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Brendon’s therapist told him to get a roommate.
He’s an orthopaedic surgeon on a six figure salary so it’s not like he needs the money. But his therapist says he’s lonely and that he shies away from emotional intimacy and meaningful connections.
Brendon thinks it’s bullshit, but he doesn’t pay the woman for nothing. Besides, the other option presented to him had been dating, which was never happening in a million years.
In comparison, the whole roommate schtick seemed to be the most low-effort, low-commitment of them all.
He works an easy 60 hours a week. He’s only ever really home to eat or sleep, and if he really hates the idea of having a roommate, he can just ask them to leave and return any unused rent back to the tenant.
So, he puts out an ad online for a roommate. He lives close to the hospital — Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre, or PTMC for short. He doesn’t really need the rent, so he advertises for well below market rate, and he specifies that he’ll only accept fellow a medical professional as a roommate. Ideally, they’ll also work at PTMC given he’s only a ten minute drive from the hospital, but he’s happy to take someone that works at UPMC Mercy or Presbyterian seeing as he lives relatively close to all three.
The important thing for Brendon is that they work as much as he does and that they appreciate the need for a quiet, calm home after the chaos of a 12 to 24 hour shift.
This is how he meets one Emma Nolan, a newly registered nurse set to start at PTMC in a few weeks.
She’s bright eyed, sweet, and bubbly. She tours the apartment with a keen eye that tells Brendon she’s lived in a shit hole or two whilst at college. She checks that his dryer works, which he tries not to be offended by, and she turns on all the lights and runs the water in the en-suite bathroom attached to what would become her bedroom.
She puts it all back meticulously, and Brendon makes a mental note to try and snag her for the surgical nursing team on his floor at the first chance he gets.
PTMC had decided long ago that newly registered nurses needed experience elsewhere in the hospital before being put in the pressure cooker of the operating room, where the stakes were higher and the doctors were less forgiving.
Brendon didn’t necessarily disagree with the policy, but now he’s starting to wish for a loop hole he can abuse to poach her early.
The only downside of her entire package appears to be her mother — a short, chatty woman named Yvonne that Brendon learns moved to Sault Ste. Marie from Detroit shortly before having Emma. She has a sharp tongue and a disarming smile to match. She drills Brendon on the specifics of the roommate arrangement. Where does he work? What does he do at the hospital? Why is he looking for a roommate? Is he a gambler? Drinker? Does any drugs?
He answers each one in turn, treating it like the interrogation it clearly is.
Meanwhile, Emma potters around the apartment curiously, piping up every now and then to ask questions of her own. Is there a lock on the bedroom door? Does the rent include all bills, or only some? Is he asking for first, last and security deposit?
They speak to each other in what Brendon can only guess is French.
He doesn't speak a lick of it, but he thinks Yvonne's speaking something akin to Québécois. Emma's French sounds elongated in comparison, like she's dragging out each vowel lazily. Brendon doesn't realise he's staring into the middle space between them until he blinks back into the present with an imperceptible jerk of his head.
"Thank you for showing us around Dr Park." Emma says with an easy smile on her face. "We have a few other listings to see today, but I'll let you know my decision by the end of the day."
He nods seriously. "Of course. Let me know if you have any other questions."
He shows them out and tries not to think too much about how much he wants her for a roommate. He's got someone else coming in an hour – a guy named Chase that Brendon googled immediately upon receiving his application. He's a surgical intern at Presby and Brendon is dreading meeting him already. He can picture his wide eyes and incessant questions about surgical techniques already.
At least with Emma he wouldn't have to talk about work after work.
He knows he'll get an earful from his therapist about it later, but he texts Chase anyway. He doesn't deliberate on the wording.
Thank you for your interest in the property, but it has now been reserved. I have cancelled your viewing.
The chat immediately shows three dots – a sign the poor intern was typing frantically to him – no doubt about to offer to pay up front right now.
Brendon blocks his number.
Taking down the ad feels like defeat. He's sure his therapist has an alert on it and she'll be on his ass about it at their next session if he doesn't have a signed lease agreement in hand.
So he suffers through it being up for another five hours. Five agonising hours of jumping at every ring and buzz of his phone, until he finally gets the text he's been waiting for.
Hi Dr Park, thank you for showing me around the apartment earlier. I'd like to take the spare bedroom, if it's still available? Emma
The lease is signed that night.
Luckily, once Emma moves in, Mrs Nolan — Brendon is terrified to refer to her by her first name even in his head — will be flying back to Michigan and he won’t have to deal with her pestering any longer.
Unfortunately for him, that meant enduring the awful conversation they had on move in day. They’d arrived with baked goods before roping him into hauling Emma’s suitcases and boxes into her new room. He had been about to offer to help anyway, but he can’t even get a word in edgewise before a box is being placed in his arms and he’s being directed to lead the way to the apartment.
He’s put to work for a solid hour before they take a break to eat the raisin and oatmeal cookies bequeathed by Mrs Nolan.
He thinks, with his mouth full and his guard down, that Mrs Nolan should be nicknamed shark instead of him.
“Dr Park, would you be willing to be Emma’s emergency contact whilst she settles into the city? I expect It’ll only be for the first few months until she can make some friends—“
“Mom!” Emma is, understandably, mortified.
“Honey, your father and I will be at least five hours away in Michigan. If anything happens to you, wouldn’t you want someone a little closer if you need help?” She says it so sweetly, Brendon can see exactly where Emma gets her default disposition from.
“Still, you can’t just ask him to—“
“Dr Park is a surgeon. I’m sure he understands the practicalities of having an emergency contact that lives in the same city as you.” The woman says pointedly.
And as much as he loathes the idea, as a medical professional he has to agree with her. Having an emergency contact in a different state can be distressing when you’re in a crisis.
He regards Mrs Nolan critically and wonders whether she’s in the medical field in some way.
“The ink hasn’t even dried on the lease yet, you can’t just spring it on him like some kind of shark.“ Emma argues hotly.
Brendon blinks back into the conversation, lips flattening out.
“It’s fine. I’ll do it.” He agrees with a sigh.
“Please, you don’t have to. I’m so sorry about this—“
“I said it’s fine.” He cuts her off, not sharply, but with a finality that she can’t muster the energy to argue against.
“Thank you, Dr Park.” Mrs Nolan says, returning back to that sugar-sweet tone once more.
Emma spends the next half-hour ushering her mother out of his their apartment. Once the woman’s finally gone she tries once again to apologise for her rudeness, but he notes that she doesn’t try and talk him out of being her emergency contact.
Maybe she’s more pragmatic than he’d originally given her credit for.
Emma is easy to live with.
She’s clean and quiet and she stays out of his way when he’s coming to and from the apartment between shifts.
She’s due to start her first day at PTMC on June 1st, having miraculously avoided any and all public holidays despite the Pitt's notoriety for throwing their staff in at the deep-end and waiting gleefully to see if they'll sink or swim under the pressure.
He's still getting used to having a roommate. He had one way back when he was a medical student at Berkeley so it's not like the concept is entirely foreign to him. And maybe it's just been a long time since he's lived with another human, but he's not sure anyone could be as quiet as Emma is.
She's not making an effort to avoid him – he doesn't think anyway. He sees her around mealtimes. They don't tend to cook at exactly the same time, but they often have some crossover in the kitchen and at the dining room table on a day-to-day basis.
Brendon doesn't like small talk. He never has. So he makes no attempt to exchange it with her when they coincide at the table. Something about conversation with Emma is easy though. Nothing about their talks feel inconsequential. Every tidbit that passes her lips is like a window into a different world – one where oranges and pinks and reds coexist in a sea of blue, where the sky touches the earth, and where you look upon the stars and think, wow.
But when she's not talking, it's like she's not there at all. Some kind of phantom of his consciousness just in his apartment to haunt him.
He considers putting a bell on her. He still hasn't convinced himself it's a bad idea yet.
She appears next to him one night a few days before she's due to start her first shift, plate and utensils in hand for entry to the dishwasher. He doesn't see her until he's turning from the sink, pot in hand to add to the machine himself.
He startles slightly, swearing under his breath, “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He grumbles.
“I didn’t sneak.” She chitters disapprovingly.
“Yes, you did. You’re quiet, like a mouse, or a deer.” He adds, closing the dishwasher and clicking a few buttons until it chirps into motion.
She hands him an empty glass sweetly, landing it in his open palm with a smile, and says, “You missed this.”
He clicks his tongue and goes to wash it up in the sink, and spies her edging out of the room once more.
“Ah,” he says sharply, stopping her in her tracks, “I’m not finished talking to you, come back.”
He snags a towel from the counter – bundled up from cooking earlier. By the time he’s dried his hands and turned around, she’s halfway between him and the door, glancing between the two anxiously.
“What time do you need to be at the hospital for your first shift?” He asks.
He folds the towel meticulously in half and hangs it on the closest cabinet door.
“My shift starts at 7 A.M. but I’m going to try get there a little before that since it’s my first day.” she answers easily.
Clearly she’s already thought about this — her first day, how she’s getting there, what time she needs to leave, what she’ll bring with her for lunch, how she’s getting back.
It’s a brand of particular borne out of anxiety rather than the need for an overbearing sense of control like Brendon has. This therapist regularly threatens to diagnose him with OCD but he’s managed to avoid it so far by sheer force of will.
Shies away from emotional intimacy rings in his head like a bell.
He has a roommate now. He’s not shying away from anything. They talk – regularly. Well, Emma talks. Brendon listens.
“That’s fine, we’ll leave at 6:30 then to make sure you’re there early.” he says.
She blinks at him for a second, a soft smile adorning her features, “We?”
“My shift starts at the same time as yours anyway and I’m driving in. It makes sense to travel together.” he says factually.
“Okay, 6:30 it is.” she agrees.
She doesn't skip out of the kitchen gleefully, but Brendon can't help but smile at the pep in her step as she bounces away. He tries not to dwell on the relief that pushes through his shoulders and down his spine at seeing her happy. He has no control issues. None whatsoever.
A week later, they make the silent drive to the hospital at 6:30 A.M. as agreed.
Brendon knows that on any other day Emma would chatter away to him the whole journey, but he can tell she’s nervous for her first day. Her backpack is in the footwell of the passenger seat, stuffed to the brim with god-knows what.
She’s wearing what he assumes is her favourite hoodie over gray scrubs. It’s a baby pink to match the stitching of her trainers and is slightly too big for her small frame. The hood brushes up against her cheeks even when it’s down around her neck. It seems to engulf her and make her look impossibly more nervous than she no doubt feels.
If she were working on the surgical floor, she wouldn’t have been allowed to wear her scrubs outside of the OR, but Brendon knows the ED is a lot more lax on those sorts of policies since they’re never truly working in a sterile field.
They park in the North garage off of James Street since it’s closer to the ED, not that Brendon would admit to usually parking on the other side near Sandusky Street aloud.
He walks her practically to the doors of the ER and watches her to make sure she’s found a charge nurse before making his way up to the surgical floors to start his own shift. He texts her in the elevator, reminding her to wait in the ED for him after their shifts are finished so he can drive them home.
As the elevator comes to a halt on floor 3, he pockets his phone and hopes for a good shift.
The shift is good. Great, in fact. Ortho gets called to consult on two cases in the ER and he's available for both, which means he gets to subtly check on Emma throughout his shift.
From what he can gather, she's doing well. They're having her shadow either the charge nurse or one of the ANPs at all times, so he trusts she's in good hands.
He waits for her by the lockers at the end of their shift. If it hadn't been the start of the summer, he'd be happy to wait outside the ED for her. As it is, he can feel the wall of heat every time someone comes and goes from the staff entrance – heavy and suffocating in a way only Pittsburgh could manage.
There's a walkway that connects the parking garage and the hospital, but it involves cutting back through cases they've both handed off. Besides, going this way is quicker.
She joins him a few minutes after 7 P.M., bag slung over one shoulder and hoodie tied loosely around her waist.
"Were you waiting long?" she asks, anxious voice laced with an edge of exhaustion he knows all too well.
He waves her off, pocketing his phone, "No." he answers, "Ready to go?"
They step out into the inferno of Pittsburgh in June together. She watches as the heat makes him flush from his chest to his cheeks. Sweat beads on her collar bones, stretching along the neckline of her scrubs, up the back of her neck and down the length of her spine.
The car is only five minutes away. She dreads getting in it, picturing a hotbox tailor-made for trapping them in their own heat-filled torment. When they finally make it to the first floor of the parking garage, it's to find the car strategically parked in one of the only shady spots left on the level.
The relief nearly folds her in half. They blast the air conditioning as soon as they're in the car and Emma contemplates sleeping there instead of making it back to the apartment. They both sit there in blessed silence as the cold air wicks away their sweat.
Eventually, Brendon begins the journey home. She watches through half-lidded eyes as the streets pass them by at a slow crawl. They're just the wrong side of rush hour, but they're too tired to care.
"I saw you come down to the ED a few times." she comments absentmindedly.
He grunts, "Had a couple consults." He breaks his eyes away from the road for a moment. A split second glance to rake his eyes over her.
"Green." she murmurs.
He drives onward.
"You could've said hello." he tells her when they stop at the next red.
"You looked pretty focused. I didn't want to bother you." she admits quietly.
"You're never a bother to me." he declares plain as day, as if he's naming off facts he learned in kindergarten.
She blinks up at him and gives him a tired smile, "You're sweet when you want to be."
He blushes anew at the comment, "Am not." He retorts gruffly, voice dropping an octave on principle.
She giggles in her seat. "Uh-huh, sure big guy."
Home is a welcome sanctuary for the pair of them. They retreat to their separate rooms to shower off the grime of the day, not crossing paths again until the following morning when they're due to leave for their next shift.
They fall into a steady rhythm from there.
Their days are bookended by each other. Whether it's driving to and from the hospital or sharing food at the dinner table. Living with one another becomes muscle memory. Small things become instinctive, knee-jerk reactions. Coffee in the morning, out the door at 6:40 A.M., shared lunches in staff fridges – the same food eaten hours apart, sweaty, exhausted drives home filled with the hum of a radio and the even breathing of a day well spent.
Brendon begins to pick up on her subtler moods. The way her smile stretches too wide, pulls too tightly at the corners of her mouth when he asks if she'd had a good day. He's not sure if the conversation they have a few weeks into her time at PTMC is a result of a culmination of events, or whether there's something in particular in her case-load days prior that triggers it.
It's on their second day off in a row that she corners him in the kitchen. She approaches him apprehensively, edging closer to his place in front of the counter like he might bolt if she moves too quickly.
“Dr Park—“
“—Brendon.” he cuts her off without looking up. They've been living together for weeks and she still insists on the formalities.
“What?” she startles.
“When we’re not on shift, you should call me Brendon.” he clarifies, “We’re roommates before we’re colleagues.”
“Okay,” she says softly, “Brendon, I—um—I wanted to ask you something, and feel free to say no but—“
He stays quiet but puts down his knife on the chopping board to give her his full attention.
“I know you said you’d be my emergency contact, but that doesn’t give you any real power if something happens to me.” she prefaces, which gives him all the information he needs to know where this is going.
She grows more pragmatic by the day, it seems.
“So I was wondering if you would be my medical power of attorney — for emergencies only.” she summarises, finishing with a gulping breath.
She places her laptop on the kitchen counter and he doesn’t have to look at it to know the kind of forms she’s got pulled up on the screen.
“You understand what that means?” he clarifies.
She’s an intelligent woman and he has full faith that she wholly comprehends the request, but he has to check anyway.
“Yes, like I said, it’d only be for emergencies where I’m not able to make medical decisions for myself. I’ll outline instructions for you that you’ll need to abide by, but you’re a doctor, so I think you know all of this already and now I’m rambling oh God I’m sorry—“
“—I’ll do it.” he interjects when she takes another breath.
She blinks up at him, “You will?”
He nods and returns to his chopping board. “Fill out the paperwork and send it to me and I’ll make sure it gets filed at the hospital before the end of next week.”
He doesn’t know why he promises her this. Maybe it’s because of the bright, infectious smile she throws his way, or maybe it’s the way her shoulders drop in relief, or maybe it’s his growing respect for her as a person.
She inches out of the kitchen, but he’s grown to like her company and finds himself saying without any forethought, "Do you want some of this?"
He adds the vegetables to the pan and glances at her halfway between him and the door.
"For dinner." he adds, as if it isn't obvious.
Pursing her lips, she saddles up next to him until they are hip-to-hip. She examines the food critically, judging the meal with keen eyes.
"It looks edible." she comments lightly.
He points at a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, "Sit," he orders, lips twitching involuntarily, "Just for that comment you're eating it."
When she doesn’t move, he raises an eyebrow and waits.
She rolls her eyes at him. "You sure do drive a hard bargain."
They eat in companionable silence. Weeks of breakfasts and dinners and car rides have exhausted many of Emma's usual topics of choice.
He takes her plate from her when it’s empty, which she tries and fails once again to complain about.
“Hey, you cooked, let me clean up.” she argues, gripping onto the edge of her plate with a pout.
“It’s just going to go in the dishwasher.” he counters, exasperated.
Her plate hovers in the air between them. He stands fully and raises it above her head, taking his other hand to pull at the side of her palm to release her grip on the underside of the plate.
She balks at him.
“That’s unfair,” she half-whines as he approaches the dishwasher. “You can’t use your knowledge against me.”
He snorts. “Of course I can.”
He tries his best to not think about how else he could use his knowledge of bodily anatomy against her.
She skips out of the kitchen, happy to accept the loss this time.
They return to the hospital for their next slew of shifts on Independence Day, POA paperwork filed via email two days prior.
He doesn't need to tell her that it'll probably be a bad shift. The silence on their drive to the hospital speaks for itself. They say their pleasantries at the door, the usual good luck, have a good shift delineating their day cleanly in half.
He spots her briefly when he makes it downstairs to consult on the lower leg amputation of one of the water park victims. It's been too hectic to say hello for either of them, something he thinks the entire ED staff are thankful for.
She’s sticking close to the charge nurse, who seems to be taking care of her. Good. He doesn’t want to have to chew out anyone for being an asshole today.
It’s only about an hour and a half later, when he’s scrubbed into the lower leg reattachment surgery, that he gets the call. There’s no signal in the entire building thanks to the system-wide shut down, so the call doesn’t come through his mobile or his pager like normal.
No, it comes through the landline attached to the wall of the OR.
A high-pitched, ringing shrill cuts out the heavy bass he has playing through the speakers and hushes the OR into silence.
One of the nurses – Adelaide, or Addy for short – answers it whilst he continues to work on his patient.
“Dr Park,” she addresses, clearing her throat.
He hums, preparing to move onto the next step of the surgery, when she pipes up again.
“Dr Park, I need you to step away from the surgical field.” Nurse Addy declares.
His eyes snap up to hers.
“Excuse me?” he rumbles.
She levels him with a fierce look, “Please place your tools on the table, step away from the surgical field, and take this call.”
He blinks at her and complies. The metallic utensils clattering against the tray as he raises both hands in the air and takes a pronounced step back from his patient.
"Can I have a count?" he directs to the rest of his team.
They call off every item in turn. He tracks it with keen eyes, only heading for the phone when he's verified their results.
He rounds the table like his namesake, quick and silent as he parses through the bodies in the OR. They all sidestep him neatly, watching with wide eyes as he comes to stand directly in front of Nurse Addy.
She holds the phone to his ear, not touching the fabric of his scrub cap and mask but close enough for him to speak into the receiver without any trouble.
“Dr Park speaking.” he says down the line, his already limited patience thinning out by the second.
“Dr Park, this is Charge Nurse Dana Evans from the emergency room at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center speaking.” she begins.
Something cold trickles down his spine.
It’s scripted. He knows these words. Hell, he’s said these words.
Still, it takes a second for his brain to catch up with his mouth. “I’m aware of where you work, Nurse Evans.” he says with a scowl.
She ignores him entirely, continuing with her speech.
“I have you listed as the emergency contact of Emma Nolan, is that correct?” she confirms.
He stares at Nurse Addy with wide eyes, not really looking at her but through her as the words take their time to truly wash something cold and putrid down his spine.
“That’s correct.” He feels like his throat might close up as he asks, “Is she okay?”
His voice cracks right down the middle, and suddenly all the eyes in the ER feel much heavier. His surgical team look between themselves unsurely.
“She’s conscious and breathing. She’s currently receiving medical treatment here in the ER after being attacked by a patient. As her emergency contact, would it be possible for you to—“
“—I’ll be down as soon as I can.” he cuts her off, not needing to hear the rest, “Do not let her out of your sight,” for the first time in a long time, he feels helpless, “Please, Dana, just until I get there.”
“Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “We’ll look after her until you get here. See you soon Dr Park.”
The line disconnects and he’s left blinking into the space between him and Nurse Addy.
“Dr Park, what would you like us to do?” she asks gently. She’d heard then. He supposes the OR had been quiet enough for them all to hear as he glances up at their anxious faces.
He’s never had to do this, but he knows the protocols.
“I need you to contact the department and get someone in here as soon as possible to take over the surgery – ideally Dr Barrett. Tell them it’s a family emergency.” he directs her.
Nurse Addy wastes no time, not even bothering with the phone as she heads straight out of the room for the Orthopaedic floor.
He lets out a shuddering breath and returns to the patient.
“I need to sit down.” he murmurs.
In the quiet of the OR, it’s heard easily, and a stool is rolled under him before he can even think to ask for it.
He’s been holding his hands up so long his fingers are tingling.
He checks with anaesthesia on the patient’s status, reminds himself of where he’d gotten to in the surgery, and spends the next ten minutes sitting next to the patient repeating the key details as he waits for Barrett to join him.
Once he’s debriefed with the man, he rips off his gown, gloves and mask in record time.
He walks as fast as possible to the stairs. He wishes he could sprint the length of the hallway, but he can’t bring himself to be that irresponsible even now.
He does descend the three flights of stairs to the ER in record time, faster even than the elevator, which he hears ding behind him as he clears the doors separating the staff entrance from the main floor.
His head is on a swivel the moment he’s there, searching for any sign of Emma.
“Dr Park,” Dana materialises beside him. “This way.”
He wishes she would walk faster, but as the thought even crosses his mind, a curtain is being pulled back to reveal Emma.
She’s lying back on the bed, wearing both an oxygen mask and a neck brace. She’s in her gray scrubs and trainers with the pink trim, and her twin braids are falling out at the seams.
She looks like she’s about to cry when she spots him, a pained noise escaping her lips as she extends a hand towards him.
“What the hell happened?” he spits viciously as he takes the seat next to her, glaring at Dr Whittaker.
He takes her hand and cushions it between both of his and notes how cold her fingers are.
She tries to turn to look at him, but it’s a wasted effort with the brace.
He hushes her gently, “It’s alright, don’t try to move.” He squeezes her hand in a pulsating rhythm that he hopes will bring some warmth back into her fingers.
He looks back at Robby with narrowed eyes and a near complete snarl, face twisting away from Emma so she doesn’t have to see this side of him.
“What. Happened.” he grinds out between sharp teeth.
“A patient awoke from sedation and tried to strangle her.” Robby answers cleanly, looking at him on an even keel. “She lost consciousness briefly but came to within seconds. The neck brace is a precaution. We’re just about to take her up to CT to check there’s no fractures.”
Brendon’s lips thin out, and just as he’s about to bombard him with more questions, Robby anticipates and answers each one before he can verbalise them.
“Her pupils are equal and reactive. She knows where she is and what’s happened but she’s having trouble talking at the moment. She doesn’t appear to have any other injuries and has been given IV acetaminophen for the pain.” He lists off neatly.
Brendon turns back to her, rubbing and hand up and down the back of her arm softly, “Are you still in pain Emma?” he asks quietly.
He leans in and watches her closely as she gives the smallest and saddest of nods. He strokes the top of her head gently.
“Don’t worry we’re going to fix it.” he murmurs.
He looks back at Robby with a scowl.
“Give her more pain meds.” he demands.
Robby clearly disapproves, for multiple reasons.
“Okay first of all,” he begins, “You of all people should know that mixing pain meds is a bad idea.” he lectures with a frown.
“Secondly, just because you’re her emergency contact doesn’t give you the right to make medical decisions for her—“
Brendon stands abruptly and yanks his phone out of his scrubs with a scowl. He holds up a finger in the universal wait, and taps on the screen until he has what he’s looking for.
He shoves his phone in Robby’s face and doesn’t wait for him to get his glasses on before he explains its contents.
“I have medical power of attorney.” he declares, “It’s all there. We filed it all with the hospital a few days ago but with the system down you’ll just have to use this copy instead.”
There’s a beat of silence as Robby dons his glasses and takes in the tiny writing upon the screen.
“Ok fine, Whittaker give her one of morphine but no more until we’ve done the CT,” he orders, handing the phone back with a sigh.
They administer the morphine and then he watches anxiously as they prepare to wheel her up to CT.
Robby stops him before he can accompany her.
“Slow your roll, Shark.” he says with pursed lips, “You’re not a doctor down here right now so you can’t go with her, but you can wait here until she’s back.”
He grinds his teeth together and contemplates getting into a fight in the middle of the ER with the chief of emergency medicine.
Robby stands his ground. In fact, he squares up to him, coming nose to nose with Brendon until he’s forced to look at him and only him.
“You’ll behave whilst you’re in my ER or you’ll leave, Park, understand?” he says, cocking an eyebrow.
Brendon huffs and steps back, “Fine.” he mutters.
“She’s being fast tracked for CT so she shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. You can either sit here quietly, or you can go upstairs and change out of your scrubs whilst you wait. Your choice.” Robby orders.
Brendon recognises the tactic — narrowing down the decision making to one of two options to give him the illusion of choice. It’s supposed to unwind someone’s nervous system by giving them back a sense of control, but it just serves to frustrate Brendon since it further reinforces his lack of power down here. This is Robby’s domain and if he tests the patience of the ER he will swiftly find himself outside of it.
“I’ll go change.” he mutters, fists unclenching and shoulder rounding out as he admits defeat.
“Good, we’ll keep this bay open for her so you can come back here when you’re done.” Robby says.
Brendon grunts and with one final nod he ascends the stairs once more to retrieve his clothes from his locker. The verifiable sprint up to the third floor helps take some of the heat off his back. He reaches the top with a heaving chest and a clearer head than he’s had for the last hour.
Get changed, stay with Emma, kick the perps ass.
He’s back downstairs in no more than five minutes, wearing straight legged jeans and his navy blue hoodie with a shark embroidered on the back. He returns to his stool with a scowl, crossing his arms and watching the ED with sharp, hawk-like eyes as he scours the place for any sign of Emma’s return.
Another five minutes passes before she’s being returned to his side. Robby is there the moment the bed is positioned back against the wall, breaks on the wheels securely.
He’s got a piece of paper in his hand with her scans on, and it takes all of Brendon’s willpower not to snatch it from his grip and examine it himself.
“Good news: no fractures.” he says jovially, “The brace can come off now.”
Once it’s removed, they get full view of the reddish marks adorning her neck. They'll definitely bruise, especially the one on the side of her neck which looks more like a rug burn than anything Brendon’s ever seen.
Robby checks her airway again, listens to her chest, and, once satisfied, he hands her two ice packs — one for each side of her neck.
“You’ll be left with some bruising pretty soon but if you keep icing your neck they should go away more quickly.” Robby explains gently.
She gingerly holds the packs to her neck and cringes away when they make contact.
“Your voice is probably going to be hoarse for a few days as well so just take it easy. No shouting at Shark no matter how annoying he gets.” He throws her grin and she laughs weakly at the poor joke.
Brendon scowls at the pair of them, “I’m not annoying.” he argues with a minuscule pout.
“You can take Tylenol and Advil for the pain.” he continues, ignoring Brendon entirely, “If the pain gets worse, you start having difficulty breathing, you suddenly become very sleepy or if you lose consciousness again you come straight back, understand?”
She nods and then winces as her neck twinges from the pain.
“I’ve checked with Dana and we’ve got you the rest of the week off work so don’t worry about coming in for your shifts,” he continues, “If you have no other questions or concerns, then I think we can look at sending you home.”
Brendon nods and looks at her again.
“What’s your locker number and code? I’ll grab your stuff.” he asks.
Behind him, Robby inches out of the room quietly to give them some privacy.
She hands one of the ice packs to him and pulls out her phone. She blinks at the screen for a second, realising that she still has no signal, and then opens her notes app instead and clicks on the one at the very top with her locker details inside.
They swap the ice pack for the phone. He strokes the back of her head gently.
“I’ll be right back.” he promises.
When he returns with her backpack slung over his shoulder and hoodie in hand, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed and nodding at something one of the nurses — Princess, Brendon recalls — is saying.
“Looks like you’re ready to go.” Princess says. There’s a gleam in her eye that Brendon knows promises trouble in some form that he’ll discover later.
It’s hot when they leave the ER. Brendon can feel the sweat building on the back of his neck. He regrets keeping his hoodie on, but with her backpack and own hoodie in hand he can’t take it off.
When they get to the car, he doesn’t wait for the aircon to kick in before pulling away from the curb.
He fiddles with the radio at the first light, switching it to the first thing he can find and turning it down so that there’s a low hum of noise to cushion them with.
When he hits the second intersection — a red just turned green — he hears soft sniffles to his right. He does a double take — Emma, the road, Emma — and hastily pulls over in the first side street he can find.
“Hey, hey, are you okay? Want me to go back?” he asks, putting the car in park and turning completely in his seat to face her.
She sobs, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands and smearing her tears further. He unearths a roll of toilet paper from the center console and uses some of it to dab her face gently.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” she says — the first words she’s managed since the attack. They’re hoarse, bracketed by heaving hiccups as she tries to control her breathing. “You had to leave work because of me, and-“
He gives her an amused smile, “Emma,” he begins reproachfully, “I knew what I was agreeing to when I said I’d be your emergency contact. I am a doctor after all.”
She heaves another sob.
“Still,“ she starts miserably, “It’s not like you wanted to be my emergency contact. My mom just bullied you into it.”
A mirage of emotions crosses his face in seconds. Switching from surprised, to confused to offended rapidly.
“She did not.” he argues petulantly, “She made some convincing points.”
She coughs a laugh at that.
He shakes his head a little, just a brief side to side to focus his thoughts, “Hold on, back up, what makes you think I didn’t want to be your emergency contact?”
She gives him a cynical look, “Brendon you looked like you were going to throw up when you agreed. It wasn’t exactly comforting.”
“That’s just my face and you know it.” he retorts.
Great, now they’re arguing.
Brendon pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few not-so-deep breaths.
“When have I ever done something I didn’t want to do?” he questions.
Emma opens her mouth to reply, but she draws a blank on the answer. She grows flustered after a few seconds, mouth sputtering and gaping as her brain scrambles for purchase of her thoughts.
“Just because I can’t think of anything doesn’t mean you haven’t done things you didn’t want to do.” she retorts childishly.
He rolls his eyes at her, “Well when you think of some let me know. In the meantime, I’ll keep being your emergency contact and making sure you’re alive and well, okay?”
He turns away from her and prepares to drive off again.
“It should be equal though.” she says after a beat.
“What?” He turns to her, confused. “What should be equal?”
“If you’re going to be my emergency contact then I should be yours.” she says.
He blinks at her for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish, before he finally settles on, “Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoes with a nod, “Can we go home now?”
“Absolutely.” he agrees, shoulders dropping with a heavy exhale.
Home, he thinks. When did that happen?