Chapter Text
By the time she had reached hour 12 of her shift, Javadi was totally over it.
She'd had more than enough stress in her day just from the chaos of the emergency department (not to mention the almost-cyber attack and having to use paper charts, and almost letting a patient die), but on top of everything, her parents had both decided to come down here and make it all worse.
If she had learned anything from living with her parents for almost 21 years, it was that they had a talent for ruining absolutely anything and everything. Whether it was malicious or not, Javadi didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care. She was just done.
Right now, though, she deep in thought—supposed to be charting and instead staring into space. A distant voice called out to her:
"Javadi."
She couldn't reach it—she was so lost. Underwater.
"Javadi!"
A nudge to her shoulder was what finally brought her back to the world. The noise of the Pitt entered her ears and she remembered where she was.
"Huh?" She looked up at the voice with a daze in her eyes.
"You okay, Javadi?"
It was Whitaker.
"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine!" She said, shaking herself out of the daze and looking up at him. Concern was painted across his mousey face. She gave him a very unconvincing grin.
"Okay…" Whitaker didn't believe her.
"I'd better… um. Go find Dr. Robby." Javadi stood up hurriedly. Before Whitaker could say anything else, she speed-walked towards Trauma 2. If I can just find something interesting to workd on, then maybe I'll stop dissociating, she thought.
—
At hour 13, Javadi was officially losing it.
Her shift was technically over, and yet now Robby was insisting on her doing neurosurgery of all things—despite her exhaustion—just because it was with the "chief of neurosurgery." Not him, too, she thought. Not enough to have all of this pressure from her parents today, but now from Dr. Robby as well? No, thanks.
But what choice did she have? She walked over to where the chief stood, took a deep breath, and tried to focus.
Sure, doing neurosurgery was pretty cool. And yeah, it was a great opportunity. But she really didn't want or need any more "great opportunities." She wasn't even sure about medicine as a whole anymore.
—
When her stint with neurosurgery was over, she went back to charting. There was so much to scan into the system now that they were back online, that she was pretty sure she was never going to leave. May as well just stay here until her next shift in less than 12 hours. She groaned. Today sucked.
She scanned and charted, and scanned and charted, sitting at a makeshift table with Santos and Whitaker, who looked about as good as she felt.
A few minutes in and Javadi already felt like she was going to pass out. She was staring into space again, trying to remember the last time she ate anything, when a different voice startled her back into her body.
"You good, Crash?"
Santos was staring at her from behind a mountain of charts.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
She laughed. "You don't look fine."
Javadi didn't know what to say to that. Of course, leave it to Santos to call her out.
"You're right. I'm not fine. But we're at work, and I don't want to get into it right now—"
"Don't give me that." Santos leaned towards her. "Spill."
Javadi swallowed. Before she knew it, she had launched into a 5-minute-long rant detailing exactly how much her parents pissed her off and all of her doubts about her career that she'd been carrying for so long.
She told Santos about how her parents never let her have any opinions of her own. How they were always pressuring her to do better and be better—be perfect. And how exhausted she was. She could never do anything good enough in their eyes.
She told her about how much she hated going home—how she dreaded coming in the door to be met with their endless questions and criticisms. How she'd sometimes go to the park across the street from her house just for some peace and quiet—for just a moment away from their fake concern and endless judgement.
She told Santos about how she was pretty sure med school had been their idea, not hers. That she had been thinking about dropping out of med school for a while. The idea of being a doctor had been instilled in her from before she could remember. And now, over a year into med school, her doubts were getting so loud, she wasn't sure why she was still here. But this is what they wanted—what they expected—and of course they knew best.
She told Santos that there were days when she enjoyed being a med student—of course there were. Javadi had always thought that you could enjoy pretty much any job, even for just a few hours. And this was true for her. Sometimes, when she made the correct diagnosis, or pulled off a difficult procedure, she enjoyed it. And these moments were the ones that kept her going. That, and the fear of her parents' disapproval. She didn't know what they would do if she admitted any of this to them.
"And I'm just so done with all of this bullshit!"
She stopped, catching her breath. Santos looked surprised; Javadi never swore. She had never told anyone about any of this, but now that she was getting it off her chest, she felt amazing. Lighter, somehow. And she realized that yeah, swearing felt amazing, too.
There was a silence between them for a few minutes. Javadi started to worry that maybe she was being too much. Sure, Santos had wanted to know, but had she wanted to know that much? What if Javadi had ruined what little amount of friendship they had? Her hands were clammy now.
But before she could spiral any further, Santos spoke.
"Fuck." She leaned back in her chair. "That's a lot."
Javadi felt a prickle on her back from the anxiety sweat. She put her head in her hands. This was it. She was the worst.
"You know, Crash, I've dealt with my fair share of shitty parents."
Javadi looked up. You have?
"I know that it fucking sucks and that no one really gets it and that can be frustrating in and of itself. But I get it." Santos paused. Javadi saw emotions flicker across her face: anger, resentment, sadness, pain, then empathy. She spoke again: "and… I'm sorry that you're going through this."
Is Santos… actually being nice to me?
"Question now is… whatcha gonna do about it?"
Javadi didn't know. She hadn't really thought about that part. She had only just made it past the "tell someone" part. What was next?
"You know, Huckleberry's practically moving in with Dr. Robby—I mean, "house sitting,"" she did air quotes at that.
Whitaker started to protest, "I'm not—"
"—so my apartment will have an extra room soon. Maybe it would be good to get out of your parents' house?"
Javadi stared. Santos had never really been very nice to her before, and now she was offering her a room? Had she fallen into an alternate dimension?
She blinked. Tried to read Santos's face. Nothing but sincerity and concern. Damn, she's being for real.
"Just think about it," Santos said, standing up and stretching her arms up over her head. Javadi felt a small jolt of electricity at the sight of Santos's scrubs lifting above her waistband—showing just the smallest peek of smooth stomach. What the fuck was that? she thought, quickly looking away. If Santos saw the blush Javadi felt on her cheeks, she didn't mention it.
"Not that it's anyone's business," Whitaker said to no one in particular, "but I am not moving in with Dr. Robby. I'm just staying there to look after his plants and take in the mail."
"Where are you taking the male into?"
"Santos!" Whitaker's face was bright red.
Santos grinned at him, devilishly. "Ugh, what am I going to do without you to make fun of when I'm at home, Huckleberry? See? This is why I need Crash to move in. Then I can make fun of you, instead." She turned to look at Javadi, whose cheeks were still pink, but now for a different reason.
"Um," she said. Very intelligent, Victoria. You're supposed to be a protégé but you're acting like an idiot.
Finally, some sense came out of her mouth: "Thanks, uh, I'll think about it."
Santos gave her a smile, then lightly punched her shoulder. "You do that."
—
After that, Javadi decided to just go back to scanning. It was tedious and boring, and definitely not what she wanted to be doing at the moment. But at the same time, she was grateful for something to do—annoying enough that she didn't have to think about everything going on in her life.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. After about thirty minutes, she felt a bzzt in her pocket. A text. Probably nothing.
A few minutes later was another bzzt. She tried to ignore it. Just put your head down, get through this scanning and then you can go home, she told herself.
But with that thought, a familiar, horrible anxiety sank into her stomach. Home. Javadi clenched her teeth. Screw that place.
Bzzt.
Bzzt.
She decided to check, just to make sure it wasn't an emergency or something.
Four texts from her mom:
Your father and I are heading home soon. Come to the parking lot.
Are you coming, Victoria? We are ready to leave.
Please answer me.
Why are you ignoring me?
She felt electricity course through her body, her brain dumping cortisol into her system, and she suddenly had to pee really bad. Javadi hurried toward the bathroom, leaving her coworkers’ mystified expressions behind her once again.
She closed and locked the bathroom door, breathing hard. Crap. This cannot be happening.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She used the bathroom and washed her hands, holding them underneath cold water as long as she could stand it.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Tears pricked her eyes. She splashed some cold water on her face and winced at the scratchy paper towel when she dried it.
Get yourself together, Victoria.
She sighed, then took another deep breath in and out.
When Javadi emerged from the bathroom, she felt like she could handle the rest of the scanning and charting. That feeling didn’t last very long, as walking around the corner were none other than both of her parents.
Shit.