Chapter Text
Victoria Javadi’s 21st birthday celebration ended in disaster.
Well, a pleasure-filled, erotic disaster.
Princess and Perlah had planned the whole thing – set in Donovan’s Tavern, decorated with silver and purple streamers and two perfectly inflated ‘21’ balloons. Most of the day shift had come, if they didn’t have work: Dana, Whitaker, Trinity, even Robby. Even Samira and Mel showed up, bearing personalized gifts that Victoria hadn’t even known she had wanted.
Victoria loved it, but she does not remember much from before.
(His mouth makes quick work of her neck, tracing, trailing, mapping the curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear; the need for friction between her legs growing like a terrible, ruthless beast.)
Before she got completely shit-faced drunk and made, arguably, the worst decision of her life. Victoria Javadi does not make “bad” decisions. In fact, her slate was clean six months ago.
(“Oh my god,” Victoria mumbles against his neck, his curls brushing her cheek.)
Princess and Perlah had planned it all, almost perfectly. The invites were the issue.
Unfortunately, to Victoria’s terrible luck, James Ogilvie was present.
(“I can’t fucking stand you.” his whispers in her ear, the last syllable coming out as a whimper as he struggles to keep control.)
And, unfortunately, Victoria Javadi, on the night of her 21st birthday, lost her virginity to James Ogilvie.
(“You’re fucking pathetic, Javadi, squirming under me. Fuck.” He mumbles, almost incoherently, and, as much as she hates to admit, his teasing pushes her closer to the edge.)
She wishes she could brag to Trinity and Dennis, tell them that it was terrible, tell them that she thinks that sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. She wants to say that he sucked, that she is some sort of sex connoisseur that would know. She did not even remember how she had ended up back at Ogilvie’s place that night.
The most unfortunate thing, however, was that she loved it, and Ogilvie knows.
++
Victoria’s life is measured in lists, even down to her favorite Olivia Rodrigo setlist from the time her dad took her for her 19th birthday. Everything, to her at least, can be contained in an organized list with emojis in her notes app.
Almost everything.
Her mental list of reasons why she hates James Ogilvie is, figuratively, 30 pages long, and counting. She has lost track of what reason she’s on, maybe somewhere in the 50s.
Thankfully, she has not seen him since, well, the incident, which was approximately six months ago. She’s finalized her other rotations: Pedes, OB/GYN, and her personal favorite, Family Med. She would have been finished with her ED rotation, but after her birthday, she couldn’t bear to face Ogilvie again. Not after what they shared. Not after what they did.
So, here she is, clocking into the ED for a month. No longer a virgin. She hopes no one can smell it on her clothes, even after so much time.
Hoping, praying, wishing that Ogilvie, by some stroke of fate, is not working. She figured that his four-week rotation was over, and that he had decided to apply for residency in another specialty, like ortho or neuro.
Luckily, she scoped out the ED when she arrived, but didn’t catch a glimpse of his dirty blond curls or his tall frame. She saw Dennis,Trinity, McKay, Mel and even Langdon, who usually came in late. She exhaled a breath she did not know she was holding.
“Alright, day shift, let’s convene about patients, please.” Robby’s voice booms out, day shift doctors following in suit towards the break room. Javadi falls in step with McKay, who greets her with a genuine smile and hug. Victoria smiles back.
She had already updated the charts of the patients assigned to her, upped or lowered their meds where necessary, and had even picked up two more patients from triage. She was on top of it, and ready to prove to Robby and Al-Hashimi she was the best, most attentive and motivated future resident.
And now, without Ogilvie in her way, the residency spot was practically guaranteed.
++
Entering the room, she is sandwiched between Whitaker and Trinity, the restless roommates arguing about avocados. Again. Victoria has not missed a beat.
The room is cramped, yet comfortable, with the day shift doctors, and she stands in front of someone very, very tall, so close she can feel his breath on her shoulders.
She knows that sound. That feeling of his breath along her bare skin, steady and unsteady all the same as her body caught on fire.
Fuck. She does not dare turn around, already imagining the terribly smug smirk on his face. Surely he’s recognized her form, her body, standing in front of him? He has seen all of it, to Victoria’s digress.
“Javadi, present,” Robby’s voice beckons her answer.
She fumbles for a moment, pulling herself together for a beat too long. “Of course, sorry. 62-year-old male, brought in by EMS with acute shortness of breath, complained of a “crushing” feeling in his chest. He has a history of severe COVID-19, and was on long-term intubation. Pale and diaphoretic.”
“Differential and treatment plan?” Robby inquires.
“Um, Acute Pulmonary Embolism. Immediate high-flow oxygen to stabilize breathing, stat CT Pulmonary Angiogram to locate the clot, administrate systemic thrombolytics and monitor for improvement,” Javadi finishes, proud of herself. Easy-peasy.
“Good. If the thrombolytics are not available, what is an alternative?”
“Percutaneous thrombectomy.” Robby’s head bobs in approval, and Victoria’s nervousness melts away. Easy-peasy –
“Did you monitor for deep vein thrombosis, or check the right ventricle?” There it was. The deep, ridiculously monotone voice she had almost forgotten while she was away. The same ridiculously mocking tone that had whispered terribly fascinating sweet nothings in her ear.
Rolling her eyes, she does not turn around. “Yes, BP is stable, and he didn’t have localized pain or tenderness of the calves or legs.” Javadi responds quickly, not allowing Ogilvie to get under her skin, jutting her chin out in confidence.
Before Ogilvie can ask another ridiculous question, Robby continues, moving to Trinity.
“Nice presentation. I’m glad you’re back,” Dennis whispers, bumping her shoulder with his.
“Glad to be back,” Victoria answers, the hairs on her neck tingling as someone leans in closer.
“I don’t know why you even bothered finishing your rotation. You know you’re gonna lose the residency spot,” James whispers in the shell of her ear, warm breath smelling of mint.
“Actually, it’s still undecided. And completely up to Robby, by the way. Don’t you think he would pick the person with, y’know, somewhat of a soul?” Victoria bites back, watching his mask of cool indifference falter, just for a moment, in her periphery.
“We shall see.” He replies ominously, brushing her ass with his front as he awkwardly tries to follow the day shift doctors out of the room.
Victoria’s breath hitches.
(“I’ve been thinking about you like this for weeks, Javadi,” His disgusting outwardness entices Victoria, and an involuntary moan escapes as he bites her lip.
“What you feel like under me. Around me. You have no fucking clue.” He grips the globes of her ass, lifting her up seamlessly as her back hits the thin wall of his bedroom.)
The next month was going to be long.
++
James was always the tallest in his classes in high school, reaching a humble six foot three before his bones were content with their growth. He had the best grades, not because he tried, but because school and learning and recalling information came easily, naturally, to him, so why not become a doctor?
James Ogilvie did not grow up with two millionaire doctors for parents, or live in a marble-crusted house. At least, that’s what he assumed Victoria Javadi grew up with.
In fact, his father taught high school English, and his mother waited tables at a shitty diner off of the highway, barely making peanuts.
James Ogilvie had nothing.
Victoria Javadi has everything, and he despises her for it. Loathes her completely, because he knows she has nothing to lose. He knows about all of the scholarships she was awarded, all of the med school advisors begging her to grace them with her prodigal knowledge. He knows that she can fall back on mommy and daddy’s money and never think twice about rent or groceries or bills.
He is jealous.
James had to take out loans – practically beg for scholarships that a dual-income home barely scraping in 100k a year could not afford.
And he broke, badly, irrevocably, on the night of her 21st birthday. He hadn’t meant to get so shitfaced, but seeing Victoria laugh at Mateo’s stupid, unintelligent jokes, her angular jaw thrown back in amusement, he continued to order drinks on a tab he most definitely could not afford.
He blamed their incident on biology. A simple mishap, he concluded, that would have happened to any heterosexual male and female when under the influence. What he could not account for, however, was his mouth.
("I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," His whispers over her stomach, her hips, her breasts.)
Unfortunately, his drunken state had mumbled ridiculous thoughts in her ear, degrading her, telling her things that are often kept inside a sober mind. He knows he fucked up. God, he knows. But the sounds she made as he whispered to her, her pleased moans and quick breaths pushing him to release.
Like he said: completely due to biology. He just hadn’t fucked anyone in a while. In a while meaning, since his MS1 year. Pent up testosterone and her know-it-all attitude had worn his composure down, that’s all.
He had hoped it was behind him – yet her strawberry pink Lululemon scuba jacket and bouncy, youthful ponytail in the break room had given him his answer.
Victoria Javadi was very much still a part of his life, to his biology’s happy discovery.
His dick stretched against his pants when she had corrected his question on her procedure.
Completely biological.
++
Victoria searches the board for something somewhat challenging to end the shift. Stomach pain, headache, virus… there it is. 28-year-old with diabetes complications. Interesting.
As she updates her name on the board, she feels a familiar presence at her back.
“Yes, Ogilvie, what can I help you with? Unfortunately, I can’t fix your bedside manner, so don’t–”
“Picking up one last patient, I see?”
Victoria sighs with exasperation, rubbing her eyes. “Yes, this guy is gonna be my last one of the day,” wanting to brag a little, she adds: “I’ve seen 30 patients today, actually.”
“Wow, you’re on fire, Dr. J,” Ogilvie mocks her, using the nickname of her TikTok account he knows she hates to be called by. Leaning in closer over the counter, he says, “I’ve seen 31.”
He lumbers away, completely missing the way Victoria's pen breaks on her clipboard from pressing so hard. Asshole.
“You okay, kid?” Dana’s concerned expression reminds Javadi of where she is and the patient awaiting her in Central 15.
“Yes, all good!” She says cheerily, sporting a fake smile she’s sure Dana can sniff out, but she walks off before she can comment.
++
Her chart showed that Aiden Del Valle came in with his wife, Colette Del Valle only.
So why was she hearing three voices emanating from Central 15?
She recognized the deep, soothing timbre of one of them, and she could feel her carotid pulse spiking.
Drawing back the curtain, her suspicions are proven – Ogilvie sits, typing cheerily on the monitor as the couple giggle at something he said.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Del Valle, I’m a student doctor, Dr. Javadi, and I’ll be conducting your routine exam,” Javadi states, ignoring the curious look James gives her.
“Oh, you have to take my vitals again? Doctor, um, what was your name again, honey?” Mrs. Del Valle asks.
“Student doctor Ogilvie, ma’am,” James responds, all traces of the filth he whispered six months ago replaced with southern charm.
“Yes! Student doctor Ogilvie already updated his exams. Does he need to be checked again?” MRs. Del Valle inquires.
Javadi can feel the room becoming smaller. “Oh! Um, no, I don’t have to do it again. I was actually coming to inform you both of what happened earlier to Mr. Del Valle,” Javadi says smugly.
“So, Mr. Del Valle –”
“Aiden, please,” The 28-year-old man insists kindly.
“Right. Aiden, you were found by the paramedics in your freezing home, tachypneic, with deep, labored breathing. Because of your history of type 1 diabetes, this type of breathing is called ‘Kussmal breathing’.”
“Shit, am I gonna be alright?” The worried man asks, clutching his wife’s hand.
“Yes, yes, no doubt about it. My attendings diagnosed you with diabetic ketoacidosis, which can be triggered by missed insulin or infection, which your wife confirmed that you hadn’t taken your insulin. Due to the extremely low temperature in your home, this disturbed your body’s ethylene glycol ingestion, causing –”
“Metabolic acidosis,” Ogilvie finishes, pretending as if Victoria isn’t standing there, gaping at him.
“Y-yes, exactly.” Javadi keeps her cool. “In terms of treatment moving forward, we recommend –”
“Did you rule out sepsis?” There it is.
“Yes, Dr. Ogilvie, I ruled out sepsis,” She says, the wear from the day finally catching up to her. She does not need him constantly second-guessing her.
“Did you, though? Because sepsis can coexist with DKA, and should be taken into consideration with lethargic patients,” James adds, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“Yes, Robby and Al-Hashimi examined his blood cultures, counts, and lactate levels. He. Does. Not. Have. Sepsis.” She emphasizes, hoping he takes the hint and leaves. The couple exchange knowing looks, stifling their laughs at the warring student doctors.
Regaining her composure, Victoria continues with her prognosis plan. “Anyways, for your recovery, we’re going to follow the DKA Protocol, which means that we’re giving you normal saline followed by an insulin infusion, as well as continuously monitoring your potassium. You should make a full recovery, yet we need to keep you here to monitor everything for at least 24 hours.” Victoria assures them.
“Thanks, Doc. But do you know what caused it? Usually, my insulin isn’t so… finicky, y’know?”
“Well, if you have had pneumonia or a UTI in the past few days, that could have stressed your immune system.” Right as Victoria opens her mouth to respond, Ogilvie’s already there.
“Yes, as well as the extremely cold house. Do you mind if I ask why your house was so cold?” Victoria cuts, in shooting Ogilvie a smug look.
Rubbing his hands, Mr. Del Valle responds sheepishly. “Well, y’know, heating the house up, especially during these late fall months, gets real expensive. Colette and I usually keep the AC off to avoid the big bills,” He admits.
Ogilvie’s face scrunches up. “Where do you work? Mrs. Del Valle, are you employed?” His blatant questions make Victoria want to die, right there, on the cool gray tile.
The couple’s confused expressions cause Javadi to jump in. “I’m sorry, that must be difficult to manage. Have you tried applying to the Pittsburgh Ice, Wind, and Rain Home Department? They provide amazing AC plans with great discounts,” She says, the couple’s faces lighting up with relief. “I can write down the number and give you a card to call on.” She adds.
“Wow, yes, thank you, Dr. Javadi, that would be wonderful. You’re an angel,” Mrs. Del Valle responds, squeezing Mr. Del Valle’s hand in excitement. “You hear that? We might not be so cold this winter…”
The couple’s excited voices fade out as Victoria excuses herself to bring them the card and phone number. Once again, she feels his lingering, ominous presence at her back before he even speaks.
“The wife probably doesn’t even work,” He chides, running a hand through his curls as he leans over the nurse’s station. Victoria ignores the broadness of his back.
“So what? A little empathy can go a long way, you know,” Javadi rolls her eyes, not daring to look into his clear, greenish-blue eyes for fear of what she might find. “You would think that McKay would have rubbed off on you,” She mumbles under her breath.
“I guess. I just think it’s lazy, women want to work, then they don’t, and–”
“Jesus Christ, please stop speaking about women before I hit you,” Victoria snaps, whispering her threat over the counter. “You know nothing about these people, or their lives, so just shut up. And we’re not gossip buddies, or even friends, so stop talking crap about patients to me,” Victoria gathers her needed materials and makes to leave.
“Then what are we, Dr. Javadi?”
The question rings out, lingering in her brain long after her shift ends at seven o’clock.
What are we?
She does not want to open her mind to the possibilities.