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.