Chapter Text
In L.A., James was used to being small. Not physically, certainly, since he grew much faster than his peers and for much longer, consistently shooting up an inch or so every year until halfway through med school when his hormones had finally had enough and situated him at a solid six-foot-two-inches. James was used to being small in that he was used to the way people looked around him, as if he were a fencepost obscuring their view of something much more interesting on the other side.
In L.A., James was a scrawny, stick-bug kid with a father who kept bent paperbacks in his back pockets and wore glasses that hung on a cord around his neck, and a mother who was a genius and addicted to opioids. James grew up in a neighborhood rife with kids from all the mixed-up places of the world who spent their afternoons riding bikes across each other’s yards and shooting hoops on the one basketball hoop on the street, which was in James’ driveway because he was tall and his uncle thought that was all there was to it when he gave him the hoop.
James wore his beat-up Jordans everyday and sat by the edge of the driveway, watching the kids play basketball, and played jacks by himself. He liked jacks because you had to practice to be really good at grabbing as many as you could, and you needed to practice focusing really hard, and James was good at practice so it was easy to make playing jacks effortless.
James learned that if you practice anything enough, it will look effortless, and that is impressive to other people. That is interesting.
“Can you move?”
Victoria Javadi has possibly the widest, brownest, shiniest eyes James has ever seen a person have, and they are trained on him with her usual exasperation. She has an ipad clutched to her chest, hair in two braids from the crown of her scalp to her shoulders, and a scowl that could wilt flowers currently making its home on her face.
“Sorry.” He says, and steps to the side as Victoria brushes past him. A rosy smell follows just behind her, and then she turns the corner sharply and is gone.
James is not interesting to Victoria, that she has made clear, but Victoria is very interesting to James.
_
James knows he can only talk over Joy because she lets him. He knows she’s smarter than him and better at this than him, but he also knows she doesn’t want this like he wants it. She does not want to go into emergency medicine, especially not after the code-black-waterslide-collapse-analog-hell episode from last week, but James does. He can feel it in his stick-bug bones that this is a place he belongs. That makes his only issue Victoria Javadi.
The park across from PTMC is quiet, this early. James sits on the bench where he and Dr. McKay treated Kiki, absently thumbing through a copy of Ishiguro’s Artist of the Floating World, his bag secured between his back and the bench. He has seventeen minutes before his shift officially starts, and he spends those minutes as he has every day since he started at PTMC last week, reading. His apartment is a one-room, shoebox closet situation with a single window above the kitchen sink, claustrophobic and too-hot since the rickety window unit is busted. The park is much preferred.
“Ogilvie?”
James looks up, and Victoria Javadi is standing in front of him. She has her purple jacket zipped up over her scrubs and a paper cup of coffee in one hand. Her hair is braided again, but this time in a circular crown around her head.
“Hello.” James says, closing his book and scooting to the end of the bench. Victoria does not sit down.
“Why are you here?” She asks, in her blunt, awkward way.
“To work?”
“In the park.”
“Oh.” James holds up his book, “I like to read before the shift starts. Why are you here?”
“I don’t have a car.” She says, blinks, and catches up with herself, “My Mom drives me, on days we work the same hours. She came in early.”
A reminder of her advantages against him. James smiles, “And you’d rather be out here than watching her work?”
Victoria makes a disgusted face. Her perfect teeth shine like pearls as she snaps, “Don’t say it like that. I didn’t even know you were out here.”
“I didn’t say anything like that.”
“You insinuated.”
“You say that like I’ve committed some grave crime.”
She rolls her eyes, but sits down on the opposite side of the bench. James’ is sitting cross-legged, a rather selfish move on his part, but there wasn’t anybody out and about before. Now, though, his rather aggressive height and poky angles means his knee is encroaching on her personal space, and Victoria gives the offending joint the usual exasperated expression she reserves for James’ face.
“Do you enjoy being difficult?” She says, balancing her coffee cup on her knee.
“Not really, but it’s a natural part of my disposition.” James sets his book down, uncurling a bit from his slouch. The bench is too small; he doesn’t fit, not really, never has.
Victoria sighs through her nose, and takes a sip of her coffee. Rose wafts its way to James. He checks his watch. Eight minutes before the shift starts.
“Can we make a deal?” He asks her, stuffing his book into his bag. She turns her bright, brown eyes on him, suspicion written over her expression plain as day.
“Why would we need to make a deal?”
“You’re a good student doctor. I’m a good student doctor. I think we can work well together, but we’re aiming for the same residency spot. Therefore, I propose we call a truce. We work together, we learn from each other, and we don’t compete. Whoever gets it, gets it, no bad blood.” James says, as if he hasn’t been thinking of this since last week. “Genius on genius.” He adds, then sticks his hand out. Victoria considers his fingers like they’ve personally offended her.
“You’re asking me to play nice with you?” She clarifies, brown eyes flicking up to scrutinize his face.
“Yes.” He says.
She looks back at his hand. There’s nothing particularly interesting about it, in James’ opinion, but she spends a long one minute and thirty-three seconds considering before eventually reaching across the space between them. Her fingers slide between his, hand soft but grip firm, and gives one decisive shake.
“Alright. Truce.”
James smiles. He can’t help it.
_
“So, birthday tomorrow?” James asks, while they’re waiting to cross the street (this time at the crosswalk, properly, because James does not want to become an organ donor after getting this far).
“Ugh.” Victoria grumbles, crunching her now-empty coffee cup in her fist, which is a very un-Victoria like thing to do, as far as James is concerned. He’s only known her for one and half weeks.
“Twenty-first.” James continues, pretending to be ignorant of her scowl. “Big deal.”
“Big deal, I’ve aged another year. I don’t know why it’s everyone’s business.” She says, tossing her coffee cup with surprising accuracy into a nearby trash can.
“They like you.”
“They like torturing me.”
The light changes, and James has to remember to shorten his steps so he doesn’t outpace her. Truces, and all.
The waiting room is already busy as they shoulder their way inside. Victoria has wisely kept her hoodie zipped, despite the rising heat, hiding her student doctor badge. James isn’t quite quick enough, and already he can feel people zeroing in on the badge swinging from his chest.
There is a very pale woman sitting in one of the chairs, holding a salad bowl in her lap. Never a good sign. Victoria has already diverted her path towards the triage doors to investigate, and James is about to be behind her to suggest a wheelchair when someone grabs his arm.
James does not like this, at all. He spins around to see a middle-aged man sitting in the chair behind him, grip locked on his forearm. The man is very sweaty.
“Are you a doctor? I’ve been waiting for hours, my head is killing me–”
“I’m a student doctor, sir, and please let go of me.” James says, aiming for diplomacy. In that instant, Victoria appears next to him, grabs the man’s wrist, and forcefully pushes him back, “Patients are seen based on severity of need,” she recites, “and assaulting hospital and healthcare workers is a felony. Please keep your hands to yourself.”
Her eyes are bright, angry sparks of light, and the smell of roses is overpowering. The man lets go with a mumbled apology, and Victoria turns on her heel and marches towards the triage doors, where Donnie is coming with a wheelchair. James follows her, a little numb. She’s younger than him by several years but so much more experienced in this place, that he feels like a child.
Donnie helps the sick woman into the wheelchair, and James loses sight of her as he follows Victoria into the ED. Already there are a few boarders along the walls, and one of the trauma rooms is occupied with someone who is very vocal about their pain. James ignores this as he goes to the lockers, where Victoria is stuffing her bag into a locker and unzipping her jacket.
James opens his own locker much more sedately as she shuts hers, then glances at him. He unpacks both his water bottle and his book, setting them on the bottom of the locker, before hanging his bag. After a week and a half, he’s used to the ED’s freezing and efficient air conditioner; the long-sleeve he has on under his scrub top was stifling outside, but now he can feel the sweat drying on the back of his neck and under his arms. It is very uncomfortable.
He fiddles with the sleeves, and realizes Victoria is still looking at him. When he looks up, she blinks, points at his wrist, says, “Nice watch,” and sweeps away into the bustle of the ED. The smell of roses follows.