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It was bad enough she was going out tomorrow evening for her birthday, but to go out two nights in a row was practically unheard of, utterly distasteful, as her mother would say not with words but with the shades of disapproval that never leave her gaze. Who was Victoria becoming under the corrupting forces of the ER? The question echoed in the halls of her childhood home, under careful scrutiny, squished between tense meals and stilted ‘goodnights’ ‘good morning’ ‘I love you’s.
Victoria opened the window in her room, staring out at the city of Pittsburg she was destined to never leave. Her phone burning in her hand with a text from Princess in the group chat.
Drinks at the Bourbon Cowboy tonight! Warm-up for the real party tomorrow.
Victoria can’t help but feel the last sentence was specifically for her. Always teasing her out as though it was the only way to get her to do anything. If she went out tonight and tomorrow she could already envision coming home, her mother pacing the living room, her father sat reclined on the sofa, a soft smile on his face to try to calm his wife knowing it would only rile her up and cause her to miss the greater storm in his eyes. It would be the same script hounding her further and further away from being their daughter. She thinks of Princess, confident and reckless, she’s snagged the x-ray technician from a few weeks back, an awe-inspiring move on all accounts. Or Donnie, who despite having a newborn, agreed to come out to celebrate her birthday. She thinks of Whitaker, the confidence lately oozing from him, a growing calm to his work she’s never known. Still following behind McKay, looking for reassurance in every step. No, that’s not quite true anymore. She’s confident beside someone like Ogilvie, her experience nestling up to her knowledge to put him in his place. She suspects she’s even gleaned a bit of respect from the hot-shot, different from the quiet acquiescence he gives McKay. The text goads at her, coaxes her. She admits she could stand a bit more corrupting as long as it came from her emergency department.
Javadi sneaks out of the house in a moment where her mother is at the grocery store and her father picks up a call with one of his cricket buddies. She closes the front door softly, not bothering to lock it, and rushes downtown to where her friends waited. The word still tasted strange to her, a mix of dread and anticipation. She’s always screwing up, they still invite her. Tonight, her friends taste like recklessness, an itch beneath her skin to be like them. Confident and knowing and right. She could be all those things, she thinks, her feet thundering against concrete, narrowly missing the cracks. Her headphones blasting in her ears surging her forward between the broad and crowded streets streaming around her, pushing her in one direction and the next. The sun just cresting beneath the horizons of buildings.
She enters the familiar bar and looks toward the nook the ED and, occasionally, OR claim for themselves. Perhaps stupidly, she hopes to see Mateo. It’s been a few months since he was banished to the night rotation and she hasn’t really seen him. A shame, she thinks, if he was here tonight she had just enough courage to finally ask him out. Princess waves her over, Whitaker nodding to her, McKay raises her glass as though to salute her for coming. As Victoria walks over, she can’t stifle her mild shock at seeing Dr.Al-Hashimi at the bar with Dr.Garcia and Dr.Chen.
“Dr.Walsh is around here too,” McKay says as she approaches. “If you can believe.”
“I can,” Javadi says, though she can’t. Dr.Chen came when he was blessed with the evening shift. Dr.Walsh was a different story, usually only coming out when Dr.Robby and Abbot came.
She turns to her table. Whitaker was talking to Santos and Joy, who had started coming out with the group at the end of last week. Not even she could resist an excuse to decompress in the worst way possible. A flaw Victoria could finally latch onto and immediately let go of as she reminded herself that there was no competition between them.
From the bar, a newcomer steps back and toward them, a beer cradled delicately in his hand as though he disdained its presence and was simultaneously responsible for it.
“Ogilvie?” Victoria can’t stop herself. Why was he here? Shouldn’t he be in his room, reading furiously through textbooks and reviewing any updated study to try and catch her on the wrong foot. He’s been relentless lately, taking any chance to go on cases with her, grab her for a report which proudly features his insufferable grin. And sometimes, she thinks, annoyance flaring up, he purposefully gives a lackluster explanation just so she can try to correct him to which he confirms he’s already taken care of the potential oversight. Embarrassing her for trying to be a good resident. She can’t stand him and his stupid jokes that have softened significantly over the weeks. Never about conditions anymore, no off-kilter remarks on appearances, and looking to McKay for her approval when he can’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. Victoria always receiving approval for her jokes from McKay, she reminds herself. That’s one thing she still has over him.
And in every area, she thinks in a pleasing hum to herself not noticing the subject of her thoughts slinking up to her. The group having moved on to a show she hasn’t watched.
“I don’t get why people drink this stuff,” He says finally, grabbing the cup from his other hand and flicking off the condensation that clung to his skin. Victoria glanced at him before trying to seem invested in the group conversation.
“Then, why’d you get it?” She chides him. He shrugs.
“I don’t mind the taste so much as the mess it makes. Honestly, my only issue is they haven’t figured out a more convenient way to drink this.” He takes a sip, his face scrunching as he assessed the taste before deeming it passable.
“And since when do you even come to these?” Victoria can’t help but ask. She can’t deny that part of her curiosity was to see if he had been asked to come at the end of his first shift like her.
“Princess invited me today,” he tells her, still preoccupied with wiping down his glass with a napkin. Victoria can’t help but smile. Another point for her. At this point, Ogilvie had no chance of catching up to her. She’d make sure to tell Santos in the morning. Maybe McKay will overhear.
“Do you want me to grab you one?” He asks, suddenly. Victoria turns to him in question. He gestures to the beer.
“I’m not twenty-one yet,” she answers automatically, the way she’s been trained to do, the possible consequences of arrests and convictions, possibly being murdered by her mother.
“Your birthday is tomorrow?” He says in that inquisitive sarcasm that she doesn’t care for, but tonight was particularly grating.
“So? That’s tomorrow. I’m not breaking the law at the last second.” Pride pulses through her for sticking her ground. Another bout of peer pressure avoided.
“You do know in Pennsylvania any person underage in a bar or party where alcohol is served is breaking the law, right?” He asks, feigning actual concern, she swears she can still feel the sarcasm. Nevertheless, it unsettles her, turns her confidence upside down.
“Wait, really?”
He nods as though it was obvious. Victoria stares at him, her eyes darting to her friends for some evidence to the contrary. She lingers on Dr.Al-Hashimi who must be wondering why Victoria was here, that she had bad impulse control and breaks the law and certainly wasn’t fit to be in the ER or any doctor at all.
“Wait, are you saying you’ve never drank? Not even wine during the holidays? Or, like, when you go to Europe.” Ogilvie’s voice broke through her down spiral.
“What?” He turns his head at her the way he tends to do when he catches her being taken by her thoughts. “Oh, no. Of course, not,” she laughs awkwardly. His expression doesn’t change. “Why have you?”
“Well, yea. When I was younger.”
She nods, mouth slightly agape. Why was this rattling her? They competed in everything, facts, cases, even on guessing what snack a patient was choosing from the vending machine. Yet, all of a sudden when it came to following the rules, he just wasn’t.
Ogilvie worries he’s said something wrong again and offended Javadi. He contemplates taking it back, lying that he’s never drank but he reminds himself that he promised not to lie anymore. It’s a few seconds longer as he watches Javadi struggle to find words that it clicks for him. She was embarrassed.
But why? What did he say to cause this? They’d just had a normal conversation. Sure, her body was turned from him but that was normal for them. She rubbed at her arm, her eyes darting around, her thoughts practically radiating into the space, but he was used to that. He wasn’t used to her pulling away from a challenge even when he didn’t always understand what that challenge was.
“Did I say something?” He settles on, hoping that will be enough for Javadi to tell him what he did wrong.
“No, no. It’s fine, of course. Not like I’m realizing that if you were even willing to break the rules then I’m truly just such a…” Kiss-ass? Stickler? What kind of word could capture how she felt. Always following every rule and instruction since she was born, bending over and backwards to make sure no one ever had a bad thing to say. No complaints; branded onto her report card. Always walking alone the way her parents wanted her to be. And now, the one person who seemed to understand even a little how her brain was wired turned out to be…not like her at all.
Ogilvie watches anguish settle in her frame. He doesn’t understand, but in a way, he thinks he does. He had a strict father, he’s heard the way her mom speaks to her. And right now, it looks like she wants anything else to be true, that she wasn’t who she knew herself to be. Ogilvie averts his eyes, can’t take it anymore. Well, not quite.
“No one here is going to report you.” He says. Javadi blinks but his words don’t land. Wants to be somewhere else, someone else. “There’s still time, you know? If you wanted to break the rules.”
She looks up at him then. He says it so plainly, like a fact that won’t change in any way, nothing before and nothing after, as though the real world and all its consequences couldn’t touch the truth; it’s not too late.
She nods and he lifts his head in assessment. “Does that mean you want a beer?” He tries to clarify so as not to make a hasty, and improper, error.
“I—yes.” Then, she remembers herself. “But not here, I don’t want the others to see.”
“You don’t have to do this, y’know?” He can see the slight tremor of her hands as she wipes them along her jeans. Jeans, he thinks, in this hot weather.
She shakes her head, stubborn. If she doesn’t do this now she never will. She realizes she doesn’t want to leave her youth having never done anything risky.
“How about we go to the park? It’s like two blocks over?” She says, suddenly overcome with desperation. Needing proof that she was alive and that this was actually her life. A spark returning to her eye, Ogilvie’s never seen it before and gets caught in it. He nods, dumbly, the way he’s looked down at others for doing in the past.
He goes to the bar. Instead of canned beer, something that might put Javadi off of alcohol forever, he opts for some fruity beverages, so sweet and fizzy you forget it’s alcohol. Javadi excuses herself from the group, heading toward the door, her hair whipping across her face. Ogilvie thinks she’s quite pretty, but he thought that about most women. Could always find something to admire and chalking it up to a characteristic of women in general. But tonight, Javadi was pretty. Something about it had him nervous that she could appear different to him than normal. And what was normal? He reminded himself that even at work, he found her pretty.
The bartender hands over the cans, breaking Ogilvie from his ogling. He takes the cans, embarrassed to have been caught. The park, he vaguely thought, was objectively a worse place to do this. No one would truly care if Javadi had a drink here. They’d all understand except perhaps Princess who has been excited to pick out Javadi’s first drink. In a way, Ogilvie thinks he may be saving her by getting her used to the taste before Princess has a chance to have her taste what, he can only imagine, was truly vile.
He tucked the cans into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder out of view of the group. He doesn’t say goodbye, can’t imagine they’d notice and heads to the door.
Javadi stands off to the side, just beyond the door, with her hands wrapped around her body, rubbing her arms. Ogilvie can’t stifle his laugh at how suspicious she looks.
He follows behind her as she marches down the streets, turning the corner and navigating them to the park. He likes this, he thinks, seeing a bit more of the Javadi from when they’re at work. Not the distressed version he’d just witnessed and preferred not to see again. Or rather, he’d hate to see her like that and not be able to help.
Javadi stares out at the dark and barely lit park. A few people were out walking their dogs. Some kids rode their skateboards on the ramp on the far side of the park near the basketball court. It was quiet otherwise. And dark. And she was here with alcohol and, of all people, Ogilvie, who, she thinks in horror, she doesn’t even really know. What if he was a psycho or what if he abandoned her, or worst of all, told her mother to get in her good graces. This was a mistake, the words are at the tip of her tongue when she turns to face him.
He’s gazing off, watching the people, watching the few pigeons hopping across the walkway when Javadi catches him. He straightens giving her what she could only describe as a shy smile. It was a smile that suited him better than his usual satisfied grin. Although, in the dark, she could admit she didn’t hate that one either. Made her work harder.
Ogilvie unhooked his bag and pulled out the two cans.
“I have cherry flavor and passion punch, whatever that means.” He squints at the label. Javadi laughs at him.<>
“I thought we were getting beer?” She teases. He looks at her, skeptical.
“If you’ve never drank before, you don’t want to start with beer. You’ll actually like this.” He hands it to her. A beat passes. “Maybe you’ll like it,” he says, now doubtful. Javadi cracked it open and took a small sip to keep it from overflowing. Ogilvie, not wanting her to feel pressured, does the same. Her face sours and she coughs a few times at the taste. Ogilvie watches her with mild amusement.
“That’s, uh, not what I expected.”
“In a good way or…” Ogilvie tries to goad her. She looks at him. How many people in her life coax her into things? Why is it only Ogilvie’s taunts that feel like they have no bite behind it. Like they’re just playing. She nods her head, feeling a bit stupid at the realization. He’s playing with her the way kids are supposed to.
He smiles at her as he takes another sip. She matches him, managing not to flinch as hard.
“So how does underage drinking feel?” He whispers and she has to step closer to him to hear. He nods toward a bench and she sits down beside him, suddenly more private. “Well, that and acts of public drunkenness,” he says, listing their possible crimes. Despite knowing he’s teasing, her heartbeat still picks up, unsure.
“We’re not even drunk,” she reasons. Ogilvie drags his eyes along her body as though to asses the statement. Javadi’s skin feels warm. He shrugs.
“Then, I suppose they’d chalk it up to public indecency.”
The way he says it itches her hands, something wanting to tug or claw and for once, it’s not directed at her.
“For a charge like that…this feels far too tame,” she says, quietly. Ashamed that her statement could be read as having any desire at all.
Ogilvie’s head shoots up, registering her tone, caught between playfulness and something more secluded. He leans toward her, curious now. She was usually easy to read. Every emotion showing on her face.
“Dr.Javadi, are you trying to break the law right now?” He lays back against the bench, long legs stretched in front of him. She tucks her legs up on the bench, his words making her feel more shy than she should be. This was what she wanted, right? To break rules. To live like any other young adult? Wasn’t that exactly what Ogilvie offered her? What he offered since the first day they met? She wasn’t a resident to him, she wasn’t a genius or someone to ogle at for being so young and so accomplished.
She shrugs.
“I’m just saying. If we’re going to break the law, it should be worthwhile, right?” She looks at him then, his face so close to hers. His gaze flickers to her lips, he stares, something like fear crawling up on him.
“Yea,” he says, his voice hoarse, unsure for the first time since she’s met him. Nevertheless, he can’t stop from leaning toward her, from letting her press her lips against his. Both wanting and unsure.
Ogilvie pulls away slightly. He needs to see her face and know she still wants this. He need to look for her eyes on him, his lips, blown pupils. He needs to see a head nod or other proof that he’s not read this wrong. God, how many times has he been wrong.
Victoria’s hands go to his head, pulling him back to her, desperate now. She wanted to kiss him, to taste the mix of cherry and mint on his breath. He leaned back into her, bracing his hand on the back of the bench. Her hand drags up to his curly hair, tangling and gripping in a way that has him groaning in his throat.
Ogilvie’s face flushes. He’s ruined it, he thinks in mortification. She kisses him harder, demands his lips to start moving against hers. There was nothing in this world he wouldn’t do to keep Javadi here with her soft lips and strong hands. He can’t believe she’d kiss someone like him. He takes the risk and brings his other hand to rest on her back. Her breath hitches and he feels himself ache. Now his face really flushed as Javadi pulled away. Please don’t look down, he thought, but it quickly flew from his mind as he saw her lips a little swollen, pupils wide and a shy smile gracing her features.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe I just did that. I mean, that was—”
“Enough for public indecency?” He asks, can’t help himself. An awestruck smile on his face looking at her, his hand still on her back, her hands resting on his shoulders. He wants so much more, but he’d never push it. Just this much was enough for him for a lifetime. He hopes, silently, that she can’t tell it’s his first kiss.
Javadi’s head whips around. The evening has slowed down. No one near them. The trees and shrubs covering them mostly. Her blood running so hot. Her birthday’s tomorrow. She’ll never get another chance.
“No, I think they’d let us off with a stern warning.” She tells him. He looks at her, like he wants to say something until she raises on her knees and awkwardly gestures to him. Understanding, but still not comprehending that she wants this, Ogilvie sits up straighter on the bench. Javadi slides her leg over his lap, his hands instinctively going to her waist, careful not to touch anywhere else. He swallows harsh as she brings her lips back to his and shifts her weight onto him. Onto where he both wanted and dreaded to have her.
He kisses her hard pushing her head back slightly to stifle a gasp, a groan, something horrible. Javadi’s hand flies to her bottom lip.
“You just bit me?” She asks, incredulous. Ogilvie shakes his head.
“No, it must have scrapped my teeth, I swear—” She pushes down against him, her lips latching onto his and her fingers tugging some of his hair. The way she’d read or heard of but has never done. Ogilvie swears he feels a piece of heaven, his stomach flipping. He flushes thinking she might’ve just felt his excitement. Well, more than she already does.
She dares to bring her tongue to his mouth. He opens for her, wanting anything she’d give him. Resisting his own desire to pull her hips closer, he lets go of her waist. She breaks the kiss to put them back and then kisses him again, this time their rhythm falling easy. Something foreign so quickly becoming familiar.
He hums against her lips, trying to let her know that it’s too much for him. His skin was so hot and his desire slowly dragging him out of control. Just a small break, he thinks. Just enough to look at her again and memorize the slope of her brow and the angle of her nose and all the other things he should indulge while he has the chance.
Javadi’s back pocket starts vibrating. She breaks the kiss, wide-eyed, alarmed. Ogilvie feels stunned as well, but for entirely different reasons. Javadi looks around as though there were cops hanging around who would actually arrest some people making out. It endears him.
She closes her eyes and sighs loudly before taking out her phone and answering it. Mercifully, she stays in his lap.
He’s only a few inches from her but he can hear the strained voice of her mother asking what she thinks she’s doing so late, what possessed her to leave. Javadi tries to interrupt, to explain. What, he thinks, that she left to drink alcohol and make out with one of her med students. He hates that he’s not ashamed of finding it a bit hot. Only because he was said med student.
“Okay, okay.” She groans. “Yes, I’ll come home now. No, you don’t have to call me a car.” She huffs out another frustrated breath. “Yes, okay, I’ll call an uber.”
She’s leaving. She has to, he knows, and he’d never hold it against her. Instead he gazes, taking in every detail he can. Her warm complexion, her pretty eyes, long lashes, the hair refusing to remain tucked behind her ear. He reaches out, brushing it along her cheek. Javadi’s shoulders fall, she closes her eyes regretfully.
“Okay, I’ll be right home. I promise, mom.”
She hangs up the phone. Oglivie still brushes the side of her cheek and her chest sings at the feeling. “I have to go,” she says softly. Oglivie nods, still a bit dazed from how the night has gone down.
“I’ll see you at work,” he says, as she gets off his lap. Quickly sitting up to hide his lap with his backpack. She smiles knowingly at him, her eyes landing on the action. He only raises his eyebrows. Teasing. Playful. Heart only somewhat in his throat.
Javadi nods.
“You’ll see me at work, yes.”
Ogilvie nods.
“And then, at your birthday? I hear it’s the first time you’re having alcohol.” He says, a strange earnestness in his tone she’s not used to. But she smiles, grateful now. He had given her this, been by her side and let her be a little bit stupid for once in her life.
She tries to mimic him, shrugs in exaggeration and plays the fool. Takes a step toward the road.
“Who’s to say. I had some wild times in my youth.”
He smiles at her. He likes this side of her. Wants more of it for himself.
“I hear it only gets better with age,” he tosses out. She bites her lip.
“I guess we’ll have to find out,” she promises. Walks backward until she has no choice but to turn and trek back home.