Chapter Text
It’s like no matter what Emma does, no matter how hard she tries to do the right thing, it bites her in the ass.
Emma became a nurse. Despite the little voice in her head that called to her to be a woman of the cloth, to join a convent and serve the lord as a nun, she chose to serve the world, the lord, through healing the sick, treating the ill. She thought she could do more good that way help more people. That this is what god wanted, what the holy mother would be proud of. That she could use the good head on her shoulders her parents swore she had, put it to good use. Use the gifts she was given to their maximum capacity of good.
And then her first day on the job a man attacked her. She’d wanted to help, and that was her repayment. A drunk golfer strangling her.
Emma’s life was filled with these little fumbles. These moments where she heard the old adage no good deed goes unpunished echo in her head. Her grandpa apparently loved that phrase, that she ever met him.
No good deed goes unpunished.
When she brought a purse she found in the dining hall bathroom to the student center circulation desk in college, and the girl who lost it started calling her a thief without giving Emma a moment to explain. (but if Emma’s honest, her roommate's may have had a point about… other reasons that girl called her a thief, where maybe she’d have taken a white girl at their word)
When she let a woman who came down the aisle at the same time as her reach into the freezer at ALDI before her and she took the last bag of raviolis. That time she thought that girl at that party borrowing her lighter (for candles! It was for her candles and she only had it on her because she had just bought a new one at the gas station okay?) would give it back. All those times she let the other person coming down the parking lot isle take the spot she wanted, and then couldn’t find one for many more minutes.
No good deed.
And Emma Nolan did a lot of good deeds.
But this was, by far, enough a doubt, the worst case of this.
Immeasurably so. Incomparable.
Her first Pap smear.
Emma was, after all, a virgin still at 23. For what to her, were obvious reasons. And to her few and short lived shitty college boyfriends, we’re nonsensical archaic old fashioned stupid reasons.
She didn’t really mind how boys reacted. How it pumped the breaks in the middle of second dates and got her unmatched during talking phases. It hurt but… Emma was a focused young woman. She had her studies to think about, boys come after, nana always said. She had her studies. And back in Michigan she had her friends- something she still was struggling a bit here in Pittsburgh but… she was getting closer with Dr Javadi and student doctor Kwon atleast. And when the hopeless romantic in Emma’s heart cried a little too loud, she had her bookshelf full of paste covered romance novels to seek comfort in. And that was enough.
Some people thought I might be hard to keep something like that. To not have sex at her age. But it wasn’t that hard to her. It was a sin. Plain and simple. Emma was saving herself for marriage, like a good Catholic girl. She was raised with very few strict ethics. No swearing on Sunday. No shoes on the carpet. No using the lords name in vain. And no sex before marriage.
She didn’t judge anyone else, of corse. Her beliefs were hers and hers only, it was wrong to push those onto others. Very wrong. She didn’t judge anyone. Not her patients certainly, not her friends either. Not the very chatty nurses she’d met at PTMC who were very very nice to her and welcoming, but far too honest about what they did that weekend when she asked. All she cared was that they were well informed, consenting, and safe. She was pretty sure she didn’t even care if her future husband was with other people before her. Maybe that was an unpopular, controversial belief to hold. But she knew expecting a man to keep that vow was… unlikely. Through Christ all is forgiven, anyway. Maybe, she worried if that was the case she’d feel insecure at her lack of experience. But if he was the right man, a man who she loved, who loved her, who cherished her and made her feel safe, then he wouldn’t mind her inexperience at all. That’s what she told herself, at least.
Her vow was hers, and no one else’s, and truthfully she did generally avoid bringing it up to people. It was really between her, her doctors, and god. And an old crumpled carnation in a shadowbox on her apartment wall, which reminded her of a lesson her nana taught her many years ago.
Once you ruin it, you can never go back.
Emma, as a nurse, knew that as a not sexually active young woman she was in a low risk demographic for cervical cancer and other abnormalities.
But low risk isn’t zero. And advocating for her patients to be proactive with their health while she ignored her own was completely hypocritical. So she did the right thing, and found a new OBGYN here in Pittsburgh. Even though it would be awkward an uncomfortable, she went.
She was doing the right thing.
But… maybe she should have researched the doctor more.
Maybe she should have seen the Google ratings that expressed their concern about Dr Moore’s… frequent professional lapses. That she had been known to… loose track of things, mix herself up. Poor traits in a doctor. But Emma hadn’t known. Hadn’t thought to research her new doctor.
Dr Moore was just a few flights of stairs up from the Pitt, a member of the PTMC staff, and someone covered by her new PTMC insurance. So she was perfectly convenient and reasonable and responsible.
Dr Moore had a poor reputation, one which landed her career on probation, long before Emma.
And Dr Moore was known to get her lines crossed.
And maybe it was Emma’s fault for just going straight to her appointment after a shift, donning her scrubs. If she’d changed, maybe this would have never happened.
Because Dr Moore, at her scrubs, confused her with Dr Liberman from ENT who she was seeing that afternoon too. How was she to know every little departments scrub colors? She knew her own and that was where she tapped out. An Dr Liberman was married to Dr Ricky Park, a cardiologist a few floors away too. And Dr Moore, who was terribly known for getting her lines crossed, forgot there were two Dr Parks, and pulled the sperm sample for the wrong Dr Park. Instead of inseminating the poor Dr Liberman who was ovulating while her husband was away somewhere in Central Europe on a MSF trip or something with her husbands sperm, she inseminated 23 year old unwed virgin nurse Emma Nolan with the sperm of orthopedic surgeon Dr Brendon Park.
Emma thought the experiance had gone… faster than she expected. And lacked traditional formalities.
But Dr Moore looked like she was focused elsewhere- she was. She was thinking about her recent breakup and her parents failed marriage and her fathers new wife, younger than her, and her mothers new boy toy and how Jeremy, her ex husband, surely now had a younger thing himself too and-
And then she walked into the next patient room and realized. She knew Dr Liberman, who was now smiling at her and waving. She has met June before, a few times infact. She’d forgotten that.
And she had just-
Oh no.
Oh god.
she artificially inseminated the wrong girl.
The last thing Brendon Park needed in the second year of his attending career was fucking cancer.
If he sounds callous when he talks about it now, you should have seen him then. Ten years younger, he was fucking pissy. His mother could never decide if she should smack him or cry in those appointments she insisted she came to Pittsburgh to attend with him, and she could never decide if it was wrong to hit a cancer patient.
She decided it was just fine if he was acting like a sullen child about it.
“You’re very lucky” she insisted, full of anger, hitting him with a Coach pocketbook he’d bought her. “Show a little fucking gratitude, Brendon.”
“Gratitude to who, ma?” Had been the million dollar question.
To the charge nurse who noticed the petechiae on his skin, and quietly pulled him aside and told him he should draw bloodwork, that it could be serious? He showed Marisol plenty of fucking gratitude. Helped her son get into U Penn, sent her birthday flowers every year, and always made sure she got a coffee if he got coffee. To his oncologist? He was grateful. Dan was great to him. Dan treated him like a colleague and a peer his whole treatment, a silent mercy for his ego- and kept things quiet so the hospital didn’t run wild with the story. To what, to the god that gave him this fucking disease in the first place?
“Don’t say that Brendon!”
hwack!
yeah.
fuckin’ cancer.
It was many years ago now. It was long behind Brendon. He was fine. He could push it down and write it off as a brief bad chapter in his life. It was like the time he went to the ER in undergrad with alcohol poisoning from the old, the real, 4 Loko. Like when he played soccer for 2 years in middle school and hated every fucking second of it. Like when he tried to wear skinny jeans when they first came on the market. It was a thing that happened he got past. He had a great head of hair, a healthy pink flush to his skin, and strong muscles. No evidence. He wasn’t out of the OR too long, his career stayed beautifully intact and the story was so uninteresting it was forgotten, a brief medical leave some attending took, shorter than a maternity leave would have been. Now, it was far behind him. He still went to his regular check ups. Sometimes he looked at his faded port scar and swallowed harder than he meant to. He pretended he didn’t look at any bloodwork he got for annual physicial with bated breath and fear. He put it behind him. Nothing changed, not really.
Well.
One thing changed he supposed
Something that really hadn’t ended up mattering since he never settled down.
Treatment fried his swimmers.
Brendon expected that. He was warned about it.
He was advised to freeze a sample before he started treatment for that reason. and because Brendon had the money to burn, he did.
He didn’t really think about that, to be honest. PTMC had a system for that, too. Handled it in house, Dan had arranged it and sorted it all out. All he had to do was… provide.
And in the years since, Brendon didn’t think much about his infertility.
He never settled down. No real reason why. Well, many reasons why. Casual sex here and there, condoms worn for the obvious reasons when sleeping with strange women, but he rested easy knowing there was no chance of him having an accident of any kind, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise.
No it wasn’t. It was fucking cancer. Cancers nothing but that. Just cancer. No hidden blessings, no god plan. Nothing. Just pure fucking evil.
Just evil. All it is when he has to remove a 7 year olds leg, knowing with a rock in his throat they’ll be back in a year to remove more of it when they realize it spread. When he collaborates in the removal of a bone tumor in an artists hand, knowing this plague has robbed her of her true passion and meaning in life now. It was like a fucking wildfire. Destroyed everything in its path, no prisoners taken.
So yeah. Not a lot of gratitude. Sorry Ma.
The day actually started out normal.
So damn normal.
Emma had been in the Pitt a few months now. And besides a harrowing first day- which she, at many nurses strong urging- saw a therapist about sometimes- she’s been grooving right in here.
She liked the ED, for similar reasons to Dana and Dr Whitaker. She liked helping the people who needed it most.
Sure, the patients in the ICU and L&D and family medicine also needed help and care, of corse they did.
But here in the Pitt you see people on the worst day of their lives. And you get to make it less horrible. Make them less scared, make them less hurt. Save their lives. Treat the unfortunate who fall through the cracks.
Do real good.
Sure, at the end of the day Emma was tired. But her heart was so full.
It was 2 pm.
Emma was walking around the Pitt making her rounds with her patients. She was talking to Perlah.
She liked Perlah. Sure, Dana was everyone in the Pitts mom, who she suspected was extra protective over her, but Perlah was mom #2, and she was an unsung hero about it. Always made little kids feel safe and old folks less scared, always spoke so calm and easy. She was saintly in a way. Hopefully she wouldn’t find that comparison offensive, Emma didn’t mean any disrespect to her faith by that.
Not that Emma would say such a thing out loud anyway-
Focus, Emma.
“Lunch should be down any minute, I’ll cover for you to grab a minute to inhale a PB&J” Perlah winked.
Emma had been complaining about stomach pangs. About how it didn’t feel like a regular hunger, it was weird.
“You’re probably tired too. I’ll steal you away a sandwich and cover for you to eat for a few minutes” Perlah had promised.
Emma had been feeling off for a couple days now to be honest. Maybe she was coming down with something. Surely working here it had to happen enough.
Emma always hated to be the boy who cried wolf. To be dramatic. To be the girl in the knee brace for a full school year. To be the patient who swore their pain was an 11 for a broken nose. She didn’t like to be dramatic. To seek attention for the wrong reasons.
So when her head suddenly swam she thought she could handle it. Chug some cold water. Do the breathing exercise she learned in therapy- maybe this was an anxiety head rush.
She didn’t need to tell anyone. Make it a big deal.
That’s what’s he thought until things went black.
Emma woke up seconds later to her patient- the lovely Mrs Yen, persistent nosebleeds-, Perlah, and Dr Al Hashimi crowded around her.
Heard Dana’s charming Pittsburgh accent yelling “what the hell?” And approaching fast, too.
Distantly, she knew she was lucky to have hit the patients bed before she hit the floor.
“We’re going to need a room for Emma, if you can tell me what’s available Perlah.” Dr Al requested in her even and cool voice.
“South two for sure.” Perlah recalled from memory.
“Oh, welcome back Emma. What happened there?” Dr Al asked.
Emma attempted to stand.
The four women- Mrs Yen included- insisted she waited right where she was until Jesse arrived with a wheelchair for her. Just incase.
“I don’t know. I got dizzy and I tried to stop it but then I- guess I passed out.”
Perlah looked at Dr Al. “She was feeling pretty hungry before.” She supplied. “When was the last time you ate?” Dr Al Hashimi asked. “I had a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast, and then I had a peanut butter granola bar at 11, and I shared a bag of trail mix with Dr Javadi like, an hour ago? And um, I’ve been sipping an iced matcha all morning- and water! I promise I drank my water” Emma filled in.
Dr Al Hashimi hummed. Definitely not food.
Emma didn’t like that Jesse has to wheel her to south 2.
“We take care of our own. No sweat, Em” he insisted, helping her into the bed.
He was so nice. Everyone here was so nice.
“Leave the chair, Jesse. Emma, after Perlah sends your blood to the lab, I’m going to ask you to collect a urine sample too. Please let Dana or Perlah at the very least wheel you to the bathroom for my peace of mind” Dr Al explained. “And let’s get her on a IV. You know as well as we all do, everyone’s always dehydrated” Dr Al smiled.
“I’ll be back in a couple minutes. Just relax, Emma. You work so hard, I’m sure you’re just a little too tired.”
Emma was not, infact, just a little too tired.
It was hard to convince Dana to leave her side in all this. Perlah had to fill in their gaps- a reason why Emma insisted she shouldn’t be stuck here with her- but Dana didn’t budge.
Dr Al came back to south 2, and closed the curtains behind her.
“Fainting spell and belly ache solved. You’re pregnant.” Dr Al Hashimi delivered neutrally.
At first, Emma laughed.
”I’m not pregnant.”
”Emma-“
“No. Like. I can’t be. I’ve never had sex.”
Dr Al blinked slowly. “Emma, obviously you have a right to privacy, even with your colleagues-“
“No, seriously, I mean it.”
She softened.
“Well, uh, false positives are very rare of corse. But if you insist, clearly something’s a muck. Drink some water, and we’ll run a second sample.” Dr Al offered.
Positive.
Again. Positive.
”What the…”
How? How?
Emma’s pulse raced.
“Emma, just between us-“
“Dr Al I’ve never had sex.” Emma swore, desperately. “What 23 years old in 2026 would admit to that if it weren’t true?”
Dana’s hands softly cupped her cheek, brushing hair out of her face. “You’re real clammy, kiddo, you gotta relax. Have you, uh, maybe been to a party lately where you drank too much and maybe… don’t know what happened?”
Emma’s stomach churned. “Oh my goodness no! No. I don’t really do things like that. I don’t think I’ve had a drop of alcohol since my cousins wedding last May.” Emma answers. Which moderately soothed Dana who feared for the worst.
“There’s- there’s gotta be something- I just had a Pap smear! Let me call my OBGYN- she’s just upstairs. I never called for my results that was bad of me. Maybe that’ll explain it” Emma rambled.
“Let’s start there then. We’ll figure this out, Emma, don’t you worry” Dr Al assured her, squeezing her knee and walking away while Emma fumbled with her phone.
Dr Moore would explain it all… right?