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Amelia flutters open her eyes, careful of the urgent voice in her head telling her to take it fucking slow. She squints through her lashes, looking around enough just to make out that she’s in a hospital bed. The tell-tale, rhythmic beep of machines just confirming it.
She glances down and sees someone else’s hand cradling her own.
Mav.
Even though he’s not her biological dad and he’s not dating her mom - hasn’t been for years - he still comes when called.
She remembers he'd come to Pittsburgh from San Diego where he was teaching at Top Gun still to visit her for a week as she's studying history at Pitt University. She remembers telling him to go out for the evening and try some of the local food and bars while she finished writing her last paper then she'd be free for the rest of the week. Mav still hadn't been back when she'd finished; too wired to sleep but exhausted to the bone.
Amelia remembers, or thinks she remembers taking a xanax from one of her friends to try and sleep but after that—
Nothing.
The panicky feeling in her chest at not knowing what’s going on, combined with the throbbing ache of what seems to be a bruise or something similar over her sternum, settles somewhat knowing Mav is here and he’ll look after her.
Mav hasn’t noticed she’s woken up yet. Amelia takes the opportunity to glance through the open door at the hustle and bustle of the emergency room just outside. She bites back a laugh because everyone walking by seems to be peeking in, but not to see if she’s awake. No, they want a good chance to gawp at Mav who's sat there lost in thought, chewing on his lip, no doubt wanting her to wake up and be okay.
It’s nothing Amelia hasn’t seen before. Even in his early sixties, Mav still collects interested looks like bee hives collect bears. He doesn’t see what all the fuss is about, but then he doesn’t spend much time looking in mirrors.
Even though she only sees him as the only father figure she's ever had, even she can appreciate how attractive he is.
Amelia closes her eyes again, feeling tired. She knows she should tell Mav she's alright but she can’t deal with talking right now. And she's safe. He's here. No doubt he's already called her mom who was away in Fiji on holiday with her new bloke, David. She'll worry, but she'll worry less knowing Amelia isn't alone.
Mav and her mom might not have worked out romantically, but they were still friends and he promised he'll always be in Amelia's life for however long she wants him around.
So far, he's the only man who's ever kept his promises to her.
As she falls asleep, she has no doubt some of the doctors and nurses here will finds excuses just to talk to Mav.
A smile curves her lips as she drifts off. She can't for him to tell her all about it.
+
The pitt is a different kind of chaos to chairs, but Dr Cassie McKay is a fan of both. She likes finding the moments of quiet with people in amongst the whirlwind of blood, vomit and confusion that comes with emergency medicine. Providing empathy and a listening ear as much as actual medicine.
The quiet coming from room seven though, makes her pause.
Mainly because it's both peaceful but also tinged with worry.
"Hi," she says; knocking on the open door and pulling up the girl's chart on her tablet. Usually relatives of patients keep the door closed so that they can have privacy and quiet with the person in the bed, but it's almost like the man sitting in the chair next to the young woman in the bed doesn't want to be alone with the beeps of the machines when she's not there to make conversation to cover them. "Do you mind if I come in," she looks down at the woman - Amelia's - notes, and notes the name of the name of the person who brought her in, "Mr Mitchell?"
"Uh, no, I don’t mind. Please come in. And please call me, Maverick."
Cassie takes the name in her stride and steps fully into the room. "I'm Dr Cassie McKay, Maverick. How are you doing?"
Maverick shrugs and sighs. "I'd be better once Ames wakes up."
She reads the notes fully and bites back a wince. Amelia Benjamin, aged 20, college student. Brought in by Mr Pete Mitchell unconscious after taking a xanax to try and sleep, and when he was unable to wake her. Tox confirms that the xanax contained fentanyl, as so much of the shit being passed from hand to hand on the streets and on campuses does, and it had caused her heart to go tachycardic at one point resulting in Robby giving the order to shock her. Unfortunately, it's a situation that comes across their metaphorical (and sometimes if things go shit, their cold, metal) table, more than they'd like. Thankfully they'd gotten a stable heartbeat not long after, and now she's recovering. And recovery is exhausting.
For both the patient and those that have to watch them go through it, only able to do so much to help.
"It must have been scary finding your daughter like that."
"It was. One of the scariest things I've ever had to deal with and I've been a Naval fighter pilot for four decades." Maverick runs the hand not holding Amelia's through his grey-flecked dark hair and huffs out a soft laugh. "But she's not technically my daughter."
"Oh?" Cassie does her best to make her face as non-judgemental as possible.
"I dated her mom on and off for a while when Amelia was younger, but we didn't work out. But me and Ames always got on well, and I didn't want to be another man in her life who abandons her like her piece-of-shit dad did, so I promised her I'd stick around for however long she wants me to. Be a father figure to her if she wanted me to be.”
Cassie smiles softly. "And how long ago was that?"
"Coming up to seven years ago now." Maverick dips his head, blushing bashfully, and oh. Cassie's not really found any man attractive in a long, long time, much preferring the company of women now, because any woman with sense would be put off after having to deal with Chad, but she's always had a soft spot for men who take care of the women in their life. Even when he's hurting, Maverick sure is pretty.
"Seems like she likes having you around."
"She's a good kid." Maverick heaves out a sigh then, that sounds like it comes deep from his soul. Lets go of Amelia's hand to bury his face in both palms for a moment, a bark of anguish catching in his throat. He slumps back in the chair and sniffs. "Sorry. It's just...I never thought I'd have kids. With what I do for a living I didn't want to burden any children with the high possibility of having to deal with my death before they made it to adulthood. And yet, whoever's in charge up there must have a sense of humour because he not only gifted me with Ames, but I have Bradley too. He's like a son to me. I don't know what I've done to deserve either of them." Maverick blinks away tears and Cassie notices the flecks of yellow, blue and brown in his green eyes. "I'm thankful though. To have them in my life."
Cassie step closer; hugging the tablet to her chest to stop herself offering him a hug. He looks like he needs one, but that's not really the medicine they offer. Not unless the patients ask anyway. "I can tell they're both happy to have you in their life too, Maverick."
"How can you be so sure?" he whispers; voice raw with the sobs he refuses to let echo in his chest.
"Because Amelia has you as one of her emergency contacts despite you not being her biological father. And because she can rest here and wake when she's ready to, knowing without a doubt that you'll be here when she wakes up." Cassie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, thinking of her son, Harrison. "All kids want from the adults in their life, is for them to be there for them no matter what, and to show up when they call. And you've done that. I think you can stop worrying about being a crappy father figure, Maverick, because I've seen my share of them, and trust me, you're not one of them."
Maverick holds his hand out and Cassie slides her palm into his giving it a squeeze; never one to deny someone brave enough in their vulnerability to reach out to someone else for comfort. "Thank you, Dr McKay."
"Cassie, please."
"Cassie." Maverick nods in concession. "I'm not one for talking usually, but you're easy to talk to. So thank you for checking in. I can deal with the quietness of a cockpit, but the quietness of sitting here was getting a bit too much."
"It was my pleasure, Maverick." Cassie scrawls her number on a piece of paper from the notepad in her pocket. Dr Robby doesn't really encourage them to keep in contact with patients or families after they leave the pitt because otherwise they'd end up drowning in people who look at them with either painful amounts of gratitude in their eyes or the ghosts of people they lost at their hands. But this feels different. Cassie can just tell. "Here's my number if you ever want to talk - about being a parent or anything really, y'know?"
Maverick takes the piece of paper with smile and pockets it. "Thank you, Cassie. I appreciate that."
"Amelia is going to be fine, Maverick. And she has you to thank for that."
He exhales, something like relief tripping across his shoulders, and grabs Amelia's hand again. Cassie slips out the room quietly and checks the board for a new patient. The chaos quickly resumes; the brief respite from getting to speak to Maverick and look at his ridiculously attractive face refuelling her enough to deal with whatever comes next.
+
"What is everyone gawking at?" Dana Evans gives the nurses under her charge an imperious look; folding her arms over her chest. She knows how stressful and full-on this job could be, and so she allows a bit of play on shift, because everyone on her shift works even harder. Of course, if they wanna play, they need to be letting her in on the fun. "Hmm? Aren't there patients to organise and look after?"
"They'll be fine for a few minutes," Princess says; waving away Dana's concerns. "You need to see the hottie in room seven. Like full on wow-ie hottie."
"Oh?" She's intrigued. They get all sorts of people come in and out of the pitt every day. A lot of people of all shapes, sizes and looks. Most at a time in their life where looks aren't even in the top ten list of priorities, instead focusing on trying to stay alive or fix their pain. So, it doesn't take much to earn an interested glance from her nurses who like a bit of eye candy. But to get a full on gawking? The person must be special.
"He's like twice my age, but damn, that is one fine man," Donahue whistles in appreciation under his breath. "Like if he wants a younger boyfriend who will worship him from the ground up, I volunteer."
Mateo playfully shoves Donahue. "Nuh uh. Not if I get in their first. I want a hot dilf boyfriend. Anyway you’re married.”
”She’d understand.”
"He might not even like men," Dana drawls; amused by how one man seems to be riling her team up like blood in a school of piranha.
Mateo and Donahue look at each other, and then grin at her, shrugging mischeiviously in tandem. "We think we could change his mind."
Dana snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. "No comment from you, Perlah?"
"I've already had lunch, but looking at that man makes me feel hungry again,” Perlah says with the utmost sincerity.
"Alright then. Well, for the man's safety, you lot can stay here and I'll go speak to him." Dana quickly glances at the chart for the patient and guesses they're most likely referring to Mr Mitchell, the patient's emergency contact. “Bunch of wolves.”
The four of them groan in unison. "Not fair, Dana," Princess whines.
Dana winks at her. "Charge nurse privilege. I'll be sure to appreciate him up close for all of you." She walks to room seven then, and oh. Yeah. That is one attractive man. She's happily married, but that doesn't mean she can't look. Especially when they're so very pretty.
"Hi, I'm charge nurse Dana Evans, can I get you anything, Mr Mitchell?" Dana leans against the doorframe, offering him a smile.
He gives her one in return, and phew, she has no doubt that that smile has dropped its fair share of panties in its time. And possibly male-orientated underwear too. Jury's still out on that one.
"Maverick, please. And I'm okay."
"You sure? I've seen a lot of people in your position over my time, and you get so focused on waiting for them to wake up, you forget the simple things. Like going to bathroom or having something to eat. Something to drink."
Maverick flushes; a guilty twitch to his mouth. "Shit."
Dana huffs out a laugh. "There's a bathroom just out there, so why don't you take a minute, and I'll get you a sandwich and drink from the food cart? Any flavours you don't like?"
He shakes his head. "I'll eat anything. But you don't have to, I'm not a patient—"
"No, but Amelia isn't going to be happy if you've not looked after yourself while waiting for her to wake up, is she?"
Maverick offers her a lopsided grin. "I've been dressed down by a lot of people in my time, Dana, but none have done it as beautifully as you've just done."
She barks out a laugh; a pinkness heating her cheeks. She has no doubt he's broken a lot of hearts over the years, and she also has no doubt that probably all of them haven't minded the pain. Maverick seems like one of those guys that gives people a lot of happy memories. "Happy to be of assistance, Maverick. I'll go get you that sandwich. Go take a piss before that bladder of yours makes its displeasure known."
He throws her a sloppy salute and she catches him sneaking out of room seven to the accessible toilet as she heads to the food bin; a chorus of appreciative moans coming from the nurses station. Her team are not subtle. Dana grabs Maverick a chicken mayo sandwich and an apple juice, and a ham and cheese for Earl. No egg salad, of course. Chucks Earl's sandwich at Donahue. "Give that to Earl, will you? I've no doubt he's wanting another one."
"Only if you tell us if hottie is just as hot up close?"
“Didn’t you just see him go to the bathroom?”
”It’s not the same and you know it, Dana,” Mateo says.
Dana rolls her eyes. Says nothing just to watch them give her the best begging eyes that would look at home on a group of puppies. “Okay, fine.” Then offers with a smirk, "he's even hotter."
Mateo whoops in appreciation, clapping Donahue on the back. Princess and Perlah high five. She works with a bunch of horny idiots. But god, does she adore them. Dana heads back to room seven. Maverick's finally shed his bomber jacket which he's no doubt had on since he arrived hours ago, and so he's just in a tight-fitting white t-shirt and jeans. And he looks good wearing it. Nearly every shift in the pitt takes its toll, so Dana very much enjoys the sight before her.
So much prettier than a used bed pan that's for sure.
"How you doing? Better now?"
"I don't know how you know I needed to piss more than I did, but thank you."
She waves him off. "Let's just say I know the signs. Here." She hands him the sandwich and drink. "This should help too."
"You are an angel, Charge Nurse Dana."
"And don't you forget it." Dana watches as Maverick unwraps the sandwich and takes a big bite; his focus on Amelia who's still unconscious on the bed. "You holding up okay - mentally I mean?"
Maverick jolts at the question and see-saws his head from side to side. "I'm hanging on in there. I've lost a lot of people in my life, I just don't want to lose another one."
"She's getting the best possible care. And she's tough. She'll pull through."
"Yeah. I know. I just want her to wake up and say something sarcastic at me, y'know?"
"She will." Dana rummages in her pocket for a piece of paper and writes her number on it with a pen from her scrub top. "Here. Take my number. My husband says I'm a great listener and I make a mean lamb shank. Only one of those bits of information is relevant here though."
"Is it the lamb shank? Because that sounds really fucking good."
Dana laughs. "Sorry, chicken mayo sandwich was the best I could do."
"I appreciate it. Truly."
She hands him the piece of paper and he takes it between his index and third finger with a grateful smile. "Call me if you ever want to talk. About anything. Sometimes it helps talking to people you don't know about things that feel like they're dragging you down, because you don't want to drag the people close to you down with you."
"I will. Thank you, Dana."
"Don't mention it." She wanders to the doorway and turns back to look at him. "You have all my nurses in a tizzy by the way. They're calling you the hottie in room seven."
Maverick laughs, and it makes the lines fanning from his eyes bunch together, his definitely-busted-at-some-point nose crinkle like a rabbit's, and his pearly white teeth stick out where he can't contain his joy. "Ames is gonna love that when I tell her. Tell 'em I'm flattered. Nice to know an old man like me can still turn a few heads."
"I'll let you in on a secret, Maverick. I'm pretty sure you being an old man is part of the attraction."
”What about you? Do you think I’m a hottie?” His green eyes sparkle with amusement, and yep, he’s the best kind of trouble wrapped up in a nice looking package. But still—
“I think your good heart and the way you look after Amelia is what makes you attractive.” She pauses and smirks at him. “And you might possibly have an alright looking face too.”
"I like you, Charge Nurse Dana,” Maverick chuckles.
"Likewise, Maverick."
She leaves him to sit with Amelia then and makes her way back to the nurses station; eyes already scanning the board to see what they're dealing with. "He says he's flattered by the way. That you all think he's so hot."
"You fucking told him?!" Perlah exclaims; whacking Dana on the arm in disbelief. "You bitch." The rest of them look as equally betrayed. Dana grins sharp as a knife.
"I have to amuse myself somehow. Now let's all get back to work, hmm?"
They grumble in assent, and the mechanical clock of the emergency room, keeps on ticking.
+
"How's everyone doing in here?" Dr Michael Robinavitch raps his knuckles on the open door to room seven. "Ah, Amelia, you're awake."
No wonder Mr Mitchell looks happier.
"Hey, doc," she croaks. Robby clocks the half-drunk cup of water on the table next to the bed. It had been a high chance that she would wake up after everything that had happened, but Robby can't help the sigh of relief at seeing the young woman's eyes open and a small smile on her face. "Thanks for saving my life."
"Oh, I was just doing my job. Mr Mitchell saved your life by bringing you to us."
"Yeah, I already thanked him about five times, but he's being his usual 'can't accept a compliment' self, and I see you're exactly the same."
Robby huffs out a laugh. "You're a feisty one. I like her, Mr Mitchell."
The other man rolls eyes his eyes, but he can't keep the proud smile off his face. Robby would be concerned if he could. "Pretty sure I told you to call me, Maverick. Or Mav."
Robby holds up his hands in supplication. "Okay, okay. Maverick."
"But yeah, Amelia is just like her mom, and so I had no hope of not adoring her. Even if me and her mom didn't work out, I have no regrets. We're not blood, but she's my daughter in every way that matters and I'm eternally grateful to you Dr Robby, and the rest of your team for making it so I don't have to say another goodbye today."
Robby feels his heart clench; the look of survivor's guilt swirling in Maverick's green eyes, one Robby's seen often enough in the mirror. Doesn't matter how they leave you, there's always a part of you that feels haunted about why they were the one that left and you're the one who gets to stay. He exhales deeply and says sincerely, "I'm extremely glad I could help. These moments - the bits where everything's worked out okay? Those help balance out the really fucking rough moments. So, yeah. I'm happy I could help."
The room is silent in the wake of his shuddered out confession, and Robby feels the itch to dart out the room and run, but he stays because leaving would be an asshole move. And he’s trying to not be so much of an asshole. Amelia's eyes flutter shut again and Maverick glances at him in question.
"It's okay. Her stats are good. But her body has been through a lot, so she's going to be tired. It's to be expected that when she wakes up, she'll fall asleep pretty soon after. At least for the first 12 to 24 hours anyway. We'll keep her here for a few more hours just to be on the safe side and then you'll be able to take her home."
Maverick hums; leaning forward on his chair and resting his elbows on his knees. "You doing okay, Dr Robby?"
Robby blinks at the question. "Y-Yeah. Of course. I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" He folds his arms over his chest; curling in on himself, bristling like a hedgehog. Usually he can brush questions about how he is off from anyone except from Abbott or Dana, but for some reason, Maverick's softly asked question disarms him more than he expected.
"I dunno. You tell me?" Maverick shrugs; Robby absently notices the way his t-shirt clings to the muscles of his shoulders and his biceps. "I've been sitting in this chair for hours, watching people come and go, and seeing as you're in charge of this organised chaos, I'd just thought I'd ask if you're doing okay, because I know how heavy it can get having the responsibility for so many people sitting on your shoulders."
Robby heaves out a sigh and scrubs a hand over his face; the bristles of his beard rasping against his palm. "I'm....It's not the worst shift I've ever had, but no shift in here is ever easy, y'now?"
"I've had missions like that, where it feels like you're up against everything. You're doing a great job though."
His cheeks heat, and he clears his throat. "Missions? You military?"
"Naval pilot. The best there is," Maverick winks, and Robby feels heat swirl in his gut. It's been a while since he's been interested in someone of the same sex, he'd forgotten what that feeling was like.
"You should - uh - speak to Dr Abbot when he arrives for the night shift. You could trade war stories."
"You got none we could trade, Dr Robby?" There's that smile again. The one that he's heard the nurses twittering about like excited birds.
"Ahem. Not anything as exciting, I'm sure."
Maverick hums, like he doesn't believe him. Robby glances out into the pitt and yeah he should probably get back out there. The chaos ain't gonna stop just because he's not there. Despite how Maverick seems to see through him like glass, Robby finds himself reluctant to end the conversation. Cursing his own weakness, because usually he likes to keep his relationship with his patients and their families to the walls of this hospital, Robby scrawls his number on a bit of paper and shoves it in Maverick's direction. The other man takes it with an amused grin.
"What's this?" Maverick asks, even though he obviously knows. He's a little shit under that pretty face and kind heart, and Abbott would be the first to call Robby out on how that's exactly his type.
"My number. In case..." Robby waves his hand, making an indecipherable noises in his throat. "Just in case. You know, if you want to talk or—"
"Or trade personal war stories?"
He huffs out a breath and nods. "Yeah. Something like that. I gotta get back—"
"Go. We're good here. Appreciate you checking in. And thank you for the number." Robby nods again and leaves. Maverick's voice trails after him. "Hope you meant that offer, Dr Robby, as I'll be sure to call!"
He grins to himself as he checks the patient board, and even with the snark, he can't regret giving Maverick his number.
He also can't wait to hear what Abbot thinks about him.
+
It's been a busy shift.
Hell, all shifts are always busy in this place, but it's the usual kind of busy, not like Pitt Fest. But, man she sure is fucking starving. Dr Trinity Santos practically dives for the food bin and grabs a chicken mayo sandwich; darting into the staff room to shove it down within a couple of minutes. Brushing the crumbs from her scrubs; Trinity washes her hands and heads back out. No time to truly stop in this place.
Except—
Walking past room seven she glances inside and stops dead.
Woah, hot old man alert, she thinks.
The hot old man in question barks out a laugh, and shit, Trinity winces, realises she must have said that out loud. Normally she has more control over her mouth, even if it gets her in to trouble. "Fuck sorry."
He waves her off as she slinks into the room with the metaphorical tail between her legs. "Don't apologise. It's been a long day, and I don't mind the compliment from a kick-ass, beautiful doctor such as yourself."
She likes the fact that he said kick-ass first, even if, "Uh, thanks. But you're not my type. I, uh, prefer women?" Her voice goes high at the end, and she clears her throat; wrestling her control back in her grip. "Sorry, I mean. The hot old man comment was because, you're exactly my flatmate's type. Not that you're not hot, but you, yknow?" She knows she's grasping at straws, but sometimes, words fail her when she needs them.
He chuckles with a gentle nod "I get it. I still appreciate the compliment though. I'll take what I can get at my age. And," he glances at her name badge, "Dr Santos, I know you probably didn't mean to tell me that about yourself just now, so know I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me. But just know, you're going to make some woman very happy someday."
Trinity blinks at him in surprise. Normally people aren't so nice to her from the off; the amount of people she's rubbed the wrong way inadvertently or not is probably in triple figures now. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've known a lot of women like you - strong, determined to make a difference, and just determined in general. A lot of people aren't able to deal with that, but those that can? Yeah, you'll make 'em really happy."
"Oh." Trinity rubs the back of her neck; fully aware that her usually pale cheeks are blotchy pink right now. "Thanks...You can call me Trinity if you want seeing as it's my name..." She laughs awkwardly. "What's your name, by the way? I can't keep calling you hot old man in my head."
"Heh. It's Maverick. And you're welcome." He cards his hand though his hair; glancing at the young woman who was sleeping peacefully before looking back at Trinity. "So, this flatmate of yours, are they here?"
"Huckleberry?" Trinity shakes her head. "I mean. Dr Whittaker. And yeah. Dennis is around here somewhere. Why?" She leans towards him and cups her hand around her mouth; whispers conspiratorially. "Are you into younger men, Maverick?"
He barks out a laugh. "Everyone is pretty much younger than me nowadays, so I'm not sure I can properly answer that, because there's younger than me, but there's also young. Him being a man isn't an issue though if that's what you're trying to find out." No wonder he was so accepting of her being queer. Like recognises like after all. She offers him a soft smile at him trusting her with that knowledge in return.
"You can't be that old though, right?"
"I'm sixty-one, Trinity."
"Fuck." She wheezes out a laugh of disbelief. "Seriously? Yeah, you're definitely Huckleberry's type. He loves men that are over twice his age."
Maverick's brows raise to his hairline. "I'll bear that in mind. I think me and Ames are getting out of here in a few hours, and I don’t want to keep you, but it's been good chatting to you, Trinity. Keep doing what you're doing, yeah?"
"What putting my foot in it and being an ornery bitch?"
"I don't think you've done or are either of those things. At least not with me.” Fuck. His painful sincerity cuts her to the bone. There's a gentleness to him that's only found in those that have gone through the worst life can offer and still choose to be kind. "I meant just keep being you."
"You are not like the majority of men I've known."
He shrugs and smiles at her boyishly. If she was into dudes, she’s no doubt it would make her wet between the legs. "I've been classed as a pain in the ass by so many people in my life, but the people who have stuck by me throughout it all, through thick and thin, love me because of that, not in spite of it. You deserve to have those sort of people in your life too, Trinity."
Trinity tips her head back, rapidly blinking away the urge to cry. "Can - Can I give you my number? Not for a booty call or anything. Just...No, it's silly. Sorry. I thought maybe you might want to be one of those people, but of course you don't, you've just met me, why would you? Forget I said—"
"Trinity." She snaps her mouth shut. "Hand over your number. I'd be honoured to be one of those people for you."
"Really?" Maverick wiggles his fingers at her in a gimme gesture and she quickly scribbles her digits on a bit of scrap paper from her pocket. Pauses and writes another number on there too. Hands it to him. He quirks an eyebrow at her. "It's Whittaker's number. You don't need to do anything with it, but if you could maybe tease him about having it when he stops by, that would be really funny, because he blushes like right down to his toes."
"When he stops by? Not if?"
Trinity scoffs. "Oh he will definitely be stopping by."
"Okay, sure. I can tease him a little. Help pass the time until Ames is good to go."
"Awesome. You rock, Mav. Can I call you that?"
"Sure."
She clicks her fingers giving him the finger guns, trying not to cringe at herself as she does and spins on her heels to leave. Spotting Whittaker she grins wickedly, already planning on how to get the Nebraska farm boy to giggle and blush like a teenager with a crush.
+
"—What? Santos - what are you doing?" Dennis stumbles as Santos shoves him into a room, and turning, he stares with wide eyes at the young woman awake in the bed, and the man sat on the chair next to her. The very, very attractive older man sat in the chair. Looking at Dennis. And smiling at Dennis. "Eek!" he meeps; clutching at his scrubs, no fucking idea why he’s done that.
"You must be Dennis," the man smirks.
"You know my name?" Dennis squeaks.
"Mmhmm.”
"That really is a blush," the patient drawls, and the man grins. Dennis feels himself flushing hotter. He desperately wishes he had a tablet in his hands, at least that way he could at know their names.
"Yeah, Trinity was right. You sure do blush pretty, Dennis."
"W-Who are you, again?."
"Amelia," the young woman says. "And this is Maverick. Not my biological dad, but also pretty much my dad. I took a pill that I thought was xanax, but apparently it was more fentanyl than helpful, get it? No? Too soon? Anyway, Mav brought me in. Saved my life. So yeah. That's us. And you're Dennis."
He coughs to clear his throat and scrubs a hand over his jaw. "Yeah. That's me. Santos mentioned me?"
"Apparently I'm your type." If Maverick's grin could get any sharper, he'd cut someone.
"Oh my god." Dennis whips around to try and spot Santos out in the pitt so he can glare at her, but she's scurried off like the rats they finally got rid of about a month ago. "I can't believe she told you that! I am so sorry about that - about her. She shouldn't have—"
"Is it true?" Amelia asks. "Is my dad your type?"
"I - I - I don't know? Yes. No. Maybe?" Dennis buries his face in his hands and squawks out a whining laugh. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. Like, you're obviously hotter than the sun, but like, I don't think you need me to tell you that, sir. Uh, Maverick."
"I'm teasing you, kid. Trinity said you'd blush, and I was curious as to how red you'd get. Sorry. It was a little mean of me."
Dennis finds himself unable to be mad. Especially with Maverick giving him that aw shucks look. "It's fine. And it is a little funny. And I'm used to Santos so I'm not really surprised by this, so don’t sweat it."
"Is he your type though?"
"Ames," Maverick chides fondly. "We should leave him be. He's got patients to get back to."
"Sorry, Mav."
Dennis waves them off. "It's okay. But yeah, I should get back. Though yeah, if you really want to know, you are my type. I have a thing for hot older men, and well..."
Maverick beams at him. "Flattered, kid." He holds up a bit of paper with some numbers written on it. "I'm not really looking for anything right now, but is it okay if I have your number? Could make a group chat with Trinity. Be good to keep in touch."
He stutters out a nod as he edges towards the door, fearing he might pop a boner or something if he spends anymore time around Maverick. "Uh sure. I'd like that. Good - Good talking with you. Glad you're feeling better, Amelia."
"Bye Dennis."
He leaves the room, and finds Santos cackling at him, Dennis punches her on the arm playfully.
"Ow, what gives, Huckleberry?!"
"Don't act like you don't know. You know exactly what you fucking did!"
"He's hot though right?!"
Dennis sighs. "So fucking hot."
"And he has your number." She sing-songs, bumping shoulders with him, and Dennis grins reluctantly.
"Yeah he does."
"You never know, he might be the type to send nudes when he's drunk." Santos starts cackling again.
"Oh fuck off."
+
Dr Jack Abbot loves it when he can send his patients home, in anything other than a body bag. Every one they lose is like a kick to the nuts, and it fucking hurts.
So the ones he gets to discharge, all happy and new? Those are the best ones.
He knocks on room seven. One of Robby's patients that his asshole best friend probably could've discharged an hour ago, but had said with a smirk on his face during handover, that Jack should do the honours. And so here he is.
"Hey, I'm Dr Jack Abbot, the night shift attending. Taken over Dr Robby for the night. And here to set you free, Amelia."
The twenty year old smiles at him in relief, and yeah, he can bet she's pretty shaken about what happened. She's lucky her dad brought her in, in time. And speaking of her dad. Hello. Okay, maybe Robby wasn't completely an asshole, because yeah. Talk about pretty. This guy's gonna keep Jack going for the rest of the shift. Jack spots the badges on his bomber jacket, and bites back a grin as he recognises a good number of them from some of his buddies.
"Just have a few discharge papers you need to sign, if that's alright?"
"Sure. Thanks Dr Abbot."
"Jack, or Abbot is fine." He hands them to Amelia along with a pen. Shoves his hands in his scrubs pockets and looks at who can only be Mr Mitchell. "You Navy?"
"Fighter pilot. Let me guess. Ex-Army?"
Jack huffs out a laugh. "I'm impressed."
Mr Mitchell shrugs one shoulder. "Dr Robby did say we'd be able to trade war stories. So it was a guess as to which one you might be.”
"Oh I bet he did." Jack sucks on his teeth and mutters under his breath. "Asshole."
"You saying he's wrong?"
Jack sighs. "No. But it's always annoying when he's right, y'know?"
The other man nods; a smile curving his distracting mouth. "I know people like that. Gotta love 'em though." Jack hums in agreement. "I'm Maverick, by the way. In case you were thinking of referring me to Mr Mitchell."
"Yeah, I can see how you got a call sign like that."
"I've signed the paperwork if you want to stop flirting," Amelia drawls. "Maybe you should just give my dad your number, Abbot. Can flirt with him whenever you want then."
"Sorry about her," Maverick blushes; rubbing the back of his neck. He doesn't deny the accusation though. "But you can do. If you want to. Give me your number, I mean."
Jack stares at him for a moment, and thinks, fuck it. He's taken worse risks. At least this shouldn't set him back half a limb anyway. He takes the pen and completed paperwork from Amelia, and writes down his number on a bit of paper. Hands it to the pretty pilot. "I work a lot of night shifts, so if you message me during the day, chances are I'm asleep. Or not. Who knows? Who needs sleep right?"
Maverick takes it with a grin and slips it into his pocket. "I'll be sure to remember that, Jack. Thank you - all of you, for taking care of Amelia. I...yeah, just thank you."
"S'what we're here for. And we're glad it had a happy ending."
"Might have an even happier one if Mav texts you. What?" Amelia smirks at the flat look her dad gives her. "Just trying to help, Dad."
"I don't need help getting laid, Ames."
"I know, Mr 'got six doctors numbers just from sitting at my bedside'."
"Sounds like a bit of a mouthful to be honest."
"Six?" Jack grins in amusement. "Please tell me one was Robby."
"It was!"
"Ames."
Jack cackles. "Oh he is not living this down. Good work though. On your part, Maverick, I mean. Six numbers is impressive.”
"I didn't do anything." Even Amelia hums in disbelief. "Alright. We're going. Before you both gang up on me."
”Been fun flirting with you, Maverick. Maybe we could do it again sometime.” Jack gives him a lazy salute, and a wink, and with one last look at the man, he turns and heads into the beating heart of the lions den, making a mental note to text Robby when he has a second, because he just knows Maverick was just his type.
+
Pete “Maverick” Mitchell has had some long days in his life. Today was one of the longest.
He prefers to do rather than think, and so sitting by Amelia’s bedside waiting for her to wake up with nothing but time to think on his hands? Yeah, it has been torture. Especially because he couldn’t do anything to help her other than what he’d already done.
But thankfully, the whole team of doctors and nurses here had made it so that he’s walking out of the emergency room with her by his side, and he’s not having to make an identification or call Penny to tell her, she’ll never see her daughter again.
Mav had kept her updated with messages while he waited, and they’d video called as soon as Amelia was awake properly. Still. Mav feels like he can’t quite catch his breath.
He tucks his hand in his pocket and his fingers brush against crinkled bits of paper. All six numbers now siting in his phone.
”I’m glad you’re okay, Ames,” he says; wrapping his arm around her shoulder and tucking her in close as they walk down the street. “Nearly gave me a heart attack seeing you so still.”
”I’m sorry, Mav. For scaring you. And mom. I genuinely just thought it was a Xanax.”
”I know, sweetheart. No more pills from people on campus though, okay?”
”No, for sure. I swear.”
He sighs in relief. “You want pizza? I’m fucking starving.”
Amelia groans. “Oh fuck yes. Please. I’m so hungry.”
”Pizza it is.” They walk in the direction of a pizza place Mav had found last night; the stars glittering in the night sky.
”You gonna keep in contact with everyone who gave you their number?”
”Sure. It was nice of them to offer, and they seem like good people.”
”Are you gonna ask anyone on a date?” she wheedles. Mav rolls his eyes fondly, though the thought of getting to see what either Dr Robby or Dr Abbot look like out of their scrubs was tempting. Dennis was cute, but Mav’s not sure how he feels about dating someone so close to Amelia’s age. Bradley would definitely rag on him about it. Little shit.
”I dunno. Guess we’ll see what happens.”
”I think it would be cool if you did. You could be their hot, older, stay at home boyfriend when you retire next year.”
”Okay. Let’s see about putting some pizza in that clever mouth of yours, hmm?”
”Love you, Mav.”
He gives her a squeeze and busses a kiss to her temple; happy for her to needle him over the alternative of her not being here at all. “Love you too, kiddo. Now, you wanting pineapple or no?”
At her squawk of outrage, because she hates pineapple on pizza and Mav knows that; Mav grins to himself, and even though it’s not San Diego, and despite all that’s happened today, he doesn’t mind Pittsburgh at all.