Chapter Text
Being Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center’s newest attending physician has its ups and downs.
You get to stay in the place you’ve called home for the last three years, continue to work alongside the family you’ve found in your coworkers, and date the hot attending you’ve been eyeing as what was once an HR nightmare is now nothing but a mildly questionable age gap.
Unfortunately, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Having the least seniority means you get the short end of the stick when it comes to scheduling. That’s how you found yourself here, standing at the hub on hour eighteen of your shift, your forehead resting against the cool countertop as you fight to keep your eyes open. You were scheduled for the day shift, but one of the night attendings called out, and you were voluntold to cover. A twenty-four hour shift was the kind of bullshit you thought you’d left behind in residency, yet here you are, facing it once more, barely four months into attendinghood.
Tonight, you got lucky; Robby was your saving grace. It was his day off, but he took pity on you and agreed to take the latter half of your night shift, saying he owed it to you after everything you’d done as a senior resident.
“Damn straight you do!” You’d laughed at the time, but your tone is far less humorous and much more exhausted now as Robby walks in to see you half-asleep on your feet beneath the fluorescent lights of the emergency department.
“Rough day?” he asks, shrugging off his backpack. You lift your head only to shoot him a glare that could kill, the dark bags beneath your eyes serving to emphasize your slanted look. I have been here since six A.M. yesterday morning,” you start, checking your watch. “I have taken 25,000 steps in that time. Everything hurts. I’m getting too old for this.”
You hear the voice of Doctor Abbot-no, Jack, though you were still getting used to calling him that-calling from behind you. “You’re getting old?” he asks incredulously, raising a brow.
You turn around and try to feign anger, but you can’t stifle the automatic smile that your lips curve into the moment your eyes fall upon his face. “It’s not a competition, jackass,” you retort. “Sorry I’m not ancient like you old farts.”
“This old fart is saving you from pulling a 24!” Robby interjects, and you laugh, turning back around to face him. “And for that, I thank you. Now please take these patients so I can go to sleep.”
You give him handoff; luckily for you, things had calmed down significantly around eleven, and all you had for him was a teenager with a broken leg from a skateboarding incident, a newborn with croup, a nice old lady with COPD exacerbation, and a handful of boarders. Finally, you’re ready to go: backpack slung over one shoulder, locker locked, car keys in hand. You bid everyone goodnight and make your way towards the exit, but just before step out through the sliding doors, Jack stops you.
Jack. There’d been tension building over the last three years of your residency, several nights out that nearly ended in disaster for the both of you. It was a line neither of you were willing to cross back then. But blissfully, now, you’re free, five dates deep four months after becoming an attending.
You make a pointed effort to be subtle at work, but years of repression and rumors between coworkers make that an uphill battle. Jack is more open; he doesn’t give a damn what the world thinks, never has. You, on the other hand, have more shame and less tenure.
His hand brushes your waist just for a moment as he leans in, his lips pressed close to your ear. For a moment, you forget your hesitations. His touch feels so right, you don’t know if you have it in you to shy away. Luckily, he makes the call for you, drops his hand. “Be safe. Text me when you get home, yeah? It’s late.”
Your cheeks feel warm as a gentle blush forms. You give him a mock salute; he grasps your hand and presses a kiss to it, holding on as you turn and walk away until your fingers slip one by one from his reach. “Goodnight, Doctor Abbot,” you call over your shoulder.
The world seems a little colder once you step away from him. You pull your coat more tightly around yourself, hurriedly walking towards the parking garage. You’re eager to get to your car, both for its warmth and for its ability to get you home so that you can go to your bed and crash for god knows how long. As you approach the large concrete structure, you decide in a split second that the old elevator will take too long with its tendency to stall and move at a turtle’s pace, if it all. Instead, you opt to take the stairs despite your aching legs, thinking it’s the path of least resistance. You enter the stairwell and begin your climb, exhausted and zoned out, body on autopilot.
So exhausted and zoned out, in fact, it takes you two flights of stairs to realize there’s someone behind you.
Being watched is an incredibly, almost indescribably strange sensation. It’s not like the movies-you don’t get goosebumps, the hairs on the back of your neck don’t stand up-it’s just this aching, nagging feeling that something is wrong.
At first, you try to rationalize. Maybe it’s innocent; just another person leaving after a half shift, that’s all, someone equally as weary and eager to return home as you are. Surely that’s it, despite the awful feeling in your gut that isn’t the case.
You increase your pace, and the footsteps trailing behind you do, too. Shit. You know better, but exhaustion clouds your judgement, and you abruptly turn around.
The face you see is an unexpected one. It’s Dr. Konrad Cooper, one of your former coresidents. A large, hulking man with a brash and brazen personality and an ego the size of a skyscraper; he reminded you of a frat boy that never quite grew out of the immaturity and entitlement. Cooper was a decent physician, but far from a joy to be around. You always thought he’d be much better off in surgery, where he could have his ego stroked to his heart’s content. You two had never gotten along, especially in the later months of your final year after you accepted the only attending position open, the one Cooper was convinced belonged to him.
Your brows knit together in confusion, trying to work out what’s going on through your mental haze. You take stock of your surroundings, and it only leaves you more on edge. You’re on the landing between floors, still another half flight to the third, with no door to provide you a quick exit, just concrete steps and walls.
“Doctor Cooper,” you start, your voice clearly hesitant, trembling slightly. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d signed a contract in Houston?”
His arms are folded over his chest, making him appear even larger. You look up to find him glaring down at you, the look alone enough to make you shiver.. “Didn’t work out,” is all he says, voice gruff.
You swallow hard, your expression watchful, eyes darting back and forth. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Well, um, it’s good to see you, but I need to go.” You try to make your voice sound firm despite your fear, turning back around to hurriedly climb the last flight and a half of stairs.
Conrad is faster than you are. He covers the few stairs you’d managed in a single step, fingers closing around your wrist and pulling you back down to the landing with a force that makes you stumble. You look up at him, completely frozen, as he simply mutters, “I don’t think so,” his hand still clamped firmly around your wrist.
You twist and tug desperately in an attempt to break his hold, but it’s no use. He’s not budging, and you quickly realize you’re not going to be able to free yourself. Reasoning, you figure, is your best shot at any sort of peaceful resolution to this. “What are you talking about? Cooper, you need to let me go,” you urge, panic rising in your throat, making it hard to speak.
“You think you get to just take my job without consequence?” he seethes. He’s closing in on you, getting closer and closer until your back is pressed to the concrete wall, his body fully blocking yours.
Your hands shake, as does your bottom lip as you desperately attempt to talk your way out of this. “I didn’t-I interviewed, just like you did-“
He cuts you off, his face now red with anger. “I was more qualified. I deserved it. What did you do, huh? You sleep your way to the top? Fucking slut. You think you can take whatever you want from me by whoring around?”
Cooper is only getting closer and more upset. You can feel panic overtaking you-it takes a pointed effort to stop the racing thoughts, to force yourself to think. You realize your backpack is still behind you, making space between your body and the wall. Instead of responding to his claims, in a surprisingly well coordinated motion, you ditch your bag and bring your knee up to his groin, hard. His recoiling and the newfound space behind you make just enough room for you to duck under his arm and run for it-a flight and a half and you’ll be on the fourth, you’ve got your keys, you just have to get up, get in and lock the door.
“You BITCH!” You hear Cooper shout as you practically throw yourself up the stairs, pulling your phone from your pocket, clumsily attempting to multitask while you run. Jack’s been on speed dial, at his insistence, since he saved you from a flat tire on the way to your first date. I want you to be able to get a hold of me, whenever you need me. The memory of him fuels you, you have to make it back to him, you just need to unlock your phone, hit the button-
It happens so fast, you’re not entirely sure what it was. One minute, you’re nearly to your car, to safety, and the next, you’re on the ground.
Cooper’s fist entangles with your hair, jerking you backwards. You lose your balance and he lets go, sending you tumbling painfully down the stairs. Your body collides with the hard concrete of the landing, and agony explodes within your skull as it bounces off the ground. You have to get up, you think, you have to go-but you can’t seem to orient yourself, can’t coordinate your limbs well enough to produce any useful movement. You finally manage to sit up, vision spinning and ears ringing, only to find Cooper squatting down beside you, holding your phone and waving it in front of your face.
“Doctor Abbot on speed dial, huh?” he taunts, laughing. The sound of his laughter is piercing, sharp, worsening the pain in your head. “Guess you really did just fuck your way into getting what you want.” Cooper stands, holds the phone high above his head, winding his arm up to throw.
“Don’t-“ you gasp, but he’s already slammed your phone to the ground, shattering the glass. He stomps on it, crushing any remaining hope you had to call for help.
It feels hopeless, but you’re not done-you can’t be. YouhavetogethomeyouhavetoseeJackyou’resupposedtogetbreakfastonTuesdayyouhavetogoyouhavetogoYOUHAVETOGO. Your mind is screaming, thoughts racing, and still can’t quite see properly, but you can’t bring yourself to stay there and do nothing. You’re not entirely sure how, but you find yourself standing on shaking legs once more, stumbling towards the stairs.
And for a moment, Cooper lets you stumble. Lets you hope. It makes it all the more devastating when all it takes is one push for you to collapse, for your legs to give out. You can’t catch yourself in time, and your face hits a step. There’s an awful crunching sound that seems to rattle and reverberate within your skull. Immediate, sharp pain blooms across your nose, aggregating with that in the back of your head. Something warm runs down your forehead. It’s blood. Your blood. You don’t have time to process the horror of that realization. You are an emergency medicine physician; you see plenty of blood, plenty of awful injuries. You have learned to cope with it, to help and to heal others. But you’re not meant to see your own blood, especially not so much of it.
“You’re pathetic,” Cooper growls. He’s close again, too close, talking right in your ear, breath hot against your skin. He drags you by your ankles back down to the landing, skin dragging against the concrete, bringing about more scrapes, more blood. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you try to take stock of your injuries, of the different pains you’re experiencing. You’re deeply concerned about head trauma, but the thought feels fuzzy, far off, like it belongs to someone else entirely.
The dragging stops, but it’s no reprieve. There’s a sudden weight upon your pelvis, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s on top of you.
“But that’s alright,” Cooper drawls. “I know how you can make it up to me.”
You can hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, of metal unclasping and leather sliding through loops. Somehow, it’s louder than any of your racing thoughts.
You think you’re going to be sick.