Chapter Text
The morning of his first day as a doctor, a real, full-fledged, shiny-white-lab-coat-wearing doctor, Steve woke with a headache that paled in comparison to any of his previous hangovers. He groaned as he turned over in his bed and away from the brightness of the sunrise that came through the window. He opened his eyes for a moment and fell to the ground in surprise to see a stranger sleeping right beside him.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit—
Retrace your steps, Rogers.
The blond peeked over the edge of the bed, grateful that the man beside him was still asleep. Knocked out with his mouth slightly agape, he looked so peaceful. Short but lush strands of dark, slightly salt-and-peppered hair, the longest lashes he'd ever seen, perfectly groomed facial hair; he was a goddamn model.
Damn. Steve really got lucky his first night back in Chicago.
Steve sat back down on the floor. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to wake him up? Should he kick him out? Should he make him breakfast? Did he even have his phone number? He's a fucking Calvin Klein model, and if Steve remembered last night correctly, he wouldn't mind asking him for another drink tonight. And tomorrow night. And maybe the night after that.
Shit. What the hell was he supposed to do?
Finally he stood up, carefully sneaking out of the bedroom to get into the shower. The young doctor couldn't help but take another look at him, admiring the toned muscles that lay exposed. Just remembering how the man's skin felt under his fingertips was last night was enough to make him drool.
But it was his first day at work. His first grown up thing. Medical school was a trial run, just a bunch of scalpel-hungry children with stethoscopes around their necks playing dress up. Today was an actual day. With actual patients. He prayed to some being up in the heavens, begging for a good day.
Steve Rogers had graduated from the top of his class. Shadowing medical professionals and doctors since he was a teenager. Excellent grades, a fine student. Plenty of research conducted in both in undergrad and graduate careers. Medicine had become part of him. He didn't like to boast, but he was good. He was focused. He was definitely not the guy who brought home hot strangers the night before the biggest day of his life.
A hot stranger. An extremely hot stranger, who was so far out of his league and someone he'd never see again. Last night was still foggy, but he'd be lying if he told himself he wasn't curious to see what another night with the man would entail.
He turned on the shower, dousing himself in cold water. He needed to focus.
By the time Steve finished, he heard some rustling in the bedroom. Goddammit. He'd been hoping the model would just sneak out in the time he was gone, like any other late-night hookup was supposed to do (although, it wasn't like he knew what late-night hookups did). He took a deep breath, facing the still nameless man that stood before him.
Mr. Calvin Klein only got prettier when he smiled. He was in the middle of getting dressed, buttoning a navy blue shirt. Steve found himself getting flustered upon remembering how difficult it was to unbutton that damn shirt. Buttons are way harder to undo when you're piss-drunk.
"Uh, good morning." There was a bit of a sheepish smile on his face as if he was a bit embarrassed to be found half-dressed in a stranger's room. As if he had any reason to be embarrassed, looking perfect enough to go shoot a commercial or another underwear ad after a drunken encounter with someone he didn't know.
"Hi." Steve shifted around, wishing he wasn't clad in only a towel with dripping wet hair. "I, uh...hi."
The brunet smiled affectionately. "I'm guessing you don't really do this sort of thing."
"I don't, uh...I don't." He felt so goddamn stupid. Suddenly he was nineteen again, the same weird embarrassment and fear of trying to talk to guys, he felt like a child. The smile on the man's face only fueled the embarrassment. He was a goddamn doctor, for God's sake, and he suddenly forgot the entire English language.
"I can whip you up some breakfast for your troubles," The man continued, hoping to break the ice. "A little thank you, for uh...a nice night."
"Don't." The word slipped out so abruptly and seeing the twinge of sadness in the brunet's eyes only made him feel worse. "I-I'm sorry. I'm going to be late for work. First day. I just...can't. Sorry."
The fleeting dejected expression was quickly masked by another charming smile. "I totally understand. Don't want to make a bad impression."
Steve nodded quickly, grateful that the grueling and awkward conversation was finally over. "Thank you. It was nice to meet you, um..."
He held out his hand. "Tony."
"Steve." The handshake lingered for a moment before the newly named stranger was heading out the door.
Steve flopped onto the bed, groaning as he hid under the covers.
Idiotic. Completely stupid.
No phone number, not even a last name. Just Tony, the ridiculously gorgeous guy at the bar.
Steve liked routine. He normally would have fixed himself a cup of coffee and some eggs and toast for a real breakfast, but the damn underwear model made him sleep in. Now, there was only time for a quick sip of coffee and a bite out of a granola bar. He'd have to eat at the hospital.
Thankfully, the hospital was close enough for him to walk to. He had missed Chicago. His undergrad and medical school career had sent him out to the east coast. He liked it at first, liked the change of pace, the atmosphere. During his undergrad, the initial hype of New York City had eventually faded away. Sure, it was exciting, so many people to see and to meet, but it was the same tourists and the same bustle and sleepless city. Medical school had taken him to Philly, which was far too quiet. It was a city without all the noise of one; he was surprised to find that the city actually went to sleep. The nightlife could be fun if you knew where to go, but it was a calm city. Good for his medical school years, but far too boring. Chicago was where his heart was.
So, despite his nerves, he felt better walking the streets of his hometown and going to work. There was finally that feeling of being an adult, like someone who actually was going to pay bills, maybe settle down after the first few years of residency. After all those years of being a student, he was going to be a person with a real job.
And that was downright horrifying.
The intern locker room was crowded but oddly quiet. People were mingling, catching up after last night's mixer—an attempt for the attendings, residents, and interns to get to know each other—but other than that, there was a weird silence. Some tried to hide their fear, others didn't; it was their first day as doctors. The thought alone actually made Steve nervous.
He was never nervous. He wasn't nervous when he met the doctor he first shadowed when he was a teenager. He wasn't nervous when it came to examining cadavers and having to cut them open. He wasn't nervous when it came to putting a needle in someone's arm for the first time—everything usually came naturally to him when it came to medicine. However, the only thing he can think about is actually putting the stethoscope to someone's chest and worrying about if he could tell the difference between a heart murmur or if he just couldn't hear the patient's heart.
The mixer was supposed to help. He hung out with some of the interns, mingling and taking a sip of the champagne if things got awkward. Last week, the nerves got the best of him when his mother had sent him a text: "good luck saving lives next week!"
Saving lives. Actual, human, breathing lives. Things were so much easier in medical school. Now there were human lives on the line. People with families, people who meant something to someone else. His mom got him all worked up in six words.
One of the interns last night was boasting on all the surgeries they got to witness during their medical school career. Her dark red hair matched her fiery passion for medicine, and it made Steve feel queasy. Surgery didn't scare him, but somehow, hearing this woman go on about someone's chest wide open, it made him sick. How the hell were they allowed to do this to people? Opening chests? Why couldn't he have stuck to internal medicine with the other physicians?
Still, he had faked a laugh with the rest of the interns, taking an extra long sip of the champagne to calm his nerves. It wasn't enough.
Those same interns invited him to the bar that night after the party, and while he wanted to, he didn't want to be distracted. They insisted it would only be a few drinks, but Steve waved them off, smiling and reassuring them he'd see them the next day, only he'd be the one without a headache.
Oh, how he regretted his decision.
If he had been with them, he probably wouldn't have taken shots to ease his nerves since he was alone. He wouldn't have been alone in his thoughts, secretly terrified of killing a patient because it felt like everything he'd ever learned was leaking out of his ears. He wouldn't have been distracted and taken a a gorgeous stranger back to his apartment, and he wouldn't be dreaming of another night with that same gorgeous stranger.
Steve's day dreaming was interrupted by the same redhead from last night. She nudged him a little and smiled. "Hey. Rounds are soon. They're assigning residents."
Another intern sat beside him, already donning the blue scrubs and the white coat. Her golden hair fell down in ringlets from her pony tail. A purple stethoscope hung around her neck.
"Missed you at the bar last night," She said, adjusting her coat, "we saw you, but it got really crowded. Did you get out okay?"
He really hated how hungover he was. She seemed so warm and genuinely concerned, but he couldn't remember anyone's name and the headache wasn't helping. He pushed another fake smile. "I did, thanks."
"Get lucky, pal?" A man his age clapped his shoulder. Army tags hung around his neck. "I saw you running out of that bar. I hope you had a good time."
The women beside them started giggling and whispering. Immediately, Steve's face was hot. He cleared his throat and quickly changed into scrubs. The women couldn't help but notice the hickeys on his back and chest. The man beside him whistled, the women hushed him but couldn't stop their own laughter. Their teasing was interrupted by one of the residents reading names out loud. Several names were called before Steve heard his.
"Rogers, Barnes, Carter, and Romanoff, you're with Dr. Wilson." The doctor clicked her pen. "Everyone better be dressed. Meet your residents, and try to keep up, people."
Army Tags, Purple Stethoscope and Redhead were in his group. Thank God for some familiar faces. Dr. Wilson nodded curtly before giving them their pagers.
"My name is Dr. Samuel Wilson. If you listen to me and follow my rules, you'll make fine surgeons. If you don't, you'll be out of here in a week." He continued his charting before looking up again, like he'd clearly given his speech dozens of times. "Answer your pages when nurses or other attendings page you. And you better get there in time so the patient doesn't die. Your first shift here is forty-eight hours; do as you're told, then sleep when you can. Speaking of which, if I'm sleeping, don't wake me unless your patient is dying. That patient better be alive when I get there. Questions?"
Nobody dared to raise their hand. That question seemed more rhetorical than anything else. Dr. Wilson did not seem to be in the mood for actual questions or concerns. Instead, the interns wordlessly followed him for a quick tour of the hospital.
Steve could barely focus. He was supposed to be listening to Dr. Wilson so he wouldn't be a lost moron when he finally needed to bring someone for a CT scan, but he could only think of Tony. He should've asked for a name. Even a last name. Or a number. How was he living in the 21st century without asking someone for their damn phone number?
He was not this person. Not the person to pine and wonder about someone he'd just met. Steve wasn't much for one night stands; he always had long term partners. At least, up until medical school. His partners just didn't seem to understand him—medicine was going to come first. He needed to be on the top of his game.
His last partner wanted to understand. She was in grad school, he was in the thick of his third year of medical school. They both knew how difficult graduate education could be, but even then, it didn't work out. Steve pretended not to care—he didn't need a boyfriend or girlfriend to survive—but still, it'd be nice if something like that worked out. That someone would understand what he's going through, and what he's going to be going through for the next few years. That someone could lay down in bed with him after hours of studying. If only.
The tour was interrupted by Dr. Wilson's pager followed by the rest of the interns pagers. Panic rose in Steve's chest, and before he could calm himself, they were running to the emergency room.
A young teenage girl was seizing violently in the gurney, with the paramedics listing off her vitals to Dr. Wilson. Steve's head was suddenly cloudy, like he forgot what medicine was; it sounded like a foreign language in his mind.
Dr. Wilson barked something at him, and though Steve knew it wasn't personal, that it was because this girl needed help, it only added to his anxiety. He pulled out whatever was needed from the cart, paged more nurses for medications, and soon, the seizing ceased. Dr. Wilson finally took a breath.
"Page Dr. Anthony Stark from neuro," Dr. Wilson began, "and, uh...Rogers. Take...let's see here...Katie Stevens...to get a CT."
Great. Fucking great. Of course he's the one sent for a CT scan. The only damn intern who wasn't paying attention and daydreaming about a one night stand.
"You're lost."
Steve gritted his teeth. "This is a big hospital, that's all."
The teenager clicked her tongue and examined her nails. "You're lost. I'm going to die in this hospital because a cute but stupid doctor couldn't get me to get my scans. I'm supposed to be at a competition right now."
"I'm not stupid, we'll get your scans," Steve replied, hoping that speaking the words into existence would make it happen. Of all the days not to pay attention, it was with a girl with a serious medical condition that could send her seizing any minute. "Competition for what?"
"I'm a cheerleader," Katie explained with a huff, "I can't help our team win if I'm not there. I'm the flyer."
"Sounds like your teammates better work on catching you better if you're going to win, huh?"
She pouted in response, folding her arms together. Steve smirked and patted her shoulder. "I'm only joking, kid. We'll get you fixed up so you can cheer your heart out."
They passed a nursing station yet again, and Katie groaned. Taking pity on the lost intern, one of the nurses called to Steve.
"Hey. Dr. Blondie."
Steve grimaced. "I'm assuming you're talking to me."
The nurse smiled. "Radiology is on the fourth floor, honey. When you get off the elevator, turn left."
Relief washed over Steve. He thanked her profusely before quickly hopping onto an elevator. Katie giggled to herself.
"Dr. Blondie. That's really cute, actually."
"It's Dr. Rogers."
"Whatever you say, Dr. Blondie."
The radiologist looked impatient, but fortunately, there was no lecture on waiting around. Steve was just happy that Dr. Wilson wasn't around to chew his ass out. Once the scans were taken, Steve took the complaining teenager back to her room.
"I need to see the competition," Katie insisted, "I need you to help me work these damn TVs."
Steve chuckled as he connected her back to the monitors. "I graduated from Harvard, and I went to University of Pennsylvania," Steve began, "and you're asking me to figure out your TV?"
There was a tired look on her face for a moment, and her eyes fluttered to a close. Immediately, her body shook violently.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—
"I need help!" Steve called out. His knees were shaking as he ran through the list of medications in his mind that would help. "I need... I need phenobarbital. Keppra. L-lorazepam."
The nurses injected the medications into the IV. No response, and Katie continued seizing in the bed with no signs of stopping. Soon after, her monitor beeped incessantly. Flat line. The real life, earth-shattering sound of a flat-lining patient. Usually the sound didn't scare him, usually he was quick to jump in and pretend he was a superhero. He'd been playing doctor since he was a child. It wasn't a game anymore.
"Dr. Rogers, she's loaded on all the medications, you need to call a code," A nurse reminded him, "We've paged Stark, but you need to run a code."
Steve nodded wordlessly, feeling nauseous as he held the crash cart paddles in his hand. Eventually, words came out of his mouth, telling someone to charge the paddles, but it didn't sound like him. Somehow, his hands moved over the girl's chest, watching her chest rise with the shock. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, like he was just a puppet watching everything happen around him. Finally, a steady heart rate brought Steve back to Earth.
He sat down in the chair next to Katie, trying to catch his breath and stop himself from vomiting whatever alcohol and coffee that was in his stomach. The nurses told him something about Dr. Stark arriving soon, and her vitals were stable for now.
Katie stirred a little and reached out to Steve weakly. "Thanks for not killing me, Dr. Blondie."
"Told you I'd get you out of here alive." He rested a hand on hers. Her skin was still warm. He kept her alive.
Geez. He was just a kid playing dress up. He should not be allowed to do this. Steve let his eyes close for just a moment. Just as his own heart rate settled down, there was a gentle knock on the door.
"Katie Stevens?"
Holy shit. That voice.
He opened his eyes, meeting the same brown eyes that he woke up to this morning. The same salt-and-pepper hair. The navy blue button down was replaced navy blue scrubs and a white lab coat. Since he was an attending, his lab coat had his name stitched into it: Anthony Stark, MD.
"Oh. You're Dr. Stark."
"Yes indeed, I am." Tony smiled, the same affectionate smile from this morning. "Good to see you again."
Katie sat up eagerly, glancing at Steve before going back to Tony. "No way. You're my doctor too? Did they all hire you from the same modeling company or something?"
Tony laughed as he checked her chart. He put a stethoscope to her chest, winking at the young girl who didn't bother to hide her attraction to the neurosurgeon. She giggled and blushed, talking a mile a minute as he examined her.
Steve tried sneaking away the examination continued, hoping to hide in a supply closet or run away as far as possible. Katie seemed to be taking enough of his attention until she called out to him as he was stepping out of the door.
"Wait, where are you going, Dr. Blondie? Aren't you on my case, too?"
Tony turned around as well, quirking a brow. "That's quite a nick name. Fitting."
"It's, uh...I'm Dr. Rogers. Sir. I have to chart. Because she crashed." He fiddled with the pen in his pocket, even though Tony had the chart and he had no other patients to chart on yet. "I'll be back."
"Dr. Rogers, I'll meet you at the nurses station when this exam is finished." He nodded again with a smile before turning back to Katie. The young cheerleader winked at the intern, motioning for him to come back later.
He's fucked. He's fucked. Completely, utterly fucked. He fucked his boss, and now he's fucked.