Work Text:
The moment of silence passed.
You turned around and yanked your gloves off and threw them into the trash with such force that you wanted there to be more than just the soft landing of the light material as they hit the bottom. You tore off your gown, too, which was just as light.
You hated losing patients. No matter how many times someone told you how these things happen and everyone’s just doing the best they can, the yawning hollow in your chest only seemed to grow with every patient that died on your table. Frustration seeped in and you could only dissipate it by attempting to harm the things you knew wouldn’t get hurt. Namely, the gloves and the gown and maybe a wall on the way out as a last resort.
Despite the fact that your back was to the majority of the other doctors in the room and you couldn’t see them, it felt like they were all staring at you, and that made you feel embarrassed. You really didn’t like the way you reacted, but you couldn’t help it.
It also didn’t make you feel any better knowing that Emery Walsh was in the room with you, too.
You’d been dating for almost a year, not that anyone else knew. It was her rule that none of your coworkers should know, not that you minded one way or the other. The gruff attending surgeon said that she didn’t want your relationship to affect anything at work, especially if you broke up at any point. No point in churning up the rumor mill if things went south, at least that was her point of view.
You knew she was staring at you.
Her standards were high. She’d never called you out on your reactions to mistakes like these before, but you could guess as to what she was thinking. That you were unprofessional. That you couldn’t handle this job.
“Hey, let’s take a breather,” Samira said. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
You steadied yourself. “Sure,” you said. As she led you out of the trauma room, you turned your head to see Emery. Her arms were crossed and she had that impassive look on her face, and her eyes were trained directly on you.
It was awful that the first trauma you dealt with during your shift ended the way it did, because then you still had the rest of your shift. By the end, you’d managed not to lose any more patients, but you did make plenty of small avoidable mistakes that just grated at you and built up in a tangled knot of more frustration. When you finished your charts well after your shift ended, all you wanted was a deep sleep, preferably one that lasted a few days at least.
You checked your phone once you were done with all of your charts, well past when you were supposed to clock out, and you had a single text from her that she’d sent an hour or so ago.
Leaving now. Come over to my place.
It was hard to tell over text if she was angry with you or not, because she always texted with those periods after every sentence and she rarely, if ever, used emojis.
You sent over a heart and then began the drive to her house.
You opened the front door and froze halfway through untying your shoes when the smell of dinner hit you.
“You made it,” Emery said from the kitchen.
You finished taking your shoes off and set them by the door, put your bag on the couch, and approached the kitchen.
Emery looked up at you from the stove. She gave you one of those small, personal smiles that never showed up at work. She saved them for you.
“You’re cooking,” you said.
She tilted her head. “Looks like you still don’t need glasses,” she replied.
Your eyebrows tensed up. “Why are you cooking?”
She shrugged. “Just felt like it.”
“You never cook after work.”
“Pattern recognition is good for a doctor.” She raised an eyebrow at you. You held her gaze with that same confused expression for a few more seconds before her shoulders slumped in concession. She cleared her throat. “You had a rough day at work.”
It took a few seconds for things to click. Probably because you were so exhausted. “Em… you don’t have to do that for me.” You raised a hand and pressed it to her arm. You made eye contact, noting the bags beneath her eyes. “You’re probably just as exhausted as I am. We did lose the same patient, after all.”
“We react differently to stress, you know that.” She wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “Try this sauce.” She raised the spoon from the simmering pasta sauce, blew on it, then held it up in front of your mouth.
You licked your lips, held Emery’s gaze for a second more, then took a small taste. It was a creamy alfredo sauce, cooked to perfection. As you swallowed, you frowned deeper. “You’re hand-making an alfredo sauce?”
She smirked. “I told you I can make a mean alfredo.” She nodded her head towards the dining table. “Go sit down, it’s almost done.”
You shifted around her so that you were hugging her from behind. “I want to keep holding you, though,” you murmured against her shoulder. She’d taken her scrubs off and her beautiful, strong arms peeked out from her tank top.
She sighed. “You realize it’ll make it a little harder to cook.”
“Since when does Dr. Emery Walsh shy away from a challenge?” you teased. You kissed the top of her shoulder.
She chuckled low in her chest. “We’re pulling my ego into this now?” she asked. “Low blow, baby.”
“You like it.” You smiled and pressed another kiss to her skin.
“Brat,” she grumbled, but her tone lacked the usual bite.
The kitchen went silent for a while and you moved when she needed, mostly when transferring the pasta to the sauce, removing the chicken from the oven, and grabbing the wine from the fridge. You felt the tension draining from your body, your heartbeat slowing down, tiredness starting to overtake you, but the smell of the food kept you awake enough to see this through. You never had time for a full meal while working, and your body needed sustenance.
You finally separated from her to sit at the table and eat the chicken alfredo she’d made, with the addition of some steamed veggies, and the delicious merlot you’d picked up a few days ago. You hooked your foot around her leg while you sat, just to keep you grounded.
You emptied your plate and reached to grab her finished one. She pulled it out of your reach, then snatched yours. “I’ll clean up,” she said.
“Em, you cooked, let me clean,” you insisted.
“You had a rough day at work,” she repeated. “Let me take care of you.” She shuffled out of reach and retreated to the kitchen.
“You’re mean,” you whined.
“Consider me the meanest girlfriend you’ve ever had, then,” she replied. She shot you one of her affectionate glares, a look that you didn’t think was actually possible until you’d started dating her. “Go get ready for bed.”
You closed your eyes. You could probably fall asleep in the chair if you tried. Instead, you stood up and grabbed the bottle of wine she’d foolishly left on the table and returned it to the fridge. You flashed her a cocky grin, which made her roll her eyes as she rinsed off the plates. She grabbed your ass in retaliation as you tried to leave the kitchen.
By the time you were ready for bed, she’d finished up in the kitchen and had turned the lights off. You pulled yourself under the covers and started scrolling through your phone as a way to keep yourself awake while you waited for her to wash up.
That didn’t work, because you went from closing your eyes for just a second to waking up just enough to realize that Emery was pulling your phone out of your hand and placing it on the bedside table.
“‘m awake,” you mumbled.
“Of course you are, babe,” she said quietly. You felt her lips on your temple. “Do you have work tomorrow?” she asked.
You yawned. “Yeah.”
“Seven?”
You nodded.
“Alright. Then get some rest.”
You turned over, still half-asleep, and wrapped your arms around her and pulled yourself closer. She held you in her arms as sleep pulled you back down.
Normally, it was difficult to sleep after a shift where you lost a patient, and that happened too often to fix your sleep schedule. But with Emery here, it was all too easy.