Chapter Text
When Claire Saffitz was four years old, her parents bought her a Fisher-Price doctor kit. It was her favorite present that year. For weeks after, she wore the yellow and blue stethoscope around her neck just like the happy little doctors in the picture. Her sisters humored her for a time, but soon they grew tired of her frequent check-ups and how, no matter what their ailment turned out to be, they required a stabbing shot to the arm. Her mother suggested Claire make her stuffed animals her patients and so, from then on, she spent hours alone in her room discovering the cures for wobbly tails and matted fur. That also seemed to involve a lot of shots, curiously enough.
When Claire started kindergarten, each child in her class had to draw a picture of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Claire drew herself as a doctor. And so it was illustrated in thick, brilliant Crayola lines. It’s been her path ever since, carefully researched and plotted and pursued: Harvard for pre-med, Stanford for medical school (she was so not a California person as it turned out) and back to Harvard’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital, the top ranked emergency medicine program in the country, for residency and an Emergency Critical Care fellowship. It all led to a prized Attending Emergency Physician position at New York City's St. Vincent Hospital and the life she’d always dreamed of.
So what happens once you meet your goal? Achieve your dream? Claire has been so focused on always getting that next shiny, golden ring that now that she’s collected them all, she isn’t sure what’s next. In her mind, and literally on her vision boards, was some glamorous life that somehow combined Sex and the City with Grey’s Anatomy in a life that was effortlessly romantic and dramatic. It would be long, exhausting shifts in the hospital, true, but with work that was mentally and physically stimulating. In her spare time, she’d have plenty of energy for long runs in the park and cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking and dating successful, attractive men who shared her love for Saturday brunch and strolls through the MoMa.
As it turns out, her shifts at the only Level One trauma center in lower Manhattan are exhausting, And, yes, sometimes they are stimulating, but often they are frustrating and draining and tedious. She’s stuck with the night shift partially to curry herself favor with hospital admin but also because, as a life-long insomniac, she likes the slow rhythm of the hospital after the sun goes down. There is something mysterious and magical about it. It suits her, at any rate. But getting her body back to normal human time on her days off is a bitch and she’s far more likely to opt for a lazy afternoon on her couch with Buffy DVDs rolling in the background rather than rooftop mimosas and trips to the museum.
Surely she didn't work so hard her whole life for this ?
It is a common superstition in the emergency room to not call it like it is: quiet. The q-word is strictly verboten. Anyone who dares speak it aloud into the calm, tranquil night of St. Vincent’s Emergency Department is immediately banished to the ambulance bay to await the inevitable arrival of a multiple gunshot wound victim or overdosing teen.
So Claire doesn’t say it is quiet. She thinks it, though.
Claire has parked herself in the staff workroom and is scrolling through her phone. She stabs half-heartedly at the chef’s salad that dares to call itself her dinner. As usual, she ran out of time to pack herself a proper meal before heading off to her shift. The hospital cafeteria options are sadly limited during the overnight shift; the tasteless combination of iceberg lettuce and overcooked hard-boiled eggs will have to do.
“It’s weirdly quiet tonight, huh?” Her fellow attending, Dr. Sohla El-Waylly, says as she enters the workroom, sinking herself on the beaten up couch tucked in the corner.
Claire pauses, a forkful of lettuce and tomato balancing in the air. “Did you really just say that word out loud?”
“What word?” Sohla is stretching her arms up and rolling her neck. She barely seems to register her sin. She removes her glasses and cleans them on her lab coat.
“Sohla,” Claire warns, mouth full of salad. “The q-word.”
It takes the new attending a minute. Maybe the q-word wasn’t a thing in her last placement, some hospital out in Queens. Sohla just waves a dismissive hand in the air. “I don’t believe in superstitions!”
Claire makes a face. What doctor doesn’t believe in superstitions? They are practically a full-fledged course in med school. “Fine. Great. The next call is all yours then! And Kevin is one of your residents tonight so…”
Sohla groans and covers her face with her hands, smudging her glasses all over again. “Last week he tripped over a gurney and face planted into our patient’s lap!”
“No!” Claire laughs at the mental image. Kevin Dynia is a great guy and a good doctor. But he is also a total klutz.
Sohla starts to tell the story but before she can get a full sentence out, the intercom blares to life, alerting them to an incoming trauma patient. Claire and Sohla spring into action.
“See!” Claire shakes her head. “If this is something crazy, it’s all yours.”
“I’ll take it. I just spent the last twenty minutes coaching Jesse on how to counsel a college girl on how to properly treat her STD.” Sohla laughs at the memory. “He’s gotta learn sometime.”
Claire chuckles and waves goodbye to Sohla as she heads out the door. Making first-years uncomfortable is a true highlight of a supervisory role. Taking one last bite of turkey (or is it ham? Who can tell? Hopefully it’s at least protein), Claire leaves the fork in her salad container, snaps the plastic lid closed, and tosses it in the fridge. She gives her hands a thorough wash and ignores the hunger pains that still twinge in her stomach. Hopefully there will be time later. Claire hustles toward the ambulance bay to await their next patient. The little corridor bustles with staff anticipating the possibly critical arrival.
“I thought it was mine regardless?” Sohla teases when Claire pulls up beside her. She waves Molly, one of the nurses, over to them.
“Oh no,” Claire shakes her head. “I’m not going back to that sad salad. If this is something straightforward, I’m taking it. Dibs.” She knows that Sohla can take some good-natured case stealing given that she’s still technically in her probationary period. Sohla’s cool like that.
“This is all Claire,” Molly winks as she comes to stand between them, catching the tail end of their conversation. She hooks a hand on each end of the stethoscope draped around her neck and lets her long blonde ponytail flip into her face. “80 year old male presenting with shortness of breath and chest pains. Being brought in by Unit 136.”
“Yes!” Claire reaches for the laptop cart and drags it over to herself. She doesn’t miss the look Molly throws at her. “I mean about the patient, Molly.”
“Uh huh.” Molly smirks, then nudges her elbow into Sohla.
“I don’t get it?” Sohla looks between the women with confusion.
Molly waggles her eyebrows. “ Unit 136. Oh, you’ll see.”
Claire ignores her coworkers and preps herself for their case. She’s reading the patient record as it’s updated in real time, information and stats from the ambulance being transmitted as they occur. She doesn’t have to glance at the dispatch information to know who’s running the treatment on this patient. She’d recognize Brad’s writing anywhere— haphazard with many typos and weird interjections of humor. (“Px asked for a strawberry milkshake. Appetite good. Taste? questionable.”) She smiles to herself. “You’re off the hook, Sohla. Wait for the inevitable next one.”
Sohla reads the chart over Claire’s shoulder. She gives her a questioning look. Claire doesn’t blame her. An elderly male with likely cardiac issues isn’t exactly a hot case. “Will do.”
Claire rattles off a few anticipatory instructions to her team as they await their patient’s arrival. “Mike?” She calls for her most senior resident that she knows will be lingering in the background. He just discharged his two patients and she’ll likely turn this one over to his care once they get him stabilized. “Page Dr. Music in cardiology.”
“On it, doc!”
Seconds later, red flashing lights flood the brightly lit hallway through the windows. The ambulance rolls up into the driveway and it’s not long before their patient is rolling in, two towering paramedics on either side of the gurney.
“Good evening, my dear St. Vincent friends!” Alex Delany, the younger paramedic, grins as he guides the gurney toward the room Molly points at like an air traffic controller. Delany is loud and smiling, entirely too cheerful for the middle of the night in Claire’s opinion. But Claire doesn’t really pay him much attention. Her eyes go automatically to Brad Leone, the senior paramedic on the team. Brad is always smiling too, and he can certainly be loud, but there is something more measured about him. His energy is always focused on the patient and not on making the young female nurses swoon.
Brad’s large body is leaning over their patient as they roll in, chatting animatedly, his bright blue eyes sparkling and hands waving. The elderly man has his arms crossed over his chest even with the IV lines poking into him. His frown is deep and unmoving under his oxygen mask. Brad doesn’t let this slow him down. Claire bites back a grin.
“Ahhh! The lovely Dr. Saffitz! Hey there, Claire!” Brad finally notices her and gives her a beaming smile.
“Whaddya got for me today, Leone?” She smiles back, she can’t help it, but quickly switches her focus from the paramedic to the patient. Their patient looks alert and oriented. He seems to be chatting with Brad in a comfortable, albeit cranky, manner, removing his oxygen mask every so often to do so.
“This is my friend Joseph Stover,” Brad offers by way of introduction, patting the man on the shoulder as he points to Claire. “He’s having some chest pain and shortness of breath. Brought on by the abysmal performance of the Mets in tonight’s game, no doubt. He tried to sleep it off but there ain’t no comin’ back from that, in my opinion. Call it a season!”
“It’s May!” The older man removes his mask again to croak out. Brad just pats him on the shoulder again and chuckles good-naturedly.
As the medical team works to transfer their patient to a hospital bed, Claire keeps flicking her gaze between them and the chart in front of her. Her brain works to take in all the data presented to her, an initial treatment plan and questions already formulating.
“Mr. Stover, you really should not try to sleep off chest pain!” Claire can’t help but chide, though she keeps the expression on her face light. In a lower voice, she rattles off a few orders for lab work to Mike who nods and takes notes. Molly hooks their patient up to some fluids and monitors, moving easily in concert with Mike to get everything going.
“See, told ya, Joe!” Brad throws an arm up as he moves a stool next to the patient’s bed. “Doc Saffitz is not happy. And I would not be pissin’ her off if I were you!” Claire makes a face at Brad’s seemingly permanent position at their patient’s bedside. It’s certainly not typical protocol for a paramedic to sit and stay awhile. But Brad is anything but a typical paramedic. It’s what she enjoys most about his visits to her ER.
Delany rolls his eyes at his partner as he works alone to remove the stretcher and ambulance equipment from the room. Brad sees this and just waves him away. Claire shoots Delany a sympathetic look. As a doctor, she generally appreciates the thorough first hand data Brad often provides but there are also times, like now, he’s more content to just shoot the shit when there are critical assessments to be made.
“I shoulda just stayed home…” Joe grouches and glares at Molly, who is attempting to take some blood. “Gettin’ poked and prodded like a pincushion here. Ouch!” He half-heartedly swats at Molly’s hand. The veteran nurse avoids it with an overly bright smile and quick reflexes.
“Hang in there, Mr. Stover,” Claire assures him. She moves closer to his bed to grab for the ECG readout. “We’ll get you checked out and make sure everything is okay. You want to live to see the Mets play another day, right?”
Joe just grumbles something to himself. Brad apparently hears it as he leans over and whispers something into the man’s ear.
“I know she’s pretty!” Joe suddenly shouts. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy to be stuck here!”
Claire feels her cheeks go hot. She catches Brad’s gaze and he has the grace to look sheepish.
“Is that how Leone got you onto the stretcher, Joe?” Molly teases. “Promising you our prettiest doctor?” Molly winks at Claire.
“Okay, enough!” Claire glares at Molly. She hears Sohla, who for some reason is still lingering in the background (probably just waiting on another trauma call), laugh. “Let’s get this moving so we can get Mr. Stover out of here!” Claire knows that it’s likely the older man has at least an overnight stay in the hospital ahead of him but she’ll shade that detail in later when he’s more settled. Or maybe let Carla break the news. She’s good with the cranky octogenarians.
“Can’t believe you sold me out like that, ol’ Joe! Thought we were pals, bud!” Brad is laughing and apparently not super embarrassed to have been caught calling her pretty to a patient. Claire feels like she should be annoyed on principle, and if it were anyone else commenting on her looks she would go quickly into the pissed category, but this is Brad. Brad who can make even the prickliest of patients smile and feel at ease.
“Humph. Live as long as I do and you learn there is little time for bullshit.” Joe rolls his eyes and, despite the crankiness radiating from his every pore, he seems much more at ease when he talks with Brad.
“You’re gonna have a lot more time for bullshit, Mr. Stover,” Claire assures. “I can tell you that much.”
Joe just snorts and lays back, closing his eyes. Claire squints at him to be sure he’s just being petulant and not fading on her. Brad shoots her an exaggerated wink. He gives Joe a final pat to the shoulder before navigating his big body out of the small space. As it happens, he has to brush past Claire to make it out of the room. Claire can’t help that her breath hitches when he places a gentle hand to her back, steering her just a bit to the left so he can sneak out. She’s keenly aware, then, of how much taller he is than her, how broad. She has to tilt her head back to even look up at him.
“Thanks, Brad,” she murmurs as he shuffles out of the room. She hates that she sounds a bit breathless. Hates that just a few minutes of him in her ER makes the night feel just a bit brighter.
He salutes her with a goofy smile on his face. “Keep doin’ the good work, Doc. Maybe I’ll catch ya later.” Then, he turns to leave, whistling and singing to himself.
“Be safe!” She hears herself shout at his back and as her words come back to her ears she frowns. Be safe? When has she ever said that to one of the many paramedics that filter in and out of the department. She groans and slaps her forehead.
“I think he’s sweet on you,” Joe says in the most calm, even voice Claire has heard from him yet. She narrows her eyes at the man, considering how much of the grumpiness was just a way to banter with Brad.
Frowning, Claire turns her attention back to the computer to sign off on her initial orders. “He was just trying to cheer you up, Mr. Stover. At my expense.”
“Uh huh. Yeah. What do I know,” is all the old man says before shifting his attention to picking at his IV tape. He burps loudly. Claire sighs.
Claire finishes up her work and logs out of the chart. “Your nurse, Molly, will take care of you for now, Mr. Stover. Call her if you need anything. Dr. Guggino will be your treating physician. He was the one with the beard and glasses. He’ll be back shortly with some medication that will make you more comfortable for now. In the next hour, Dr. Music from cardiology should be down pending some lab work to update you on things, okay? You’ll like her. She’s pretty too.”
Joe doesn’t answer. Just groans and grumbles and tries to get comfortable on the bed. Claire leaves him with a lingering look of sympathy, confident he is stable for the time being.
Her work complete, Claire finds her way back to the workroom and her salad after checking in with her residents and determining everyone is settled for the time being. Sohla will pick up the next call and so she has a little time to catch up on her charting for the night.
“So…” Sohla fixes her with a look as she picks at her own dinner (lunch? Who’s to say what it’s called at eleven at night?) “I’m new here so sorry if I’m supposed to know this… You and that paramedic? The big one with the beanie on?”
Claire frowns. “Brad?”
Sohla nods, taking a bite of her pasta dish. A delicious looking lunch she packed from home. Claire tries not to be envious. “I sensed a vibe.”
“A vibe?” Claire feels her cheeks pink up again. “That’s nothing. There’s no vibe. He’s just Brad. He’s friendly like that with everyone. Didn’t you see how he was with our patient?”
Sohla studies her carefully, her lips teasing a smile. “Huh. Okay.” She puts her palms up. “Maybe so. Just seemed like the way you were looking at each other—
“I was looking at my patient’s chart!” Claire isn’t sure why she’s so defensive. But this is that hard time of night, when she definitely gets a little prickly herself. And yet she’s barely a third of the way into her shift.
“Hmm, Okay,” Sohla says again. “My bad.”
“Besides,” Claire continues, trying to control the odd flutter she suddenly feels in her chest. “I think he has a girlfriend.” Claire isn’t sure this fact is helpful to her case. She can’t honestly say she knows anything about the private lives of most of the paramedics that come through the department. Still, she overheard Brad mentioning a woman making him dinner to Molly and Delany once as they chatted. And what’s the likelihood of a man who looks like that being single? Let alone one who is so compassionate and friendly? Highly unlikely.
“Okay, okay,” Sohla waves her off. “I’ll mind my own beeswax.”
“That would be great,” Claire responds a little tartly before tuning out Sohla to go back to her work.
It’s not like she has time for a relationship anyway. Especially not one with an overly friendly paramedic.