Like Real People Do - part two

I think I accidentally deleted this?

"Did he answer you?"

“No.” You glance at the open chat window again, just to be sure. “It’s only been five minutes though?”

“This can’t wait, these little suckers can turn on a dime so fast.” She sighs, and then motions down the hall. “You’ll have to wake him up. He’s in call room two.” It’s eight am, but according to everyone on the floor, he’s been here since twenty hundred yesterday, and had a midnight case that had him in the OR until six.

Meaning he just went to bed.

Fuck.

“Maybe you should go… he doesn’t really like me much.” An understatement.

“Uh uh. This is your patient, you face the wrath.” Another nurse peeks around her monitor at the station.

“You’re cruel Key.” She shrugs.

“She’ll have to do it eventually.” She looks at the chart again, and chews on her lip. “He’ll want to look at her before he puts anything in, and once he realizes what’s going on he won’t be mad. Hurry up.” Your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Fine.”

You’ve been on the unit for two weeks.

In that time, you’ve verbally interacted with Doctor Riley a whole three times.

Once, in the OR.

“Have you ever circulated before?”

“Daisy is shadowing me.” Key assures him, omitting the part where you indeed, have never circulated. There aren’t many things you haven’t done at this point in your career, but circulating is one of them. It’s a mix of counting things a million times and directing all the traffic in the OR. You’re not inept. You don’t doubt your ability to learn new things, but you’d be lying if you said it’s not intimidating.

Especially when he looks at you over his mask, gaze cold and laser focused.

“Have you ever circulated before Daisy?” He repeats himself. Key sighs like she’s ready for the day to be over already, and you shake your head.

“No.” Anger flashes in his eyes, and he glares at her.

“Fucking hell. My OR is not the place to learn how to circulate, Keona.”

“Well, you do the most cases, Doctor Riley. She has to learn sometime.” There’s a razor in her voice, softened by a syrupy lilt, and he gives her another withering look before directing his attention back to you.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Once, in the hallway.

“Daisy!” He barks at your back and you instinctively freeze, shoulders shooting up beneath your ears before you manage to turn and face him.

“Y-yes?”

“You have Maverick? Crib B?” Your palms instinctively start sweating. Nothing is wrong. You were literally just in there and he was stable. Cute. Sleeping. He’s stable. Nothing is wrong. Right?

“Yeah- yes. He’s mine.” He scrutinizes you like he’s searching for something, ever present frown affixed to his lips.

“Why is his bili light still on?” Oh no. Did you leave it on?

“What?” He stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met. And who knows, maybe you are.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Sorry ah, no. It shouldn’t be on. I thought…”

“You thought?” You’re used to getting kicked around. Surgeons have god complexes, residents think they’re so far ahead of where they truly are, attendings love to pick you apart if they’re having a bad day. Not all of them, but enough that there is a reputation, and when you’re new, you get run over. When you’re seasoned, you learn to navigate it.

But Doctor Riley coming down on you is completely different, and shame curdles in your stomach at the idea of making a mistake.

“You’re telling me you don’t know if that light is on or off?”

“I-”

“I know you’re used to a floor where you can do the bare minimum to keep your patients alive until they get transferred, but the NICU requires a bit more attention to detail. Do you think you can do that?” Your throat goes dry, and you stare at him, words evaporating as he repeats himself, slowly. “Do… you… think… you… can…. do... that?” Jesus Christ.

“I thought I turned it off.” He steps closer. Close enough you can smell his dial soap and the barely there whiff of aftershave. Close enough he blots out the light on the ceiling. He tsks.

“Do you think you can do that Daisy?”

“Yes.” You whisper, closing your eyes. He hates you. He hates you and it’s so much worse than just some run of the mill asshole provider who’s got it out for you. So much more. “Yes I can do that. I- I’ll go check on him right now.” He nods, and then doesn’t even spare you a glance as he strides down the hall, swearing under his breath.

And then once in the parking garage.

“Wait!” You sprint to the elevator, breathless as you jump through the quickly closing door-

and right into the chest of Doctor Riley.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch, only grabs you by the upper arms to keep you from toppling over.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” He drops his hands as soon as you’re steady, but doesn’t step away.

“It’s alright.” He’s studying you. Again. Always. You noticed him doing it the other day on the floor, watching you over the head of his resident, a bug under a microscope that he’s going crush. “You have straw on your sweatshirt.”

“What?”

“Straw.” He says it slowly, like you’re hard of hearing. “On your clothes.” His gaze flicks to the collar of your sweater, where indeed, a souvenir from the barn is clinging to the fabric. Jesus.

“Ah, oops. Thanks.” The elevator lurches to a stop on the next floor of the garage, and when it opens, Doctor Price is standing on the other side. He immediately smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Daisy.” He doesn’t even say hi to Doctor Riley, just slips inside and leans against the wall. “How is it in baby-land?” Doctor Riley glares at him, one of his ‘I am thinking about ending your life’ glares that you’ve been on the receiving end too many times, and Price chuckles.

“Uh, it’s good Doctor Price.”

“Daze, please. I’ve asked you a million times to call me John.”

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” You manage a nervous laugh.

“You takin’ care of my girl Simon?” Awkward silence descends over the three of you, and your heart thumps around in your chest like a drum. Doctor Price- John, raises an eyebrow.

“Seems like you’ve coddled her enough already.” Doctor Riley grunts. Your face burns, and you stare straight ahead, begging the doors to open and release you. From your peripheral, you can see John’s facial expression change, but you stay facing forward, drowning in your embarrassment, your shame.

“Arsehole.” John growls. The doors pick a miraculous moment to slide wide and you dart through them, Doctor’s Riley response lost as you disappear around a corner.

“Doctor Riley?” You knock a little louder, mentally crossing your fingers he’ll answer and you won’t actually have to open the door. “Um… Doctor Riley? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

Shit.

Cool metal gives under the pressure of your fingers on the handle, and you call for him through the crack of the door. “Doctor Riley?”

Silence.

Double shit.

You cross the threshold, two steps inside. “Doctor Riley?”

There’s a sharp, startled inhale, and then the grit of his voice is drifting through the darkness. “What?”

“Uh, it’s… I tried messaging you but you didn’t answer. It’s the Anderson baby, she’s bradycardic and I don’t know, her muscle tone is off, I think -”

“What?” He’s sharp, immediately. The mattress creaks and then he’s flicking the light on, appearing in front of you like a ghost-

without a shirt on.

You try to look away. You do. But his chest is right in front of you, his chest with golden brown hair, hair that travels down his sternum to his belly and continues to disappear into his pants. There's muscle beneath the weight on him, and it all sits well. Perfectly. And the tattoo, the 360 sleeve stretching from should to wrist is the icing on the cake of this paradox of a giant.

Brilliant man who loves little babies, who’s skill for saving their lives is known far and wide, who looks like he could fell a tree with one swing of an axe, who saved your Riley’s life-

and who without a doubt, hates you.

You can’t look away, so you do the next best thing. You slam your eyes shut. “Um I’ll just… I’ll wait outside.” You turn, eyes still closed, and smack your face into the metal door frame so hard your orbital bone sings. You bite your lip to swallow the cursed yell that tries to burst free.

“You alright?”

“Yep.” Your lie is high pitched, and you duck around the door to wait out of sight.

When it clicks shut behind him, he turns to face you. Studying again. Scrutinizing, this time with a hand clenched at his side. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.” You’re not going to let him catch you being weak. Not for a single second. His lips down into a frown, and he shakes his head.

“Let’s go.”

Baby Anderson is tough. Probably tougher than you’ll ever be. She goes to surgery not ten minutes after Doctor Riley is at her crib, and then comes out like a champ, stable after a valve repair.

The relief makes your knees weak. It’s what carries you to the end of the day, all the way through your shift up until you’re walking across the parking garage, broken backpack hanging off your shoulder, oblivious to everything around you.

Then you hear him.

“Daisy.” You whirl. He’s standing there, a step behind you, arms crossed. “I’ve been calling your name.”

“Oh I… I was distracted.” You look away because it sounds so pathetic and you’re sure he’s sneering at you. “Sorry.” He’s quiet for a beat, and you study your shoes. They’re old and worn down. You really need new ones. Everyone on the unit has those new sneakers, the popular ones they all swear by, the ones that look like a dream. Lots of cushioning. You fantasize for a second about somehow making it work out to where you could afford a pair, but the fantasy fades away in the face of reality. You can’t even afford feed for the horses this week.

“Good catch today.” You blink. Who’s he talking to?

“What?” There’s a very long, very deep inhale, and then the rumble of his voice.

“I said, good catch today, with the Anderson baby. She would have tanked without you.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much.” You laugh it off. Because why is this man who despises you all of the sudden saying you did something right?

“You correlated the bradycardia with the muscle tone. That’s enough.”

“Right.” He’s not wrong, but you’re surprised all the same. “Um, thanks.” You finally glance up at him, and to no one’s surprise, he’s studying you again.

“Have a good night.” You momentarily forget yourself. Who? You have a good night? Your manners come back after a beat, and you manage  a strained, polite smile.

“You too Doctor Riley.”