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You didn’t know that you had a brother until you were nine, and your mother died.
Your parents were never fully together, per se, but your dad was a fairly constant presence in your life. At every birthday, recital, soccer game. He’d go away for work, and come back with some kind of present for you, and a little gift for your mom too.
If somebody had told you that his ‘work trips’ simply meant that he was with his other, original, family, you would have laughed.
There’s no way.
How could a man maintain two entirely separate families in the same city, and not get caught until your mom has a massive heart attack and dies in her sleep?
As your newfound legal guardian, he’d been left to introduce you to Mark and his mother. The other Greene Family.
To this day, you’re still not sure how he broke the news. You’ve never asked Mark - it didn’t seem fair to reopen old wounds.
As a nine-year-old with no other relatives, you’d moved into the box room at the back of the house - barely enough room for a bed, much less a person. It didn’t help that Mark’s mom insisted every single trace of your life be confined to that room.
If somebody was visiting, they’d never know you even lived there.
In hindsight, you understand where she was coming from. Mark’s parents had been married, and your presence wrecked that. They didn’t separate, but it was never the same.
All of them, including your dad, would have been far better off without you.
Despite that, Mark was a saving grace. Never once did he hold your past against you, understanding that you had nothing to do with your dad’s grievances. Instead, he took you under your wing, even at eighteen. He played soccer with you, took you out to lunch, and looked out for you.
Of course, it couldn’t last forever, and soon Mark went off to college, leaving you caught between a depressed step-mother (if that was what you could call her), and an alcoholic father.
Life was hard, made brighter only by Mark’s occasional visits. He’d call and write, telling you all about medical school - how he had a girlfriend named Jen, and they were going to have a baby. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you had no parents at all, and simply lived with your brother.
Even now, you wonder if you would have become a doctor without Mark’s influence.
You hadn’t quite taken the same path as him, training as a nurse during undergrad, before landing a scholarship for medical school. Even with the extra help, you wouldn’t have been able to afford to move to Chicago without him.
The nursing job at County? Definitely something Mark managed to wrangle on your behalf. You can pick up locum shifts whenever you need some extra cash - Carol always needs the help.
You moved into his and Jen’s spare room, barely bigger than your one back home, but endlessly more inviting. You paid your rent in babysitting Rachel until you had enough saved to get your own shoebox, and life suddenly started looking up. Now, finally, it’s all making sense.
You’ve started your clinical rotations. Practicing the job you’re going to be working until you’re sixty. Being at County helps - you’ve grown very familiar with Mark’s friends over the years. Doug, Carol, Susan.
Feels a little less like being thrown to the wolves.
After a harrowing six weeks in surgery, spending as much time as possible in the ER with Benton, you’re finally back until Christmas. You love it here. It’s exactly your speed.
There’s just one problem.
In your entire medical school career thus far, nobody has terrified you the way John Carter does. Not because he’s scary, or unpleasant, or anything of the sort.
But because you can’t think straight whenever you’re in a ten-foot radius of him. Which, unfortunately, is most of your day.
It’s not your fault. Carter is exactly your type - practically tailor-made to your tastes. If you’d been asked to build yourself a boyfriend at the age of ten, you’re pretty sure you would’ve come up with somebody almost identical to him.
Maybe he wouldn’t be quite so popular with women. You’ve never been one for competition - ironic, since you’ve chosen to devote your life to medicine.
You had been clocked immediately by Doug and Carol for your crush, leading to some interminable teasing during your surgical rotation. After all your time in Chicago, they’ve become as much siblings to you as Mark.
Unfortunately, Doug Ross is far more perceptive than Mark Greene, and likes to lord that fact over you. Thus far, his meddling has included shoving you into Carter, tricking you both into wearing matching costumes at the ER Halloween party, and even locking you both in a supply closet under the guise of a dodgy hinge.
Things have only gotten worse now that you’re in the ER every day, with a whole new group of students.
There are four of you. You, Iain, Madeline, and Emil. All entrusted largely to Carter for the duration of your placement.
Emil is nice. Quiet, and very obviously not cut out for Emergency Medicine (he’d confessed to you on day one that he was gunning for geriatrics), he’s smart in an entirely non-judgemental way, and you’ve studied with him on more than one occasion.
You tried your hardest to like Madeline. As one of the few other women on your course, you’d felt like it was important to have some kind of sisterhood. Support each other in a field dominated by men. She didn’t quite share the same sentiment. While she doesn’t seem to have a huge interest in the ER, she does have an interest in John Carter.
A big one.
If you thought your crush was obvious, Madeline is shameless. She’ll try and flirt with him over the most severe traumas, while the rest of you are elbow-deep in some guy’s guts.
The worst part was, you thought it might be working at the start. For the first week or so, he seemed to entertain it, leading to all sorts of rumours in the ER.
You’re not proud to admit it, but it made you sick with jealousy. Pulling some strings with Mark, you cited an interest in paediatrics as an excuse to work with Doug instead, and tried to put John Carter out of your mind.
It worked for all of a week, before you went to a hospital gala with Mark and the others, and Carter was suddenly everywhere.
It was like Madeline didn’t exist anymore. He was calling for you with traumas, showing you how to suture, and helping you with your charting.
You have no idea what changed.
According to Doug, Carter is into you. But given his track record with Carol, you’re not jumping to take his advice. You’re too scared to ask for anyone else’s opinion, for fear it gets back to John.
It’s only so long before Mark figures it out.
He may be oblivious, but he’s not stupid.
“What’s your problem?” He asks, dropping down next to you in the doctor’s lounge.
You jump slightly at the intrusion, having spent the last ten minutes lost in your thoughts. Madeline’s been even more overt with her flirtations today, and you’re starting to worry that it might be working. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Mhm,” Mark replies, entirely unconvinced. “You sound like Rachel. And she’s seven.”
You shoot him a glare. “I do not. I just don’t want to come running to my brother every time anything goes wrong. Gives the wrong impression.”
“You know - you don’t have to make everything as hard as humanly possible for yourself, just because you don’t want to ask for help.”
“I ask for help!” You protest, and Mark snorts.
“Sure. And I’m not getting a divorce.”
Finally, there’s Iain. The worst of them all. Before he even opens his mouth, it’s obvious that he wants to go into surgery. Trauma surgery, to be specific. He carries himself like he’s already an intern, like this placement is just a formality before someone hands him a scalpel and a title.
And for some reason, he’s decided you’re the easiest one to bait.
Carter is tied up with a complicated trauma, Madeline hovering nearby like a shadow, Emil buried in charts, and you’re left with Iain and a patient who needs sutured - simple enough on paper.
“I’ll do it,” You say, a little too quickly, trying to sound confident.
Iain doesn’t stop you. He just steps back, folding his arms. Watching.
It’s almost worse.
You prep the site, hands steady at first as you gather the needle. You’ve done this before. Plenty of times. But there’s something about the way he’s standing there - silent, expectant - that makes your fingers feel heavier than usual.
“Local?” he asks, after a beat.
“I’ve got it,” you reply, sharper than you mean.
A pause. Then, mildly, “Just checking you weren’t going to skip steps.”
Heat creeps up your neck. You inject the anaesthetic, wait a moment longer than necessary, just to be sure. The patient winces, then settles.
Taking a breath, you angle the needle and press it into the skin. You realise immediately that your bite is wrong, and that the stitch won’t hold. Instead, it tears the flesh at one side. Thankfully, your patient isn’t watching, instead opting to look out the window instead.
God, you wish it was a cannula. Or bloods. You’ve been doing them for years - can get even the most tricky veins with your eyes closed.
But suturing is almost exclusively medical students and doctors. You haven’t had nearly as much practice. Especially with Iain’s presence.
You’re totally off your game.
“Depth’s wrong,” Iain says.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Your jaw tightens. “I said I’ve got it.”
A small pause.
“Right,” He says. “Looks that way. You’re overthinking it. Or maybe underthinking. Hard to tell.”
You don’t respond, teeth gritted as you prepare for another attempt..
“Hand it here,” He adds, already reaching for gloves.
“No,” You snap. “I’ve got it.”
“Based on what?” he replies evenly.
You feel the patient shift under your hands.
“I said I’ve got it,” You repeat, quieter now.
His voice is devoid of all emotion, “You don’t.”
He steps in before you can stop him, close enough now that you have to move aside or be in his way. The decision is made for you.
God, you can’t believe he’s making such a fool of you in front of a patient. In private, you expect that kind of thing. But you’d hoped he would have slightly more respect for you in public.
“Watch,” He says, the word edged with a derision that makes your stomach ache. “This isn’t complicated.”
You leave him to it, for fear that you’re about to cry in the middle of Curtain Two. You’ve had enough embarrassment for one day, and stick to charting, to small tasks, to anything that doesn’t involve someone standing over your shoulder waiting for you to mess up again.
By the time things finally start to quiet down, you slip out under the excuse of grabbing supplies you don’t actually need.
The staff room is empty when you get there. Fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead, vending machine buzzing in the corner. You lean back against the counter, pressing your palms into your eyes for a second, willing the tightness in your throat to go away.
It was stupid.
It shouldn’t matter. You’ve done cannulas before. Nobody gets all of them first time. That’s not how it works. You shouldn’t be letting a stupid comment from a rich prick stick in your head like that. You’ve worked harder in the past year than he has in his whole life, just for the privilege of getting to be here.
A few tears come anyway.
Maybe Mark’s mom was right. Maybe you did just follow him out here because you had nothing else going for you.
“Hey.”
You drop your hands immediately.
John is standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, like he’s been there a second, like he’s been watching you.
“You alright?”
You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
He doesn’t move. “Carol said you were upset.”
You sigh. Of course she did.
You let out a small breath, shaking your head. “I’m okay. Just - long shift.”
“You’ve had longer. Worse. What’s different about today?”
If he keeps looking at you with such a tender expression, you think you might bawl. “Just Iain being a dick. I don’t really want to talk about it. Exam stress, portfolio stuff, it all just caught up with me. M’fine. Promise.” You offer him a smile, though you can’t imagine it’s in any way convincing.
“Want me to give him the impaction in four?”
You snort. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. Guy's a dick.”
“I think… that would make me feel a little better, yeah.”
“Consider it done,” Carter muses, before continuing. “I know you don’t like to use the Mark connection, but if Iain’s really bothering you-”
“I’m fine, John. Promise.”
He nods, and steps back towards the door, when you speak again.
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you could maybe give me some suturing tips tomorrow? I think I could use some practice.”
He doesn’t seem at all surprised, and you wonder how much he knows. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses. “You know, she had chronic steroid use. Makes skin really fragile.”
“What?” Your head whips round to face him.
“Not your fault,” Carter shrugs, and then he’s gone.
*****
You manage avoid Iain until your final hour, when Carter appears at your back. “Greene, McDougall - I want opinions.”
You fall into step behind John, Iain a few paces behind, barely able to hide his disinterest.
“Middle-aged male,” He says quickly. “Chest pain. Came in about twenty minutes ago. Central obesity, history of Type 2 Diabetes, currently taking Metformin, Propanolol and Atorvastatin. Here,” He passes you a chart, “is his ECG. Talk to me.”
You examine the patient in the bed first, while Iain goes straight for the ECG. The patient - Michael Murray, you note - is diaphoretic, pale, one hand pressed flat against his chest. Not sweaty, the way you’d expect from a straightforward MI, but you can’t rule it out yet.
Iain answers first, of course.
“Likely non-cardiac,” he says, glancing briefly at the chart. “Could be reflux. Maybe musculoskeletal. He’s overweight, risk factors unclear. When patients are that obese, they can’t really tell what’s chest and what’s stomach pain.”
You reach for the ECG, examining it carefully. On first glance there’s nothing hugely wrong - no obvious STEMI, or tented T-waves. But there is some ST-depression. “I would do another ECG. Posterior this time. Make sure it’s not an MI before I move onto other differentials.”
“Based on what?” Iain asks.
“ST-depression in the anterior leads. And I think I see some prominent R waves in V1 and V2.”
“It’s non-specific,” He cuts in. “You can’t call a posterior infarct off that.”
“I’m not calling it,” You reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m saying it’s a possibility.”
“A remote one. Much more likely indigestion given the presentation.”
The patient shifts again, visibly uncomfortable. You glance at Carter, who remains quiet, and you suddenly realise what he’s waiting for. He wants you to fight for this, for your patient. “I’ll do another one,” You say, reaching for the leads. “Posterior, this time.”
Iain’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “It’s not necessary,” he says.
“Maybe not,” Carter replies evenly. “But it’s quick, cheap, and if she’s right, it matters a hell of a lot to this patient.”
It’s a strange feeling when the ECG comes back with massive ST-elevation in the V7 to V9 leads. On the one hand, you know the patient has just had terrible news delivered to him, and you empathise greatly. On the other hand, you’re so relieved to finally get one up on Iain.
Within minutes, the trolley’s being wheeled out, heading upstairs to the cath lab. As it disappears through the doors, Carter turns back. His eyes land on Iain.
“You see the problem?” He says.
Iain doesn’t answer.
“You didn’t even glance at the patient. You went straight for the ECG, and treated him like a textbook case. Pain, presentation, risk - those matter more than your first impressions.”
Iain’s expression is tight. “It wasn’t a classic presentation.”
“They rarely are,” Carter replies. “That’s the point.” He checks his watch, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Anyway, I think that’s a good place to stop for the night. Go, try and enjoy the rest of your nights, and be here for seven sharp.”
You all disperse, and make for the lockers. Despite the save at the end of the day, you’re still desperate to get home, and clean the hospital grime that lingers for weeks out of your hair. Carter follows, chatting absentmindedly about the MI. How he doesn’t think he would’ve caught it at that age.
Madeline tries to catch him on the way out of the lounge. Asking for some kind of favour regarding her portfolio.
“Hm? Yeah, I’ll catch you tomorrow. We can talk about it then.” Carter’s voice is distracted, and he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop.
Madeline falters, just slightly. “Oh - okay.”
But he’s already looking past her.
At you.
“You heading out?” he asks.
You nod, adjusting your bag. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he says. “Come on - I’m done too.”
You push through the hospital doors together, the air outside cooler, quieter - for a second, neither of you say anything. You wipe at the sweat on your forehead, and let out a small sigh.
Finally, he speaks, “You did well back there.”
You glance over at him. “I almost didn’t say anything.”
“I know,” He shrugs. “I watched you hesitate. But you spoke up, and that’s what matters. You saved a man’s life today.”
“You knew it was a posterior MI,” You argue.
“I suspected - you confirmed.” He pauses for a second, as you walk up to your respective platforms. “Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Me too,” he admits. “Long shift.”
The train pulls in, brakes screeching slightly as it slows. “See you tomorrow, Carter.”
He offers you a soft smile. “See you round, Greene.”
*****
You hear them before you see them. Heading into work first thing, you’d been planning on getting a head-start on some scut work to free you up for studying later. It appears some of your colleagues have beaten you to it.
You don’t mean to overhear, but the lounge door is creaked open, and when you pause to tie your lace, you catch a voice.
“…it’s getting ridiculous.”
Madeline.
You pause, just out of sight of the doorway.
“What is?” Iain’s voice, lower, disinterested.
“Carter,” She says, sounding annoyed. Like he should just immediately know what she’s talking about. “Or have you not noticed?”
A beat.
Then, dryly, “If this is about you not being the centre of his attention anymore, I’m not interested.”
“It’s not that,” She snaps, a little too quickly. It definitely is.
You should leave.
You don’t.
“It’s about her,” Madeline continues. “He keeps pulling her onto cases. Showing her things he doesn’t show the rest of us. I mean, I know she’s his boss’ sister, but come on.”
“He’s overcorrecting,” Iain says. “People do that. Get fixated.”
“On her?” Madeline scoffs. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” Iain says, quieter now, but sharper.
Madeline doesn’t answer straight away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, guarded.
Another pause. You can almost picture the look on his face. “Come on,” He says. “You’re not that naïve.”
Your stomach twists.
Madeline lets out a small, incredulous laugh. “You think - what? That they’re…?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
“I think,” Iain says finally, “that kind of attention usually comes with a reason.”
“No,” Madeline says quickly. Too quickly. “That’s not - no. He wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t?” Iain repeats, almost amused. “I thought that was actually kind of his thing. If you’re to believe what the nurses say.”
“He’s not like that,” She insists, but there’s something strained underneath it now. “And she-” a scoff, sharper this time, “-she’s not exactly-”
She stops again, like even she doesn’t quite know how to finish it. She doesn’t have to.
“Right,” Iain says, unconvinced. “Because this makes so much more sense otherwise.”
“It doesn’t have to be that,” Madeline snaps. “Maybe he just… pities her or something.”
That stings in a completely different way.
“Sure,” Iain says. “That must be it.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Either way, it won’t last.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means,” He says, “if it’s about performance, she won’t keep up. I mean, she’s a fucking nurse, for Christ’s sake.” A pause. “And if it’s not,” He adds, “that kind of thing burns out fast. She’s just pretending, and they’re all indulging her because they like her.”
Madeline doesn’t respond.
You don’t wait to hear more. Your pulse is loud in your ears, drowning everything else out.
She won’t keep up.
That kind of thing burns out fast.
Not only do you have to deal with the very real prejudices against you for your background - now there’s apparently a sex scandal, so obscure that even you and Carter aren’t aware of it, despite allegedly being involved.
You just need to keep your head down, and ignore them entirely.
A patient needs reviewing. Then another. Observations, notes, small jobs no one else wants - you take them all, keep moving, keep your hands busy so your head doesn’t catch up.
When there’s a lull, you pull out your notes, leaning against the counter, flipping through exam checklists. Cardio, Neuro, GI, Breast - just a few of the practical exams you need to be able to perform flawlessly for your OSCEs coming up next month. You mouth them under your breath, like if you say them enough times they’ll stick in your brain.
“Practicing or hiding?”
You look up.
Carter nods toward the empty treatment bay. “Come on.”
You follow him in without question.
He sets up a practice pad, hands you the needle holder. “Show me.”
You start slower this time. Deliberate. Thinking about depth, angle, tension - getting the perfect bite. Already, things are looking better - all you had to do was remove Iain from the equation. He gives you a few tips, showing you how to do other stitches for different injuries, and you get to practicing on a banana.
He watches your next stitch. “OSCEs coming up, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be fine,” He says. “They’re more interested in whether you think about what you’re doing than whether it’s perfect.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It’s true,” John shrugs. “Talk through it. Show your reasoning. Half of this is just convincing people you know why you’re doing something. Tell them what any sign you spot could indicate”
You nod, tying off the stitch a little more neatly this time.
“See?” he adds. “That’s already better.”
Before you can respond-
“Carter - trauma incoming! We need you in the bay.”
“Shit,” Carter scrubs a hand across his face. “I’m sorry-”
You’re about to interject and tell him it’s fine, that he’s done more than enough already, when he keeps talking.
“You want to run through some examinations later?”
“Oh,” You reply. “I uh, I get off at five.” It’s not that you aren’t grateful for the offer. But you’ve been here since six-forty-five this morning, and the idea of overtime is not an appealing one.
“Yeah, I know. I do too. You could come round to my place - we could order pizza, do a practice exam?”
You must be dreaming. This cannot be real. And yet, Carter’s scribbling something down on a piece of paper, and pressing it into your hand. An address.
“Any time after six is fine.”
*****
It’s only when you’re trying to pick out an outfit that you realise what a terrible idea this may be. Half of your classmates already think you’re sleeping with Carter - anything that could come out of tonight would surely only further that.
Then, you really start to consider Iain and Madeline’s position in your life. Realistically, once this rotation is over, you’re unlikely to ever see them again. Your graduating class is huge, and soon you’ll all be picking electives anyway.
In an ideal world, you’ll match to County. Neither of them want to stay in Chicago after graduating.
You’re overthinking.
This is fine.
Carter is your friend, and that’s all this is.
You manage to get out of your head, and land on an outfit - a slightly-nicer-than-average top and jeans. Casual, but definitely a step up from scrubs.
Unfortunately for you, Carter had neglected to mention the fact that he lives in a literal castle. You’re still trying to get your bearings when he opens the door, smile wide. “Hey, you made it!”
“Are you like a Kennedy or something?” You mumble, glancing around the foyer as he leads you inside. Your whole apartment could fit in one tiny corner of the hallway “Jesus.”
He has the decency to look a little embarrassed, rubbing at his neck. “Uh, yeah - the Carter Family isn’t really known for subtlety. But my grandparents are away on holiday, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“I don’t think we’d be encroaching on their space even if they were here.”
Truthfully, you’re glad there’s nobody else here. While the red cotton is nicer than scrubs, it’s certainly not nice enough to meet Carter’s rich-as-God grandparents.
His room isn’t quite as extravagant - very Carter, but still obviously full of items that cost more than you make in a month. “Make yourself at home.”
You let your backpack drop to the floor, and perch at the very edge of the bed, too scared to touch anything else. “So… uh, how do you want to do this?”
“Well,” He starts, leaning back against the headboard. “I figured I could be your mock patient, and you can just treat this like an OSCE. Then we can go over anything you missed at the end over pizza?”
“Are all the medical students getting such special treatment?” Deep down, you know the answer already, but a part of you wants the confirmation.
Carter scoffs. “God, no. Emil, I would consider helping him out within my working hours. The other two are on their own though.”
“Really?” You murmur, leaning forward to rest your chin on your elbow. “Thought you were quite fond of Madeline-”
“Who said that?” Any teasing has disappeared from his tone, his brow furrowed slightly.
“Nurses talk,” You shrug. “You’re forgetting I still do the occasional shift. Lydia knows all.”
“Well, she doesn’t know that,” He grumbles. “I do not like Madeline. At all.”
“Got it,” You reply, suddenly desperate to change the subject. Maybe he’s regretting suggesting this. “Shall we get started?”
“What do you want to do first?”
“Um, Cardio.”
*****
“Okay,” Carter breathes, face only inches from yours. “What’s next?”
“I need to listen to the valves of your heart now,” You reply, trying to drag your gaze away from his. “But uh, first I need to feel your apex beat.”
“Good girl.”
You stiffen just slightly at the phrase, praying that he hasn’t noticed the shift. Your mind races ahead of you, wondering what it would be like if he was saying that in a different context, while you were writhing under him-
No.
You can’t think of him like that. Especially not now. He’s your friend, and he’s doing you a favour, and all you can do is think about how much you’d like him to-
“Mid-clavicular line,” You say, voice barely more than a squeak. “Fifth intercostal space.”
Your fingers press down his bare chest as you feel his ribs, moving slightly until you feel the familiar thump against your hand. It’s strong and regular, but definitely a lot faster than you’d be expecting from a guy Carter’s age.
“What do you notice?”
“It’s a little fast. I should listen to make sure.”
He just nods, and lets you reach for the stethoscope, before you press the diaphragm to the mitral valve. Just as you felt before, his heart is hammering.
You swallow heavily. “Still tachycardic.”
“Why do you think that might be?”
“Um, I guess it could be stress, high caffeine intakes, exercise…”
“Close proximity to a pretty girl?”
“What?”
“S’a good differential. Definitely one you should consider. Now, c’mon. Keep going.”
As if you can think about anything else after that admission. But he’s looking at you expectantly, and you try desperately to make your brain start thinking straight again. You listen to the other valves, and start to check for thrills and heaves, praying that he can’t tell how clammy your hands have gotten.
You press the bell of your stethoscope to his carotid, pretending not to notice the way his eyes keep flitting to your lips. “No sign of aortic stenosis,” You say softly, and Carter nods.
“Good sign. What next?”
“Um…” Shit. Your mind has drawn a total and utter blank. Your brain is too occupied with the way Carter’s cologne tickles your nose. “I don’t remember.”
He watches you for a second, before deciding to put you out of your misery. “You should check my back next.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Thanks.”
You check for scars or deformities, before listening to his lung sounds. Because of the way he’s sitting up, your back ends up bent at an awkward angle while you try and check for sacral pitting. “You know,” He murmurs. “Might be easier for you to just sit there.”
The idea of being any closer to John than you are right now makes you positively dizzy, but you’re not in the habit of not listening to him. Mostly.
Bracing your hands across his bare shoulders, you hoist yourself behind him, and get settled. Really, it’s unnecessary. You know already that Carter doesn’t have sacral pitting.
“Nothing interesting?”
“Nope.”
“Can’t really hear you from back there,” He replies. “Sit up a little closer to my ear, honey.”
You comply, getting ready to give him a rundown of the examination, when Carter tilts his head, and kisses you.
Even though the entire study session has arguably been preamble for this, it still manages to catch you off guard. His lips are soft but intentional, parting your own with his tongue.
God, you can’t believe this is happening.
In just a single movement he twists, bracing over you as you’re crowded up against his headboard. Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling him further into you.
As close as he can humanly get.
“Nobody would dare fail you if this is the kind of exam you give,” Carter mumbles between kisses, and you groan.
“You’re so mean.” There’s no real bite to it, but you pout against his lips anyway.
His fingers tug at the hem of your sweatshirt, and you lean back to let him discard it, leaving you in only your bra. It’s definitely not one of your sexier items of clothing - focused entirely on comfort during long shifts in the ER - but up until twenty minutes ago you’d assumed that this was simply a study session.
If it were anybody else, you’d feel self-conscious.
Something about John puts you at ease, though. It always has. Even when you were deeply terrified of him, of embarrassing yourself in front of him, you’d known deep down that he’d never make fun of you, even if he didn’t feel the same.
Based on the way you can feel him hardening against your thigh, you figure that’s not an issue. “Prettiest girl in the world,” He mumbles, lips returning to your neck. Eyes fluttering closed, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and he allows you to tug them downwards. Yours go next, leaving you both in your underwear.
When it comes to foreplay, you’re used to a finger or two, scissoring you open just enough for the main event.
You’re not expecting John to draw back entirely from you, as he starts to press kisses down your navel.
You’re almost embarrassed for him to reach your panties, given how much you’ve managed to soak through them in just a short time. “Is this for me, or do cardio exams just really get you going?”
He shoots you that shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes, before allowing your upper half to flop back onto his pillow. If he wants to be a dick, two can play at that game-
“Oh.”
Carter wastes no time, mouthing at your cunt through the wet fabric. One hand settles on each thigh, holding you firmly in place for him.
There’s no build-up - just John and his tongue, relentless against your skin. You don’t even register when he gets the fabric out of the way, your hand finding a home in his hair to guide him to where you need it most. “F-Fuck, John-”
“Yeah, honey? You like that?”
The coil in your belly is tightening, and you feel the familiar wave of panic start to wash over you. You’ve never been good with orgasms - it’s always felt too scary to let yourself go like that with another person. What Carter is doing feels really fucking good, but you also know that you don’t want to ruin this. “Need you up here-”
He complies immediately, clambering back up to press his lips to yours. You taste yourself against him, moaning into his touch.
Everything’s going so well, Carter’s reaching for his bedside table, when…
“You have had sex before, haven’t you?”
You pull back. “You did not just ask me that.”
“What? You're… young.”
You stare at him, jaw dropped. “I'm twenty-five, not sixteen. What are you - twenty-nine?”
“Twenty-eight,” He grumbles.
“Well - I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Not worried,” He replies, more earnest than you expected. “Just want it to be good for you.”
You’re suddenly overwhelmed with a deep affection for the man in front of you, and lean forward to kiss him again. The wrapper crinkles as John fiddles to get the condom out without breaking contact with you.
“You’re sure about this?” He asks, and you laugh.
“Not sure I could get a better anatomy lesson if I tried-”
Your voice cuts off in a sharp gasp as he pushes in just slightly, before pulling out again, cock head dragging through for folds. “Fuck.”
He does it again, pushing just a little further, and then retreating. Only on his third time, does your hand cup the back of his head, to draw him against you. Carter bottoms out with a low moan, hips rolling so he catches your clit.
Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, and he starts to move.
“Thought about this so much, sweet girl,” He grunts, peppering kisses across your cheeks as he rocks against you.
It’s a real effort to form a coherent thought, and you lace your fingers through his. “You h-have?”
“Haven’t been able to get you out of my head since that gala. H-Had to get myself off in the shower as soon as I got home, ‘cause of that dress. ‘Cause of you in that dress.”
“Didn’t realise you even noticed.”
“S-Should’ve taken you home right there. Shouldn’t have left you wondering how I felt.”
Carter looks just as overwhelmed as you feel - a bead of sweat is trickling down his chest, and there’s a vein on his forehead that looks like it’s in serious danger of bursting. He picks up the pace a little, and you whimper.
You’ve never whimpered in your life.
You hope you remember this moment for the rest of your life. “Kiss me, Johnny.” Your voice is breathless, almost unmoored from your body.
You can feel the coil tightening again, but it doesn’t feel quite as scary when John is looking at you so sweetly, and pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth in between his praise.
It creeps up on you, and soon your face is buried in the crook of his shoulder as you cry out his name.
*****
“God. Your brother is going to kill me.”
“Mhm, he’ll get over it.” You’re currently tucked into Carter's side under the duvet, fingers tracing soft patterns onto his chest.
“Easy for you to say,” John snorts. “You won’t be the one he kills.”
“I’ll make sure that you’re remembered,” You hum, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you bite back a laugh. “I’ll throw you a memorial, get Benton to eulogise you. It’ll be the event of the season.”
“Glad to hear it. “Make sure to make it tasteful,” He adds, deadpan. “I want something upbeat. Something that says ‘he died young, but at least he had good hair.’”
“You do have good hair,” you murmur, carding your fingers through it like you’re proving the point. “I’ll make sure that’s mentioned. Extensively. Very pullable.”
“I’m sure my grandmother will love to hear that that’s my defining trait.”
“Well, you also give really good head. I’m not sure she’d want to hear about that, though.
A comfortable silence settles over you both, Carter’s arm tightening round you. “…You really think he’ll be that mad?” He asks after a moment, voice dropping just a notch.
You shrug against him. “Mad, yeah. Murderous? Probably not. He likes you.”
“He tolerates me. But just so we’re clear - if I do die, I want you to erect a statue in my honour.”
You groan. “Absolutely not.”
“Life-size.”
“No.”
“Bigger than life-size. Ten feet fall.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Bronze,” He continues, ignoring you entirely. “Dramatic pose. Maybe a sword.”
“You’ve never held a sword in your life.”
“Details.”
It isn’t until an hour later, when you’re cross-legged on John’s bed wearing only his shirt, a pizza box perched between you both, that you have the courage to ask. “So… like, was this just a one-time thing, or… what?”
Not your most eloquent of phrasing, but you figure you’d scare him off if you admitted that you’ve been in love with him pretty much since you saw him for the first time.
“Technically it’s already a two-time thing, since we fucked again in the shower.”
“John-”
“Okay, okay,” He concedes, hands in the air. “Comedy surrounding the sex is not appreciated. Noted. Well… on that note. I think I’d really like to take you out for dinner. Celebrate your catch yesterday properly. Celebrate you properly.”
You smile, so wide that it almost makes your cheeks hurt. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Greene.”