Work Text:
When John calls for Ortho, he sees Whitaker visibly wince.
“What's with the face?” he asks, pulling up a stool to get eye level with what used to be a man's left hand.
“Just wondering who they'll send,” Whitaker mutters.
“Mm, I'd say there's only one man for this job,” John says, smiling to himself. “But I'm biased.”
When Brendon sweeps into the room, John gives him the rundown of the case and has the films pulled up and ready for him.
“Hm,” Brendon hums, frowning at the screen. “Could've been worse, I guess. They still haven't recovered any digits?”
“Nope, I think they got crushed, I wouldn't buy any ground beef for a while,” John says, and there's a twitch at the corner of Brendon's mouth. “Got you.”
“Shut up, Dr. Shen,” Brendon says, turning to the patient and looking to Whitaker, who's irrigating the man's hand already. “Good. We'll have him brought up in ten minutes.”
He walks out again, and John sits next to Whitaker and picks up another bottle of saline to help.
“That could've been worse, I guess,” Whitaker says, and Donnie lets out a quick laugh. “What?”
“That was Park being nice, I don't know how you put up with that, Shen,” Donnie says, scooping up the patient's clothes and dumping them in a bag.
“He's not like that all the time,” John says, smiling to himself. “Just don't tell him I said that. He's got an image.”
“He's like that every time I see him, when is he not like that?” Whitaker asks.
“When he's at home, apparently,” Donnie says. “I'll see if they got the wife on the phone yet.”
“Appreciate you!” John calls to his retreating back.
Whitaker is looking at him with the biggest, bluest eyes John's ever seen. “You're Park the Shark’s roommate?”
John snorts. “No.”
“Oh, I—”
“We live together,” he clarifies. “We started dating when I was finishing my R3.”
Whitaker squeezes the saline so hard he squirts it up the patient's arm.
—
John knows what kind of person Brendon is at work, because that's where they met. He'd been a cocky little R3, Brendon had been the experienced surgeon who ripped him a new one for fucking up bad enough that a kid could've lost the use of his entire right hand. He's a weird one who cares about the quality of life of his patients but never actually wants to speak with one.
Well, that's kind of most surgeons, in John's experience.
But Brendon had torn into him in an elevator, and John had immediately had his People Pleaser gene activated and did everything he could to make Brendon like him. He'd brought coffee and donuts to the break room on Brendon's floor only to find out that he wasn't eating refined sugar at that point, he'd made disgusting healthy protein bite things instead that Brendon couldn't eat because he'd just gotten over diverticulitis and couldn't have whole flaxseed or any other kind of small seeds. It was when John tried bringing in an extra protein smoothie that he'd strained through a fucking cheesecloth that Brendon had grabbed it and asked him if he wanted to get a drink after work.
It turns out that Brendon Park is a control freak with a drive to succeed that comes from having two parents who'd expected him to be an Olympian or a scientist. He also really likes stupid action movies and old horror movies and going hiking and seeing punk bands in tiny, shitty venues. He's got a top of the line espresso machine and one of those fancy burr grinders. When their schedules line up, John can get the most bitchingest lattes and cappuccinos made by a man who approaches every problem with surgical precision.
He also fucks like a machine, it's pretty crazy. He's considered disclosing that just so people will stop asking why he's with someone like Park the Shark. Except that's not the only reason they're together, it's just the only one Brendon wouldn't kill him for talking about. If anyone ever found out about how he looked in the shark onesie John got him for his birthday, the fact that he wears it when it's cold, and how he'll hum the Jaws theme before he wraps himself around John on the couch, then John would find himself single and/or the victim of a tragic accident.
Actually, he should probably find out how Brendon would kill him. It would be useful to know, and it's kind a litmus test for how creative your partner is, right?
“Can you get me a coffee?” John asks, tucking his phone against his ear.
“A question you should've asked before I left the house.”
John rolls his eyes and props his feet on the empty break room chair across from him. “No, like—”
“I know what you mean, and I'm offended by the premise,” Brendon says, sighing. “Caramel?”
“Please, also—”
“Jelly, yep. Really looking forward to helping you with your future insulin injections,” he mutters.
Dana walks in, looking wiped, but she smiles when she catches John's eyes right in the middle of another eye roll. She nudges his feet, and he moves them so she can sit.
“Thank you, love you, see you,” John says, and Brendon responds in kind before hanging up. “How was today?”
“Eh, better than some, worse than others,” she says, taking a long sip of coffee. “Don't ask about the smell in North, they said it'll take a couple days to clear.”
“Man, I love my glamorous doctor job,” John says, shoveling a bite of salad into his mouth. “I should've been an ortho specialist. Or cardio.”
“Mm, you think your man would appreciate you infringing on his territory?” she teases.
“No, see, that would've been the beauty of it: I refer them, he cuts them, we could've retired early and moved to the Poconos.” He pokes at the salad, which is good, because Brendon did the chicken marinade thing. “I'm just glad our schedules are kind of in line for a few weeks.”
“Good for you two,” she says, because Dana is one of the only ED folks who doesn't think John's out of his mind for being with Brendon. She's also (rightfully) noticed how nice Brendon's ass is. “Bad times before that?”
“Nah, just missed him,” John replies, shrugging. “You know how it is.”
“Boy, do I,” she sighs.
When Brendon walks into the ED fifteen minutes later, John sees the darting, alarmed glances as he makes his way to the break room. He's got his bag over his shoulder, he's wearing a hoodie over his undershirt, and he's carrying a gigantic iced coffee and a Dunkin bag. When he opens the door, he looks like he's being marched to his death.
“My hero,” John sighs, taking both as he stands. “I'll walk you upstairs.”
They get to the stairwell, which is empty, and John stands on his toes a little, hooking his pinky in the pocket of Brendon's hoodie.
“Thank you for braving a chain coffee location for me,” he says solemnly.
“Shut up,” Brendon says, smiling a little. “I was saving myself an entire shift of complaining—”
“Like I'd ever—”
“—and your caffeine withdrawal,” he finishes, bending his head a little to kiss John quickly. “Have a good shift.”
“You, too. Maybe I'll call you,” he says with a wink. “Y'know, if I get a patient that needs a surgical consult.”
“Just make sure you don't let the kids fuck up—”
“Stop being so mean to the children, they're our future. They're the ones who are gonna take over my job and let me retire one day so I can live out the rest of my days in PTSD-addled bliss in the Poconos,” he says, taking a long sip of coffee. “You like the mountains, right?”
Brendon's cheeks get pink, another thing that no one would ever believe. “Retirement?”
John shrugs and pulls the straw out of his mouth. “We've done two and a half years. Just gotta do that a bunch more times.”
When Brendon leans in for another kiss, it's longer but nothing crazy. They're still at work, and John still definitely spots a shocked Santos over Brendon's shoulder when he pulls back.
“Thanks for the breakfast,” he says, stepping back.
“Mhm,” Brendon hums, hiking his bag up his shoulder and heading up the stairs.
In the bag, there's a jelly donut and a sticky note with a grumpy little cartoon shark drawn on it. John tucks it in behind his badge and takes a bite of the donut.
“Really?” Santos says when he sits down at a computer. “He's so…”
John shrugs and sips his coffee. “He's not that bad.”
“I do not believe you,” she says, slinking away to jog toward Princess as she makes a break for the exit.
—
John is about to be off for a few days because he's been stabbed by a patient, but it's not that bad. He's getting his stuff together when the door slams open and Brendon grabs his shoulder, marching him toward South 18.
“Yeah?” John says mildly as they pass the wide-eyed duo of Javadi and Whitaker.
“Sit,” Brendon says tersely, snapping gloves on.
John sits, and Brendon peels the bandage off his arm.
“It's fine,” John says as Brendon presses carefully around the wound.
“They should've called me,” he says, still terse.
“For what? A surgical consult on what's basically a big cut?”
John watches Brendon deflate a little, and his boyfriend looks at him, his shoulders slumping a little and his eyes going tired.
“It's good suturing, too,” John adds, and Brendon sighs, sitting back on the stool. “Wanna bandage me back up?”
“Yeah,” he says, and John reaches for him, cupping his giant jaw. Brendon's such a big dude, it's funny how much he makes John feel almost dainty. “Garcia made a fucking joke about you bleeding out down here and I just—why couldn't you work in Pedes or something?”
“Because I'm an adrenaline junkie who needs the thrill of my life being in—okay, we're not at a joking place yet,” he concedes when Brendon's eyes harden. “Why aren't we both in Family Med where we could work normal hours and have weekends off?”
“Fair,” Brendon says, and John leans in and kisses him. Brendon rips his gloves off and grabs his cheeks, kissing him back. “Gonna wrap you in bubble wrap.”
“That's not stab proof,” John points out, and Brendon pulls back to glare at him. “I'm just saying.”
“You're not funny.”
“I'm the funniest person you know,” John corrects. “A thing that you said once.”
“When I was drunk and trying to get laid,” Brendon says, and John tries to look wounded but mostly can't stop smiling. “Let me get stuff for this.”
He's careful when he covers the sutures, and John makes jokes about him being decent with conscious patients. Brendon ignores him until he's got the tape secured.
“Go home,” he says, taking his gloves off again.
“You know, I was just about to do that when I got accosted by this massive guy,” John says, standing. He hugs Brendon and kisses him a few times until his face relaxes. “I love you.”
Brendon huffs out a breath and presses his forehead against John's. “I love you, too,” he says, almost under his breath.
“You know, you could relax down here when there's a curtain between us and everyone else,” John points out.
So of course a med student walks in.
“Well, I'll see you at home,” John says as Brendon steps back and locks back into being Park the Shark.
“Yep,” Brendon says. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do,” he says, saluting lazily.
The med student, McDowell, looks like he's just seen a ghost when Brendon is gone. “I, uh, sorry. I didn't—was that Dr. Park?”
“Yep,” John confirms, patting the kid on the shoulder as he passes. “He's a good surgeon, great guy, he likes to cuddle. And, hey, you tell anyone else that and they won't believe you. So that stays between us, right?”
McDowell nods slowly. “Y-yeah.”
“Have a good shift!” John calls over his shoulder as he leaves. As he does, he gets a text from Brendon.
There will be food on the doorstep when you get home, don't stop anywhere, don't try to cook.
He smiles and sends back a quick text before popping his phone in his pocket and walking outside.
—
—
—