mayflower i
warnings: ivf, pregnancy mentions, slight angst
pairing: sam kerr x fem!reader
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“Ouch! Do you mind?”
“You’re so dramatic; it’s just a pinch, dummy.”
“Why are we even doing this?”
You giggled, putting the needle in your newly dedicated sharps bin as Sam re-tied the strings of her grey track pants.
“I’m starting to become uncomfortable about how much you enjoy this,” she teased, staring you down from the counter she was currently perched on. You passed her the icepack as she continued, “in fact, I’d go as far as to say you look forward to it.”
“Oh do you, now? I’m hurt, Sammy. Truly hurt. I’m thinking about the children, and if you just can't see that - Well, I just don’t know if this relationship will work out..”
“Oh, piss off!” She laughed, shoving your shoulder lightly as she leaned in for a kiss, her hand coming to lift your chin.
“But do you kiss all your patients after you stab them, babe?”
“Only the cute ones” You fired back. She laughed softly, repeatedly poking and then wincing at the injection site. Her thigh was littered with small purple splotches, something she was strangely fascinated by.
You finished up what you were doing in the bathroom, following her out into your shared kitchen. Sam pottered around beside you, chopping vegetables before haphazardly throwing them into the bowl. It was a comfortable silence that you revelled in, but one you both secretly wished to be soon filled by a small baby's soft, nonsensical babbling.
“Did they say we could confirm the ninth for our retrieval date? I’ve got training the next Friday so I’ve got to be back at it by then and I swear that woman over the phone wasn’t even listening.” She asked from across the kitchen, passing you a pan.
“Yup. And it’s Michaels for the procedure, so don’t worry about one of those Jane the Virgin things happening. She’s great.”
Sam’s response came almost immediately, followed quickly by a small laugh.
“Why can’t you do it? I don’t need a stranger poking around down there.”
“I’m not even on gynae rotations, dumbass. No way they’re letting me near something that precious… they barely even trust me with forceps.”
Sam only grunted stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest as she sighed deeply. She was stressed about the procedure, you could tell. It was your first cycle of IVF, and you were still young but the success rates weren’t in your favour. The ultrasound had confirmed everything was going as well as it could, but that couldn’t settle her nerves. And how could you blame her? With the retrieval procedure only days away, the whole process was beginning to seem more real.
Besides, the extra dosage of hormones wasn’t helping. You noticed at around day three of the injections when you walked into Sam hunched over on the couch crying at the tv, because “all the dogs just look so sad”. You cursed out the RSPCA, joining her on the couch and pulling her into you. She sniffled into your neck, slightly embarrassed by her outburst.
“Are they moving? I swear they are, I can feel it!”
You rolled your eyes, watching as she squinted towards the bottom of the bed.
“Sam, your toes definitely aren’t moving. I’m looking right at them.”
She huffed, fiddling with the hem of the light blanket covering her. The walls of the room were a soft yellow, with two small chairs and an instrument trolley in the corner.
A knock at the door caught your attention, watching as your fellow resident (and closest friend) Carmen walked in. Her blue scrubs were swapped out for a soft, baby pink set - a sign she was working on the OB/GYN floor today.
“Piss off, you are not doing my procedure,” Sam yelled jokingly, reaching for a small balled-up tissue to throw in her direction. One of your favourite things about Sam was her ability to fit seamlessly into your friend group. When you first started dating, you were nervous to introduce her to your friends - after all, they were such opposites (or so you thought). But in true Sam fashion, she found her place within minutes, joining in on jokes and insisting on hanging out more often. You loved it.
Carmen deflected the shot with ease, coming to hug you from the side.
“No way, mate. You wish. Just here to yell at Y/N for getting today off when we’re all stuck doing paperwork.” You smirked proudly, jabbing her in the ribs as she released a small oomf.
“You’ll be right though, Sammy K. Michael’s is a beast, this is her bread and butter. Like, I dunno, your equivalent of lightly tapping a ball.”
“Hey,” You intervened, “they miss the ball half the time, you know!”
“Y/N!”
You laughed at her shocked face, affectionately ruffling the top of her head until she swatted your hand away playfully. Carmen rolled her eyes at the two of you, pulling out her phone to capture a sweet photo.
“Look, I’ve gotta run. But let me know when Sammy has to put the hairnet on, I’m going to make it my contact photo!”
Sam scoffed as Carmen left the room, returning to quietly picking at her nails. You watched intently, coming to rest your hand on hers.
“How are you feeling?”
“I dunno, I’m not super nervous. But I am a little bit…regular nervous,” she replied, looking up at you. “What if something goes wrong and it doesn’t work? What if the injections haven’t worked?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, baby. The scans looked good, they said it looked better than they thought.” You stroked her arm, kissing her forehead before you continued. “We’ll be ok, I know we will.”
She sighed into your neck, allowing herself just to breathe. For a moment, it felt like just the two of you in the whole of the hospital as you lay together, hand in hand.
The room was lit a soft, pale blue. The whirr of the ceiling fan filled the silence, the only other sound being the soft breathing beside you. Sam’s body was spread to your left, her legs twisted around the duvet, reminiscent of a pretzel. She always slept so strangely (and apparently the general aneathesia just exaggerated it).
You stared longingly at the space beside your bed, which had been cleared of its normal pile of junk. Up until recently, it was Sam’s throw-it-here-and-worry-later spot, often home to a few different pairs of shoes and a jersey that probably needed a wash (or two). Now. it was cleared in the hope it would soon be filled with a tiny little bassinet, and, of course, your tiny little baby. To others, the clearing of that part of your room probably didn’t mean anything at all, but it was so much more than that.
“Y’know,” Sam said, panting as she rolled off of you, “you’re so lucky we’re gay.”
“W- Huh?”
She giggled breathlessly, turning onto her side to look into your eyes.
“Because if we were straight, you’d so be pregnant right now… it’s a thing! It’s our wedding night, and everyyyone knows the first baby is always conceived right then.”
Your face fell into your palm, hiding your smile.
“Oh my god, Sam.” You playfully flicked her forehead, watching as she only smiled in response.
“That implies no sex until marriage, and last time I checked,” you brought your hand to your duvet, lifting the covers to show your uncovered, tangled-up bodies underneath, “we did NOT play by those rules.”
“Technicalities” she waved dismissively, “You’d be knocked up and everyone would be like, ‘yeahh, they did it on their wedding night’.”
“You’re such an idiot…. And no thanks to you, everyone already knows we’ve done it anyway.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault Alanna overheard… that hotel had thin walls, I swear.”
You both laughed at the memory, recalling Alanna’s shocked expression and furious apologies as she walked in on the two of you years earlier. She was just drunk and stumbled into the wrong room by accident, but she sobered up pretty quickly afterwards. The next morning at breakfast she affectionately congratulated Sam and you at breakfast, giving Sam a firm pat on the back as she did so.
You both lay quietly, your head nestled into Sam’s neck as she played with your hair, twirling the same little strands back and forth.
“Do you ever think about it?”
“Kids?”
Her hands stopped briefly, before continuing with their rhythmic motions in your hair. She hadn’t predicted that.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I think about it too.”
“A lot?”
“Yeah.”
She waited a few moments, before lifting her head and turning to you once again. Her eyes were serious this time, almost a little glassy. Almost.
“I want kids. With you, Y/N.”
“I want kids with you too, Sam. I always have.”
She smiled back at you, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. You couldn’t help but notice the faint red blush that painted her cheeks; she must’ve been sitting on this for a while.
“I dunno…It’s so scary, though. And it’s such a long process, I feel like I’ll always be too nervous to say anything. What if it’s the wrong time?”
“Yeah,” her hand coming to delicately line your lips, “I know. Maybe we can just take it slow, build ourselves up to the idea?”
You grinned back, holding back a small giggle. “You’ll have to make space in our room, you know - are you ready to part with your messy pile?”
“I didn’t even think of that,” she exclaimed, teasingly feigning shock. “We may have to reconsider this whole baby thing.”
Silence fell over the room once again as she wrapped her arm around you, the both of you off in your own little worlds. The post-sex fatigue was creeping up, pulling you down into a peaceful slumber.
You yawned, opening your eyes to look at her for the first time in what felt like ages
“How will we know when we’re ready?”
“Well, you said we have to make room for the bassinet, right.”
“Mmm?”
“I think when I move my shoes… and you don’t move them back. Then we’ll know.”
You smiled at the memory of your wedding night, looking to your now wife by your side and the gold ring that sat perfectly on her finger, then to the small clock on your bedside table - 12:51 am on the 23rd - almost two months from the day you both decided.
You had spent the morning ambling around the apartment in the early morning light, taking sips from your coffee each time you walked past the mug on the bench. Sam was already at training, having left your sleeping form with a small peck on the cheek and water boiled in the kettle.
Laundry on your hip, you picked up her bright pink soccer boots from their home on the bedroom floor and put them back in the cupboard, along with a few crumpled hoodies and spare jerseys. You often wondered if she had forgotten what you had spoken about the night of your wedding… After all, she DID have a lot to drink.
The day lagged on until Sam came home, rushing through the door with the energy of a hyped-up golden retriever.
“My god, swear Guro was on fire today. She must’ve had crack for breakfast because I couldn’t even keep up, my calves fucking kill!”
You greeted her with a kiss and another mug of coffee that she delightedly accepted, walking into the bedroom to shower and change. The ache of last night’s…activities were still fresh on your mind, and the sound of the now running water drew you to the ensuite.
Instinctively, you went to kick the clothes Sam undoubtedly left on the floor out of the way
“Fuck!”
Your foot hit the side of the bed, a warm ache spreading up your leg. You looked down.
Nothing.
Upon opening the cupboard, you found Sam’s shoes tucked neatly on the rack with the rest of them, her uniform in the hamper. The floor was completely clear, not even a sock in sight. Maybe it was a mistake, did she really mean it? Maybe she was just worked up from training and forgot about your unspoken rule. Right?
You were in a state of almost shock, walking slowly into the bathroom. Your attempt to close the door was futile as you mindlessly stepped forward, kicking off your slippers to stand opposite Sam, separated only by the glass door.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Sam’s face was fresh from the shower, her eyebrows creased slightly in the middle. You could see from her face that she was deep in thought, most likely overthinking her decision to move the mess on the floor.
“You didn’t move it back.”
“I didn’t.”
You opened the door to the shower, now face to face. The hot water let occasional spits hit your skin, your clothes getting more and more wet by the second. Sam’s soaked hand reached out to find yours, her fingers nervously interlocking around them as her eyes met with you
“Are we having a baby?”
Yeah,” she cried, pulling your face to hers under the water, “we’re having a baby.”
“Oooh, I’ll take that.”
In the blink of an eye, Carmen had snuck behind you to steal your freshly poured coffee straight from your hands. Sam had designated her the official “Y/N watchdog” for the time being, seeing as Sam couldn’t keep an eye on you around the hospital.
“Hey! It’s decaf, plus I’m not even pregnant yet anyway.”
She took a sip, immediately wincing at the bitterness
“Fuck no it’s not decaf,” her face soured, “is this a double shot? Christ.”
You laughed, reaching back for another sip that she barely resisted. You paced around the wards, chatting on and off about the consultants and the latest nurses station gossip. You were likely to be the next topic of conversation once they found out about your plans for a baby.
It was hard enough being a female resident. The medical profession was still far behind the rest of the world when it came to gender bias at work, and you were no exception. There were whispers of the male paramedics that frequented the ER doors having a “rating” for the female staff; they called you over for gruesome work in your first weeks just to see you squirm. Where the boys could slack, you pushed to work overtime and impress the old consultant who saw you only as hospital decorum.
Getting pregnant during residency wasn’t as dangerous as it once was, but you were still fearful of the strain it would put on your career. Would they look at you differently? Would they exclude you because of your “condition”?
It was one thing you and Sam were able to connect over. Sexism in your respective industries was so prevalent, both of you were often overlooked for your male counterparts despite performing equally as well (usually better). Despite these shared experiences, it was still the cause of one of your most heated arguments with Sam.
Sam’s hands ran down her face, dragging the skin in exaggeration as she sighed with frustration. She was opposite you, standing across the shared bed as she attempted to defend herself. It had started as you both made the bed that morning, pulling up the duvet and chatting about whatever was on your mind. However, Sam’s offhand comment of “when you’re pregnant” had thrown a curveball on the mood.
“Oh my god, I don’t even know why you’re being like this. You know I can’t afford to be pregnant right now, Y/N.”
“Oh, and I can?”
You were fuming, arms folded across your chest as you stared her down, challenging her to continue. If she wanted to go there, you’d happily comply. She wasn’t wrong when she said that, after all, her career was physically demanding and undoubtedly dangerous for a pregnant woman further along. But why did she have to assume that it would be you? She didn’t even ask. Your job was just as challenging in other aspects, why didn’t she understand that?
“No- You know what I mean.”
You did know, but there was no way you were backing down now.
“I get bashed all day, Y/N. And if I stop to have a baby now, then take leave and recover? That’s ages gone, they might not put me in next time.”
Sam worried constantly about her career; if she was taken seriously, if she could keep playing for as long as she wanted.
“I get it, Sam. I do. But you didn’t even stop to ask me. A baby could fuck with my career too, you know. Did you even think of that? I’ll be the hospital liability.”
Sam’s eyes briefly flicked to concern, watching as yours welled up and your face reddened with each passing moment. But as soon as it came, it was gone, and she was back to her previous exasperated expression. She grabbed her keys from the nightstand, slipped on a pair of sneakers and turned to walk out the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I can’t even deal with this right now, I’m going for a walk.”
You stood in the doorway as the front door slammed shut, Sam exiting your vision. Your face fell into your hands, the tears falling freely as you cried silently. Were you really ready for this?
The memory of your argument was still fresh on your mind as you paced the halls, now separated from Carmen as you continued with rounds. Knocking on the door of your next patient, you shuffled your thoughts to the back of your mind.
“Aye, a bit shorter than the last one. Tall and mean, she was.”
Mrs Zielinski was newly admitted to your ward on account of her stomach pains. She was short and slight, with a thick accent - Eastern Europe, you guessed. Her notes had a little warning at the bottom, stating she was confrontational and suspicious of most treatment she was offered. You had heard rumours of how she apparently threw her ice chips at Alex for offering some ibuprofen.
You only smiled, flipping through her chart and making your way to her bedside. You fiddled with the heart monitor, watching her stare intently at you. You grimaced at her heart rate - she was still tachycardic, with her blood pressure having risen from last night.
“Mrs Zie- Martyna, may I call you that?”
“No.”
You had hoped to be friendly with her in an effort to persuade her to accept treatment, but it seemed no matter how many smiles you offered, she only intensified her glare.
“Well, Mrs Zielinski, have the nurses been in to talk with you about your heart?”
“Heart is fine. Nice and strong.”
She patted her chest as if it was an achievement, smiling proudly. You held back a small laugh, difficult patients, while annoying, were often the most entertaining.
“Actually, it’s going a lot faster than I’d like it to.” You explained, smiling down sympathetically. “I’d like to give you something to calm it down.”
“Pfft, none of that. You people always trying to poison me, heart is fine.”
You sighed. While aggravating, the well-being of patients was always at the forefront of your mind. You often struggled with watching people make decisions that harmed them further, coming home and crying to Sam about how tough it was to sit back and watch. She would stroke your hair and soothe you, rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled. She was your rock in this profession, answering her phone late at night even when she was exhausted just to listen to you rant.
“Alright. Can I cut you a deal?”
She looked up suspiciously.
“If you let me take you to get an ECG and see what’s going on, I’ll get that male nurse back in here for you to throw ice at.”
She hesitated, before scoffing. You piqued your head towards her for clarification, and she sighed a quiet fine under her breath. A gleeful smile painted your face as you grabbed your pager, letting her know you’d be back later to take her down to the cardiac floor.
Two hours and an argument with the technician later, you were pushing Mrs Zielinski down the halls towards the elevator. It was around 9 in the evening (maybe even later; you could barely tell these days) and the halls were quiet, filled with the soft beeping of machines and the nurses chatting at the stations.
Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the small cable running across the floor. The bed jolted as you pushed over it, snapping you back to reality.
“God, girl, look where you going!”
“Sorry, sorry. We’re almost there.”
“Take me to basement to kill me, ‘ey? Sound like first husband.”
You laughed, continuing to wheel her carefully into the ECG suites where you would hand over to the technicians. Bidding her a polite farewell you left, heading towards the locker room.
Finally you could return home to Sam. With the embryo transfer tomorrow, you had taken a week's leave to recuperate afterwards. Sam would stay home with you for company, ensuring you didn’t find an excuse to just “pop over” to the hospital.
Maybe this round would be successful, maybe not. You pushed it from your mind as you packed your things and walked through the hospital door, the setting sun shining straight in your face. You could barely see right in front of you, almost missing the figure right in front of you.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, darl"
Sam! There she was, standing by the door with her sunnies on and a bouquet of flowers in hand. She smiled at your shocked face, grabbing the stethoscope from around your neck to bring you in for a kiss.
"Ready to get pregnant?"
"Wha- Sam!"
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