#I want to put bandages on the jacob one but those knuckles came out so sexy I don't want to cover them helpalsjsjsnd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-pontiac-bandit · 7 years

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Teacher/single parent au or meeting in the E.R au for peraltiago obvs

Thanks for asking, anon!! I love these!! since we’re all in need of some peraltiago fluff this week, here ya go!

15. Meeting in the ER AU

Dr. Amy Santiago (she’s only been able to officially use that title for six months and she’s damn proud of it) is running down the hallway, her dark ponytail swinging back and forth as her brand new white coat fans out behind her like a cape. She always thought being an ER doctor would be a bit like being a superhero, and she’s not wrong, she decides, thinking about the way she must look running through the hallway of Brooklyn Methodist Hospital – a scrubs-wearing, white-coat-caped superhero.

She’s shaken out of her reverie when she runs headlong into the glass door separating her from the ER, dropping the suture kits she had gone to fetch and losing her brand-new stethoscope. What can she say? She’s still a resident.

Furtively looking around to make sure no one noticed, Amy bends down to pick up her suture kits, dropped as her forehead hit a locked glass door at full speed. She catches a few of the older nurses tittering from the nurse’s station on the other side of the door, but she doesn’t take it personally – she remembers three days ago when those same nurses brought her coffee and a muffin during hour 13 of a particularly grueling shift.

Amy takes a deep breath, feeling her hair to make sure her ponytail is still in place and sighs, deciding it doesn’t matter anyway – she’s exhausted and she’s worked fifty hours this week and it’s only Wednesday, so this is as good as it’s gonna get. Instead, she straightens her shoulders and steels herself before taking a step back, tapping her ID against the sensor, and walking into what her new friend Rosa, a fellow emergency medicine resident, calls the “chaos-ridden-pit-of-hellfire”.

A wall of sound hits her instantly – screaming, crying, laughing, small talk, of all things, and the incessant beeping that has come to haunt her dreams on the rare occasions she actually sleeps. Despite her difficulty with hospital doors, Dr. Santiago navigates the ER like a pro, zeroing in on the patient she’s supposed to treat in an instant.

He’s probably about her age – in his mid-twenties – with disheveled hair and a sweaty red face. Red dirt covers his face and saturates his NYPD t-shirt and cargo shorts. She can see from here that gravel is stuck in his bloody knees, and that the long gash on his elbow, only partially covered by a makeshift bandage made out of someone’s tie, and the shorter cut on his right cheek are why she was told to get suture kits. His friend, a smaller man in his early thirties, looks distraught, with tear tracks staining his face. The patient, though, is laughing with the largest smile Amy’s ever seen and gently patting his friend’s back with his good arm.

She stops at the nurses’ station to grab his file before she walks over. The nurse on intake had already taken his basic medical history, which let her know that the man with a captivating smile and – unbelievably – Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sneakers is named Jacob Peralta, age 29.

She keeps reading intake notes as she walks towards the bed, expertly navigating the deluge of people rushing to various patients despite the fact that she’s nose-deep in a chart. Finally, all those years of reading while brushing her teeth and walking the hallways at school are coming in handy.

“Mr. Peralta? Hi, I’m Dr. Amy Santiago. I’m going to be taking care of you this afternoon. Would you mind telling me more about what happened? It says here you fell off a bike?” She leaves the sentence open-ended, hoping he’ll fill in more details.

“Yep! A bike! Because I’m a BMX rider – a professional, if you will,” Jacob replies, with a pointed glance at his friend.

His friend, however, is too busy looking at the needles in Amy’s hands to notice his friend. “Actually, it was roller skates. Is that medically significant? I just want to make sure Jakey’s okay. It’s our day off, and we were roller skating. I told him he needed knee pads, but he didn’t believe me because ‘John McClane wouldn’t wear knee pads’. See,” he turns back to Jacob, “this is why roller skaters get such a bad rep!”

“Yep,” Jake replies to his friend cheerfully. “That’s why everyone hates roller skaters.”

Then, he fixes his blinding grin on his doctor, whom, he notes, is quite cute, despite her disheveled hair and the mysterious stain on the bottom of her scrub top she apparently hasn’t noticed yet. There’s something about her eyes, sparkling and interested, contradicting the bags hanging under them, that hold him mesmerized.

“I’m Jake, and this is Charles. We’re two hot-shot detectives in Brooklyn’s best precinct.”

At Amy’s stern look (which maybe turns him on more than he’d like to admit), he adds, “…and there may have been roller skates involved in, well, this.” He gestures towards his various leg wounds, grimacing when he feels a twinge – he’d used his bad arm.

Amy can’t help but smile. Mr. Peralta – Jake – is absolutely ridiculous, but so far, he’s by far her favorite patient of the shift. Not that that’s any kind of real accomplishment – her previous patients included a projectile vomiter and an old man convinced he was in the middle of a jungle in Vietnam. Sane and not spewing half-digested food is a major step up. That’s it – nothing to do with the fact that his over-the-top flirting is almost as endearing as his smile.

“Well, Jake, since you just reopened that gash on your arm, we’re going to get started on that first before you bleed all over my bed.”

“Ooooh,” he says, with an eyebrow wiggle and a wink. “Am I in your bed? Dirty, Dr. Santiago! I thought we were keeping this professional! If we’re taking this to the bedroom, I should definitely get to call you Amy, though.”

She doesn’t dignify this with a response. Instead, she grabs his arm, unties the tie holding the gash shut, and goes for the antibacterial wipes. Charles, at the sight of the reopened wound, covers his mouth and heads for the waiting room, telling them hastily that he’ll go watch some Top Chef while they deal with “that monstrosity”.

He winces as she starts to dab at the cut. “Sorry, this might hurt a bit. I’ll put on some anesthetic before I stitch you up, though.”

“Oh, no big deal. I’m a detective with the NYPD. I get hurt all the time. I live for pain.” His words sound proud, but he’s clenching his teeth like he’s holding in a scream, and she can see his other fist balled around the sheets, his knuckles white, as she starts to pick gravel out of the wound.

They’ve been taught to keep patients talking – they’ve been told it distracts them from the pain. That’s definitely why Amy asks her next question. There’s no way she’s just curious about this guy. “So, then, why’d you decide to be a detective, if you get hurt so much? At least I don’t come home with any stitches at the end of the day.”

“I don’t know, Dr. Santiago. Run into that door any harder—” he nods towards the hallway she came from, “—and I’d be the one giving you stitches. Blood gushing out of your face and everything – suuper graphic. I’d probably have to write up a police report for that kind of accident.”

Amy rolls her eyes dramatically, never once wavering in her cleaning of the wound, but Jake can see the blush tinting her cheeks and the tips of her ears at the realization that he saw her run headlong into a very visible door. It’s more than a little adorable.

“Speaking of horrifically maimed, irreparable faces, then, we should probably page a plastic surgeon to deal with yours so you don’t end up with a scar,” Amy informs him, trying to get this conversation on track. She’s not supposed to find patients cute. She’s definitely not supposed to be flirting with them. Even though she maybe is. Just a little bit.

“No! Don’t do that! I need the scar – to look badass for the ladiesssss.” Jake is wiggling his eyebrows at her, contorting his face into the most ridiculous expression she’s ever seen, somehow keeping his left cheek carefully still to protect the cut while the rest of his face moves wildly. “Come on, Amy – I mean, Dr. Santiago – you know I’m at least 3,000% hotter with this scar.”

“Trust me – I’m a first year emergency medicine resident. You don’t want me anywhere near your face. And I’ll be making no comments on how attractive you are.”

“Hah! You said I’m attractive! You loooooove me!”

Amy wants to be annoyed by Jake Peralta. She really, truly does. But she can’t seem to stop talking to him. He explains why he wanted to be a detective – a fifteen minute speech involving a do-gooder attitude, the uniform, and a lot of Die Hard references. Then, they start making bets – how long will it take for her to stitch up his arm, or how many rocks will she find in his right knee. She wins three of four, much to her delight.

Her mini-victory dance in her seat is objectively adorable, Jake decides. Anyone would think so.

An hour later, she’s still by his bedside, cleaning increasingly smaller cuts and scrapes. By the time she gets to the brush burns on his palms, even she knows she’s stalling. She keeps cleaning them, though. His hands are surprisingly warm and soft, and a small part in the back of her brain wants to keep holding that hand forever, or for the rest of the afternoon, at least.

She just isn’t ready for this conversation to end. Only because the other patients are so awful today, she tells herself. Nothing to do with Jake Peralta.

Finally, though, there’s nothing left to do. So she sighs, using her heels to roll back her chair as she looks up at the man who’s now her favorite patient so far as a doctor.

“So, you’re all set. You should probably go find Charles – make sure he didn’t die while you were unable to supervise.” Jake had told her about Charles’ various mishaps somewhere around minute 43, and he made his friend sound like such a klutz Amy briefly considered sending a med student after him, just to make sure he didn’t kill himself on a scalpel somewhere.

Jake shrugs. “I’m sure he’s fine, since he hasn’t already been rushed to the emergency room. Food Network can keep him occupied for hours.”

“Well, it can go keep him occupied at home – I need my bed back.”

“Kicking me out already, Dr. Santiago? Without even a signature for my cast? I’m hurt, nay, crushed by this blatant dismissal.” He’s clearly hamming it up for her benefit, but she catches a moment of earnestness behind those adorable brown eyes.

“Those are bandages. We went over this – you’re supposed to change them when you wake up in the morning, Jake.”

“Aw, come on, Am—Dr. Santiago! This injury will be, like, 200 times cooler if a cute doctor signed my bandage!”

From any other patient, this comment would have made Amy grind her teeth and walk away. Rosa had to physically restrain her from punching a patient who called her, “Sweetheart,” last week. And yet, somehow, this is different. So she pulls the Sharpie out of her coat pocket and uncaps it.

Amy Santiago, she writes slowly, carefully avoiding putting pressure on the new stitches while she signs her name in her perfect script. He starts to comment on how slow her signature is, and she can hear him counting the seconds, but she’s focused on something else.

A pause, as she chews her lip, debating.

Then, below her name, she adds her number. Jake waits patiently for her to finish before fist-pumping and whooping, imitating her victory dance from their third bet.

“Okay, dork, but you’re still gonna have to change that in 12 hours.”

“Don’t worry – I’ll have used this loooooong before then.”

#brooklyn 99 #b99 #b99 fanfic #jake peralta #amy santiago #aaand here it is #lmk what you think #sorry it's kind of a mess buuuut #<3

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