"Lucky One" - A Short Snippet (Patreon)

Based on the commission, "Peter/Victor/f!MC poly established relationship: MC faints during her shift, and someone tells Dr Grey who grabs Vic on the way and go see a now awake MC (who is adamant they can keep working)."

You don't know what it is with Peter's OR - but damn it if you don't pass out for a second time during one of his cases. 

A small victory: Peter and Ashley, the senior resident assisting during the case, had already left the room. A huge loss: you remember, right before your vision went fuzzy, the patient pointing at you and slurring out, "Doc doesn't look too good."

You wake up on the floor, a towel folded underneath your head, Marsha wafting an alcohol pad underneath your nose. You blink, feel the flush of humiliation on your face as you raise yourself up, your limbs still shaky. 

Marsha hands over a cup of apple juice, which you accept with a mumbled "thanks." As you peel open the lid, the first gulp ambrosia on your tongue, you notice Martha watching you with a completely calm expression on your face - so calm that it sends a chill down your spine. 

Before you can even start the first syllable of an apology, an explanation, a I-swear-this-won't-happen-again-I-just-need-to-eat-more-protein-bars excuse, she holds up her hand and your words die in your mouth. 

"You didn't eat before, did you?" she says.

You nod. Technically, you had had a Snickers mini-bar that you had found squashed in the bottom of your back-pack, but you can tell this fact will hurt you more than save you.

Marsha regards you for a moment longer, and then she says, her voice firm, "You won't be scrubbing in to any more of my cases."

"...What?" you manage numbly, sure you've misheard.

"One time is an accident. But twice?" She gazes at you, and you resist the urge to look away. "Now you're endangering patient care. What would happen if you passed out in the middle of a case? When Dr. Grey needed you? When the patient needed you? You should be grateful the case was already over, and the patient just needed to be wheeled to post-op."

Your face burns more, and you clench your jaw - will your eyes not to sting. 

"I'll be telling the chiefs about my concerns and my recommendation," she says. She looks to the juice cup, still half-full in your hands. "Now, finish that and go lie down in the locker room."

"...Yes, Marsha," you manage to say.

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You're sitting on a bench in the locker room, your head in your hands, when Peter and Vic walk in. You resist the urge to bolt, and instead turn yourself to face them, resigned to a lecture (two lectures, by the looks on their faces). 

"Marsha told me what happened," Peter says, his face unreadable - which is never a good sign. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you say, then gesture to the granola bar wrapper next to you. "I fueled up - I can still finish out the day - "

"Absolutely not," Vic snapping, but Peter shoots him a look, and Vic takes a small breath instead of, you suppose, flaying you alive. 

"You'll be going home for the day," Peter says, his voice even - calm, as if he weren't subjecting you to further embarrassment.

You shake your head, looking between the two of them, trying to find some kind of purchase. "You can't do that. I can't leave Reese - "

"Ashley will help Reese with the remaining work." Another small blessing, that he doesn't say "your remaining work." "Right now, all I want you to focus on is resting."

"The Lyft's already called," Vic says, before you can protest any further, and then he turns the phone to you - as if to prove he's not bluffing. You see then your backpack slung over Vic's shoulder, and it hits you - the full weight of it, that not only did you pass out in Peter's OR, not only is Marsha banning you from any cases she's working, but Peter and Vic - no, Dr. Grey and Vic, the chief - are sending you home. 

"I just..." You pause, your mouth impossibly dry, then try again. "I just wanted to get everything done."

At this, you see both their faces soften. Peter, with that gentle expression. Vic, the worry obvious in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. They're concerned about you, they're worried about you - no, this isn't about punishment at all. You think how you would feel, if you found out one of them had worked themselves so hard that they'd fainted. You think about the fierceness you'd feel, the urge to grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them - and, well, you get it. 

You sigh as you feel Peter's arms around you, his mouth press a kiss to the top of your head. 

"I'll see you after work," he murmurs into your hair, and you inhale the smell of him - the smell of hospital scrub soap and Citadel detergent, but also that woodsy smell that you recognize as just him. 

After Peter leaves, Vic offers you a hand and you take it, his palm - as always - callused, but warm. 

"I'll walk you out to the car," he says, and you don't even try to get your backpack back from him, know that it'd be futile. 

"Vic," you say, and he sighs - no longer the chief ready to rip you a new asshole, but instead your boyfriend, your partner. 

"Listen - I know I'm not the prime example of self-care," he says, and the both of you don't need to speak any more on that, memories of the fall, of Vic in his bathroom, of you crouched next to him, his cheek wet against your neck, "but - I don't want to do this again, okay?"

"I know," you say. There's no purpose in offering up an apology - there's only doing better next time. 

"Fuck," he exhales, then turns, presses his forehead against yours. "You really scare the shit out of me sometimes."

"I know," you murmur, your fingers touching his face - trying to reassure him, ground him again. His hand folds itself over yours, and he squeezes, and you feel the care in that squeeze, the worry. 

"I'll drop by with some dinner later," he says. 

"Thank you," you say, and you look at him meaningfully. "You and Peter - really. I...don't know how I got this lucky."

"You're not the only lucky one," he says, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder, "and I think Peter would think the same thing."