Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Victoria moved out of her parents’ house and into med student housing at the end of the semester, she hadn’t expected it to be such a party destination. Her mother had warned her of the possibility, but Victoria had suspected she was simply overexaggerating to make Victoria doubt her decision to pursue semi-normal college life with her semi-peers. To be fair, the apartment complex had been quiet when she first moved in, and her assigned roommate (an M4 from Nepal currently working night shifts on the med psych floor) had communicated with her almost exclusively via WhatsApp about dirty dishes left in the sink or clothes left in the dryer.

(In retrospect, attempting to live alone and complete all of her own chores for the first time while also managing clinical rotations and exams may have been too much all at once. Despite her best efforts to grocery shop and plan out nutritious meals to pack for her lunch break, Victoria had subsisted largely on instant rice and frozen burritos.)

The partying did not start until the weekend after the first shelf exam. Victoria had stepped off the hospital shuttle bus in the freezing January darkness to find the party already spilling out into the front lawn, smokers and tall cans littering the curbside. All the bundled-up M3s and M4s coming off shift were greeted to a chorus of cheers and a welcome-home shot, which Victoria’s work-addled brain accepted before she could piece together the word, “underage”. Even after the beer she’d shared with Pitt staff on her first day, she hadn’t been in the habit of drinking or smoking, had often accompanied blockmates to happy hours and sipped cherry coke without complaint. She only had a couple more months before illegality wouldn’t be a factor, though, and she figured she should probably learn her limits, and perhaps learn what kind of alcohol she liked best, in a controlled setting. Additionally, she’d moved away from home for this exact reason– to network with her future colleagues as recklessly as she preferred.

Victoria had downed the shot decisively, then winced at the lack of flavor. “Excuse me, what is this?” she’d asked the ortho-bound M4 who’d handed the mini solo cup to her.

“Smirnoff?” he’d responded, his eyebrows knit with confusion. Victoria considered this for a moment.

“Do you have anything sweeter?” she’d asked, and he’d grinned.

That was how Victoria had woken up around 2 PM with a raging headache and a sharp pain at her hip bone. Fortunately, the nausea didn’t hit until she stood up, and extra-fortunately, she was in a building full of future doctors already passing around NSAIDs and Pedialyte. There were rumors of someone on the third floor pushing saline IVs to prep for night two, but Victoria, facing the first hangover of her young life, easily decided to abstain. She instead focused her energy on rehydrating in the traditional sense and microwaving a cheesy breakfast sandwich to replenish her carbohydrates. As she ate, she reviewed her notes from the night before.

• Smirnoff Vodka - 40% ABV, 1/5. Flavorless and dry.
• Jose Cuervo Tequila - 40% ABV, 3/5. Bland alone. Better with lime and salt.
• Twisted Tea - 5% ABV, 3/5. Too sweet, not potent enough to accomplish 
• Miller Lite - 4.2% ABV, 4/5. Carby water? Revisit later.
• White Claw Black Cherry - 5% ABV, 3/5. Alcoholic LaCroix. Purpose?
• Captain Morgan Rum - 35% ABV, 5/5. CAPTAIN ON BOTTLE HIP DISLOCATION
• Pink Whitney - 30% ABV, 50/5. Pink

She must’ve stopped keeping track at that point, though she had memory of a final trial of peppermint schnapps in the neighbors’ living room before stumbling back into her own room and falling asleep, still wearing her scrubs. She logged the final drink as she finished off the sandwich.

All in all, it had been a successful night of exploration. After the second tequila shot, whatever restraint she had in chattering was completely abandoned, and she found herself gossiping and bonding with classmates she’d never even learned the names of in their years of schooling together. Victoria smiled as she remembered how funny and flirty and free-spirited she’d felt for once in her life, all natural qualities just uncovered by intoxication. She’d come out of the evening with residency application tips, three new study guides, and a couple tarot card readings.

It wasn’t until she dragged herself from the kitchen into the bathroom and disrobed for a shower that she realized she’d also come out of the evening with a tattoo. When she first saw it in the mirror, she shrieked, thinking it was a spider or perhaps a massive tick clinging to the skin.

Victoria stepped closer to the mirror to examine herself more closely, and the blood drained from her face as she recognized the black ink, now irritated and haloed in a gnarly red glow. She scoffed. She thought she’d been aware and conscious for the entirety of her inebriation, but somehow she’d missed encoding this particular memory. She vaguely remembered someone pulling out a needle and gloves at some point in the evening, but you could never be sure what kind of party tricks med students had. Perhaps it was transient loss of consciousness, or perhaps her mind had, in some desperate shame spiral, blocked the memory of her eager consent to a subdermal needling to protect herself from the future consequences. 

Yet sure enough, a small, stick-and-poke figure of a sun was tucked within her right iliac spine. Was it a sun, or a doodled anatomical model of a uterus? Victoria began to feel faint at the mere idea of a needle penetrating the thin skin there, and she gripped the countertop to steady herself. Not today, Crash.

She took a deep breath, then pulled out her phone to google, “infected tattoo”. Then, not trusting herself to make a rational self-diagnosis, she snapped a photo and opened up a message to Dr. McKay. Even though her clinical rotation in the Pitt had ended months ago, she often reached out to McKay with USMLE and residency questions. Plus, she missed the Pitt more than she thought she would’ve, and she liked to stay updated on how everyone was doing and exchange information about patients transferred from trauma bays to Vic’s rotation-floor-of-the-month. Given that Cassie rarely had a lunch break, that often took the form of texting, but every once in a while Vic would get invited to dinner and a movie with her and Harrison, which really kept her sane since she’d never shared such an unproductive evening with her own mother.

Can I do the friend-of-a-doctor thing? 

Victoria knew McKay had Saturdays off, so unless it was a Harrison weekend, she would probably be doomscrolling in bed right now. The text bubble popped up almost instantaneously.

Sure. You only get one more year before you’re on the receiving end, though.

Victoria sent the photo, then bit her lip waiting for the response.

Oh honey.

Victoria almost instantaneously started crying. She’d learned since living alone that the smallest quantities of sympathy in moments of vulnerability really sent her into overdrive, and she was simply too overwhelmed and dehydrated to hold it in today. Of course the first night she’d intentionally let loose and asserted her autonomy, the universe would swiftly punish her rebellion with sepsis (possibly).

This is why I don’t drink

I have a very similar story from high school, happens to the best of us.

In my case, it was a boy’s initials, right before he cheated on me with a cheerleader.

My girlfriend covered it up with an infinity sign.

At least yours is cute!

But infected, right?

Indeterminable via telemedicine :( 

You could stop by the Pitt. Dana was texting me earlier, so they must be having a slow day.

They’d probably give you benzos if you asked nicely ;)

Victoria sighed pitifully, then blew her nose and recomposed herself. She’d only been back to the Pitt for quick consults and a handful of post-shift takeout runs with Santos and Whittaker, and she’d hate to inconvenience them for such a stupid mistake. All that said, she did vomit this morning, and her face felt warm and feverish, which were signs of infection, if not hangover.

Ugh

I’m sure Robby and everyone would be pleased to see you!

Dr. Robby had run into her at the hospital only once since her rotation ended, and he had seemed genuinely happy to see her and curious about how her other rotations were going. “So you’re starting to get the sense that no other practice is quite like emergency medicine,” he’d summarized with a knowing smile, and Vic had smiled right back, confirming something she’d already believed but not yet admitted to herself. Nothing else gave her the high and satisfaction that her time in the Pitt had– getting the opportunity to prove herself, to flex every specialty on the fly was an equally exhausting and gratifying exercise.  “Come back any time, Victoria.”

Fine, I’ll go

Thanks for being my doctor-friend

Given that you have at least a dozen doctor-friends, it was an honor.

Victoria wanted to rinse the infection before leaving, but she only had scented bar soap, shampoo, and hydrogen peroxide on hand, so instead she just left it and threw on cotton undies and loose sweatpants, careful to tie the waistband a few inches above the wound.

About an hour later, Vic rolled into the Pitt waiting room, which was absurdly sparse for a Saturday afternoon, but maybe the whole city was hungover and had the good sense to stay home. She caught a glimpse of herself in the security camera and almost felt bad for the handful of other patients having to witness her in this state– puffy eyes, tangled hair, chapped lips. Utterly unpolished, to add to the list of new degradations experienced today.

“Victoria, honey, how’s it going?” Lupe greeted at the counter, and if she was surprised to see her, she didn’t show it.

“Hi Lupe… quiet day?” Victoria asked, giggling slightly. 

“Shhh, don’t jinx it,” Lupe teased. Neither of them believed in superstitious bullshit.

“Can I please get intake forms?”

“Sure thing, hon,” Lupe replied, passing her the standard forms and a pen. “No need to complete the front, we still have your info on file.”

“Efficient as ever,” Victoria praised, and Lupe smiled.

Shortly after she’d returned the forms, Dr. Collins entered the waiting room for a quick triage scan, then looked again, her gaze focusing more directly. “Javadi?” she asked, equal parts delighted to see her again and concerned to see her come in as a patient.

“Hi Dr. Collins,” Victoria greeted, grinning. She hadn’t seen Dr. Collins at all since her rotation ended, and she hadn’t realized how good it would feel to see her again. Just then, one of the three other occupants of the waiting room began dry heaving, and Dr. Collins rushed past to help them into a wheelchair.

“I’ll be right back, then we can chat,” Heather promised apologetically.

“No problem,” Vic replied, tucking her legs out of the way to let the wheelchair pass. “Watch the neck, looks like cervicalgia!” she called after, and Heather shot back a thumbs up. 

“You know, patients aren’t supposed to provide a medical opinion on other patients,” Collins critiqued when she returned a few minutes later.

“Whoops,” Vic replied, standing to receive Collins’ offered embrace. She hadn’t expected a hug, but she was grateful, even as she winced slightly at the pressure of the other woman’s pelvic bone pressed against hers.

“Dana said you might be in,” she confided, squeezing a hand once more before retreating. “What are we seeing you for?”

Victoria peered down and loosened her waistband to reveal the tattoo, now swelling more intensely.

“Javadi!” Collins shrieked slightly in surprise, and Vic was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. That reaction was undeniable, she was infected– possible cellulitis. “When did you get this little art piece?”

“Sometime last night,” Victoria answered, then dropped her voice to a whisper to say, “I honestly don’t remember getting it.”

“Should we get you a psych consult too?” Collins offered, only half teasing, and Victoria shook her head, the laugh-sob eeking out sardonically. 

“Not for this.”

Heather picked up her laughter and dusted it off. “Come on back, we’ll clean you up and start antibiotics.”

“Prodigal daughter returned!” Dana announced as they made their way inside, and Javadi stopped to hug her, too. “And she’s inked up!” Princess and Perlah hollered as they waited in line for their respective hugs.

“I didn’t think it would be such a scandal,” Victoria tried to play it cool, but these people knew her well enough to recognize the shakiness in her voice.

“We can sit you down here,” Collins said, gesturing to the closest chair. “So you can regale us with the stories of your night.”

“So I’m in med student housing now,” Vic started. “And apparently after the shelf exams, they have these big parties.”

“Crash drinks now?” Whittaker chimed in from the nearest charting station.

“Hey, Huckleberry,” Victoria returned with a sweetly venomous smile. They’d taken to calling each other by the stupid nicknames Santos had assigned them that first day, almost as a reminder that they’d been through larger, more scarring things together. “Yes, I’ve sampled a variety of liqueurs.”

“Never change, Crash,” he replied with a wistful sigh before moving on to a patient room.

“Any favorites?” Collins prompted before collecting a bacterial culture from the wound.

“Pink Whitney by far,” Vic answered, and Dana snorted gleefully. Vic turned to Collins to warrant a guess, “500 mg dicloxacillin?” 

“Let’s go cephalexin, 250 mg,” Heather replied with a wink, taking off her gloves. “And we can send you home with some dial and aquaphor, just wash and apply twice a day. We’ll get you cleaned up and bandaged before you leave today, too. Good to see you, Javadi.”

“Thanks, you too, Dr. Collins,” she replied, turning to face Dana, presuming one of the nurses would take over. “So how is everyone? Is Dr. Robby here?

“Just missed him, so who did the tattoo?” Dana prompted smoothly.

“I think one of my neighbors,” she answered as she rolled her waistband lower for easy access. “I hope the one that was in the derm rotation.”

“Med school dorms sound like a trip,” Mateo said from between her knees, and Victoria startled a little too noticeably. How long had he been there, listening to her silliness? She’d been gone from the rhythm of the Pitt for four months, but between the infection and the remnant hangover, she must be really off her game to not notice his presence.

“Mateo, I totally missed you,” she exclaimed, then cringed at how it sounded. “I mean, you just appeared out of thin air.”

“Forgot how this place runs, huh?” he teased as he gloved up. “We heard about your fancy rotations, neurology, pedes, cushy stuff. Remember your roots.”

“I miss being down here, I really do,” she replied, remembering to look over to the other nurses, too.

“C’mon, Victoria, you don’t need to get a sketchy tattoo just to hang out with us,” Mateo replied, then suddenly his hands were on her torso, lifting her t-shirt gently to examine more closely. Stupidly, despite the anatomical impossibility, she wondered if he could feel the butterflies in her stomach. “Cute,” he commented, just barely meeting her gaze for a moment. Utah.

“Any idea how you picked out the sun?” Dana asked, and despite all the excitement, Victoria could hear the smugness in her tone. “Or how you decided you wanted it there?” Mateo’s thumb traced across there as he pressed a cool cloth over the warm, pink skin. 

“I just wanted to piss off my mom, I think,” Victoria answered honestly, which made Mateo laugh, full-bodied and bright. He’d made her laugh so much, and it was nice to return the favor. “And I think maybe the sun was rising?” she speculated. “Or we were drawing tarot cards, and that’s what I picked.” 

“Huh,” Dana huffed. “What does the sun mean?” Mateo had applied a cold cream to her belly, and she shivered slightly as he spread it across the tender flesh. Victoria realized a little too late that she was staring, but she couldn’t be bothered with more embarrassment today.

“Illumination,” she answered certainly, holding Mateo’s gaze more intentionally as he placed a bandage across her newly claimed motif. When she was actually looking, he seemed just as warmed by her as she was by him. Then she surveyed the Pitt, the thrum of activity– Collins, Whittaker, Princess, Perlah, Dana running the show so masterfully, all the opportunity to make a difference, to take decisive action towards somethings. This boy, yes, but also this place. “Knowing what I want.”