief, and moved on to distribute other duties. If they thought he was appeased by the fact that Uraraka did seem to attract quiet nights and a low patient census — a “benign” duty in hospital jargon, as opposed to a “toxic”, stress-filled one — well, the idiots could keep thinking that.
Better if they didn’t know that those weren’t the only things that Uraraka seemed to attract.
“Hey, Siopao,” Bakugou said, drizzling IV fluid onto some drunk layabout’s leg laceration, “why are you so eager for Christmas Eve duty?” He ignored the poor schmuck’s groans of pain, continuing, “You got a date on Christmas or something?”
“Haha, this guy! I've got nothing going on, what are you even saying?” Uraraka was bent over the procedure table, suturing the laceration with Bakugou as her assist. Her embarrassed laughter filtered through her surgical mask. “The dorm gets lonely if you're not on duty on Christmas and New Year. It's better to just be on duty, right?”
Ignoring the flutter in his belly that felt a little like relief, he pressed on. “You're not going back to your hometown?”
“Tickets to the other side of the country are expensive. I haven't been home since... we were in second year med? Yeah. Step, please,” she instructed, and Bakugou used a clamp to help knot the suture. Her gloved hand brushed his as she looped the knot — only briefly, but he still felt the heat bloom from the point of contact. “Instead of spending, I'll just stay here. The hospital keeps throwing parties around this season, so I have free food for a few days. It's only practical.”
“You are a PGI, huh.” He snickered. “Pretty Gluttonous Intern.”
“Haha, you're so funny it's annoying.” She rolled her eyes, but they still held a twinkle of amusement. “Don't you dare join in on the eats when we go office hopping on Noche Buena, 'kay?”
“I won't at all.” He swallowed, steeling himself. “I'm gonna cook on Noche Buena. In the call room. Just for us, obviously.”
She stopped mid-suture. “You sure 'bout that? You realize we're still on duty?”
“You said you're benign, right?” he threw back, feigning nonchalance as he dabbed blood from Uraraka’s surgical field to clear her view. “Just chill. We'll be fine as long as we alternate in OR assists. So, you game?”
She was silent for a few moments, injecting more anesthetic into the laceration. Bakugou began to feel antsy, bracing himself for rejection. “Oi, Siopao, are you?”
“Gimme a moment, I'm thinking of what I wanna bring.”
He stared. “Huh? I told you I'll be doing the cooking—”
“Step, please — of course I have to contribute something. It can't be all on you.” She tsked. “Hey, I said I need you to step.” Bakugou hastily followed her instructions so she could knot the suture. Shit, he almost forgot he was still in a professional setting.
He almost forgot again when she made eye contact with him above the surgical field, her brown eyes sparkling under the harsh fluorescent. “But I'm game for it! But it better be just us, 'kay? I can't afford to feed a whole town!”
Bakugou was thankful his double mask hid his stupid dopey grin. “Hell yeah. As long as it's just us.”
The Surgery rotation rolled on well into the holidays, with the ER duties dragging the interns’ sorry asses through the mud. Bakugou knew why there were so many trauma cases in December — more parties meant more people trying to kill each other over karaoke — but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be pissed about it.
OR duties weren’t much better either, with the surgeons getting in as many elective surgeries as they could before the ORs closed for Christmas break. And their heavy workload wasn’t really made much better with the residents and consultants quizzing them about the human body at every opportunity.
Still, it all seemed lighter with Uraraka as his constant dutymate.
Evening ER duties, waiting for the next trauma patient, meant he had time to learn more about her motivations (she didn’t know what specialty she wanted to go into yet, but she definitely wanted to serve in her far-flung hometown), and her hobbies (she liked to explore the Metro by hopping onto the train and getting off at random stops).
OR duties, ones where they were scrubbed in together, were opportunities for him to show that he had a promising future as a neurosurgeon — definitely someone you’d want to take home to meet your parents — by correctly answering any question that the lead surgeon threw at him and showing off his superb suturing technique.
And when they were exhausted from more than twenty-four hours of blood and grime, it only meant he could take her to breakfast — under the pretext of paying her back for running his patients’ labs and x-rays along with hers. This was another hour of him drilling her about her favorite places to eat and promptly chewing her out for picking Jollibee, and Wendy’s when she could splurge.
(And if he was planning to broaden her culinary horizons the next time they were in a lighter rotation, he would never say out loud.)
“Good god, Kats,” Uraraka said, eyes like saucers, over her box of Jollibee spaghetti. “You good over there?”
“Fuck you, Siopao,” Bakugou spat without any heat, setting down the numerous items in his arms — an induction cooker, a large pan, and a couple of eco-bags full to bursting. He was ready to make this the best Noche Buena meal she ever had.
Uraraka stood, rifling through his eco-bags. Anyone else would have had their forehead flicked, but Bakugou was feeling generous. “Wow, look who's eager!” she teased, though she looked as impressed as he hoped she would be. “My contribution is almost embarrassing. You truly are a Rich Kid!”
“‘Nah, not really.” Bakugou peered into the paper bags of Jollibee on the table. “Chicken Joy and… spaghetti?” He raised an eyebrow. “And you're having spaghetti for breakfast too. You sure 'bout what you're doing?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, spaghetti, toxic food,” Uraraka said, waving her hand dismissively. “It's fine, Kats! It's Christmas, there's barely any patients in the ward, and you're on duty with someone benign — ow!”
He had reached over, rubbing the side of her mouth with the tomato sauce stain. “Heh, messy,” he said, pinching her cheek, unable to keep a fond smile off his face. She pouted. “Okay, fine, Dr. Benign. We'll be chill all day, then I'll start cooking around 6pm. We'll be fine.”
She grinned. “We’ll be fine.”
Bakugou was not actually a superstitious guy. He believed in logic, not luck, and he certainly didn’t believe his choice of dutymate, and her choice of meal would influence their workload. Not even if she ate spaghetti, the most “toxic” food known to any healthcare worker.
12 hours into the duty, he had reevaluated his stance.
It started with a ruptured appendix case at 11 am, when Uraraka was called in for OR assist. It continued with him scrubbing in an hour later for an incarcerated hernia, then a whole afternoon of drawing blood and dressing changes for the remaining ward patients. And then another appendicitis case. And just as he was scrubbing out of that one, the ER team called in with a gunshot incident involving multiple patients — and a lack of staff to help them manage at their level.
And then the residents had them running labs and x-rays, as quickly as they could, so they could get the victims into the OR stat.
The next he saw Uraraka since her appendicitis case was at 7 pm; and he was speed-walking to the laboratory, while she speed-walked in the opposite direction with a nurse and a gunshot patient on a stretcher.
As they passed each other in the hallway, he growled, “Gonna eat more spaghetti?!”
She laughed breathlessly. “I'm sorrrryyyyyy!!!”
He scrubbed into an OR with another gunshot victim after that interaction, hoping to get out with time to get started on his cooking. Uraraka was probably done with her assist and he would rather not starve her on Christmas of all days.
To his dismay, he arrived to an empty interns’ call room, with two hours to spare before the clock struck 12 midnight.
Uraraka was still stuck in the OR. If they were unlucky, they might even have a mortality. On freakin’ Christmas . He grimaced. “It had to happen now, huh?” he said to the empty room, ruffling his already unruly hair.
But there was no time to bemoan their stupidly toxic duty, or the spaghetti that may or may not have invited it. He had a Noche Buena to prepare. He just hoped his dutymate was in the right mindset to enjoy it.
“ Lagi mo maiisip na sila’y nandito sana, (You would always wish that they were here)
At sa Noche Buena ay magkakasama… (And on Christmas Eve be together…)”
Bakugou groaned as the Christmas pop song floated from the Nurse Station into the open door of the call room. He didn’t need reminding that he was waiting like an army wife by the door, hopeful that each footstep was Uraraka’s triumphant return from the OR.
He closed the door again for the nth time, anxiety thrumming in his thorax. This was the longest emergency OR anyone from their group had been involved in. And if an OR went long like this, it didn’t usually bode well. He could only wish that Uraraka at least had energy to eat when she came back.
Another 30 minutes passed as he busied himself with setting up their meal. He had kept it warm all this time by reheating over the pan, but any longer and he’d have to — ugh — use a microwave. Like a pleb.
A wave of increasingly loud voices came from the hallway, and Bakugou perked up. “Ten! Nine! Eight!” called the nurses and ward patients.
Fuck, it's midnight already? His heart sank when his phone confirmed that it was seven, six, five seconds till Christmas. Was he really doomed to spend Noche Buena alone? Was this attempt at courting her his last? Was he going to be alone his whole li—
“Three, two, one—”
“Merry Christmas, Katsuki!”
Uraraka burst in with a plate of reheated Chicken Joy, brown hair unruly, uniform skirt askew, lips dry — and looking absolutely heaven-sent.
“This is hot!” she warned, and he picked up his jaw from the floor so he could scoot over. She set down the plate beside the feast he was almost sure wouldn’t be eaten — a steak meal with potatoes lyonnaise and garlic mushroom sides. He had even brought his own silverware and plates. He could see her pause to take in the sight before her, and he swallowed nervously.
“Where's the rice?”
“Hey, Siopao—” he grumbled, crestfallen.
“It's a joke, a joke!!” She laughed as she grabbed his hands, and his cheeks flared up. “You're awesome! You're so awesome! You really managed it even if we were toxic!”
He felt the warmth of her words spread from his chest down to his toes. “Heh. Who do you think I am?” He pulled a plastic chair for her. “Merry Christmas, Chaks.”
She smiled softly, her nose wrinkled. “Merry Christmas, Kats.”
As they dug into their meal, Bakugou asked, “So where's the godforsaken spaghetti that made us toxic?”
“In the fridge,” Uraraka said through a mouthful of steak. “How 'bout, I never wanna be trapped in the OR like that again? Thank god the patient's alive, but please, I can't take any more toxicity.” She shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into her mouth, and then took a big gulp of water.
Bakugou snickered at her ravenous appetite but kept his comments to himself — this was lunch and dinner for her, after all. “Shame 'bout the spaghetti, though. Should we throw it out?”
“Excuse me, we don't waste food here, Rich Kid,” Uraraka said, pointing her steak knife at him threateningly. “We're having that for post-duty breakfast. But we're washing plates before that — you brought way too many.”
“I'll wash plates at my apartment. We don't have a kitchen sink here—”
“Then I guess... I'll come with you to the apartment,” she said, suddenly very interested in mincing her meat. Her brown eyes flickered up shyly. “That okay?”
Christmas Eve may have been hellish, but Christmas morning was looking to be bright, cheery, and with significantly less bloodshed. Bakugou could live with that.
“Hell yeah. As long as it's just us.”
“Hey, excuse me, lovebirds! Sun's high in the sky!”
Bakugou shot up, disoriented. “The fuck-”
“ Joyeux Noël, mes amis !” Yuuga Aoyama greeted him with a flourish and a knowing smile. He pretended to fan himself. “It's getting hot in the call room, shiiiiit.”
“Was your Christmas suuuper merry, Bakubro?” his dutymate, Denki Kaminari said, his eyes wiggling suggestively. “What did you gift to Chaks, your virginity—”
“Motherfuckin- ugh, shaddup!” Bakugou hissed, looking around wildly for Uraraka. Fortunately, she hadn’t heard anything, and was still curled up under flimsy hospital linen, muttering in her sleep. Less fortunately, they had fallen asleep next to each other, in a call room full of bunk beds, and stupid Kaminari and Aoyama just had to be the ones to relieve them.
“Let's just do endorsements already!” Bakugou grumbled, scrubbing his face in annoyance. He glared at Kaminari, who was still grinning. “You wanna say something? You wanna fuckin' go?”
“Chill, bro, it's Christmas and you're such a grump!”
He slipped off the bed, careful not to disturb Uraraka, and began a rundown of the events of their 24-hour shift. Just as he was discussing which patients Aoyama and Kaminari had to watch out for, Uraraka finally sat up, blinking slowly. Her sleepy eyes met Bakugou’s, and she smiled serenely.
“Hmmm. Mornin’, Kats.” She stretched her arms above her magnificent bed head and smoothed her scrub top. “We goin' home?”
How he wanted to knock the grins off Aoyama and Kaminari’s faces. But it was Christmas, after all — he might as well give them a gift in the form of his mercy.
“Mm. We're going home, Chaks. Get up.”
Especially since he got the best gift of all.
END.