Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s been a week and all you’ve heard from Zoe is an email saying that she’d fixed your window. There’d been a smiley face at the end, and it’d made you grin, thinking about the very proper Dr Evans trying to think of a way to make an excruciatingly formal letter a little bit personal. Honestly, nowadays you spent a ridiculous amount of time staring into space thinking about her, about all the little ridiculous things she’s done, about what she could be doing right at that moment. You try and write it off as worry, that you’re just thinking about how she’s doing because it’s obvious that she’s been having such a hard time lately, but the excuse falls flat, even only in your head. The truth is that you care about her. Plus you fancy her more than a little, which really isn’t helping athough you blame that entirely on her straight leg trousers and the ridiculous blouses she wears on dress-down-Fridays.

You’re stood in the doorway, chatting to Matt, when she does that thing where she tries to squeeze past you as awkwardly as possible while not touching or speaking to you. Smiling like an idiot you just turn and watch her, the way that her eyes flicker to you and then away, and you wonder if that’s really a blush you can see on her cheeks. “Afternoon, Zoe.”

“Frankie.” She nods and then hovers, looking so adorably unsure of herself. It makes you want to pinch her cheeks.

“You want to go for a drink? After work, with the rest of us?”

She looks vaguely alarmed. “Erm, no, sorry, lots of work to catch up on. Thank you.” She smiles, all small and unsure, before awkwardly gesturing to say she has to go and practically running out the room.

Matt’s gaping at you. “Did you really just invite the Ice Queen to the pub with us?”

“Oh c’mon, can you imagine her drunk?” That’s not really why you invited her of course, but now that you think about it...

From then it becomes your new mission to get her to go to the pub with you. You send millions of emails, yell “Pub?” at her whenever you see her, until finally, eventually, you manage to wear her down.

This time, you’ve convinced a patient to let you go in before them, swearing it’ll only take a second. “So, pub?”

“Frankie, what are you doing in my examining room?” She looks startled, but also sort of panicked. You’re careful to stand in front of the door, in case she gets any smart ideas about running away.

“Asking you to go to the pub with me, obviously.”

She huffs, but you can see a small smile creeping onto her face. “I’m not sure if it would be appropriate.”

“You’ve already done my ironing, I’m not sure that matters anymore. C’mon, I promise if you don’t have fun I’ll never ask you again.”

“Oh, fine. One drink.”

“Great! I’ll see you at 7.”

Step one: success. Now you just had to convince her to get very drunk.

You’ve managed to cajole her into having 3 glasses of wine, even persuading her to move onto your cheap stuff, and her cheeks are pleasantly rosy, gestures wilder than usual. She’s telling some hilarious anecdote to Karen, Andy, and Matt, who all look surprised that they’re finding her so funny. You feel a bit like a proud parent as you drop a handful of shots on the table, especially as Zoe turns to you with a massive smile and kisses you on the cheek, murmuring “Thank you.”

Your cheeks heat as you duck your head to hide behind your hair. You can feel your coworkers, Ange especially, staring at you which just makes your cheek flame even more. You snatch up a shot, the only person beating you Zoe herself who you try not to look in the eyes, as if she’d be able to read the gay panic in your thoughts.

“Are you okay?” Zoe’s followed you into the toilets, features soft and warm from the alcohol, hair frizzy and slightly coming out of the clips that are supposed to be holding the larger portion of it back. She’s gorgeous, and slightly taller than you, and if you were a braver person (with less objection to being lynched) you’d be hard pressed to stop yourself from kissing her right at that moment, against the suspiciously stained looking tiled wall.

“What, no, I’m fine, of course I am!” You think you’ve done a pretty good job at pretending you’re not having a small breakdown over your insurmountable attraction to the woman who broke into your house and stalked you but going by the frown on her face maybe not.

“You went very quiet after I kissed you on the cheek, I’m sorry if I overstepped I know we still have a long way to go until you can trust me -”

“Oh, God, no I’m not upset about that! I’m the one who hassled you to come out in the first place! No, no, it’s fine I promise.”

Her grin is cheek splitting and nauseatingly sincere, her voice quiet but earnest. “Good. Good. So you wouldn’t mind too terribly if I… Asked for a hug?”

“Oh good God woman, come on, bring it in!” and she steps into your arms naturally, hers going round your neck as you cling to her waist, and it feels more intimate than the millions of embraces you’ve shared with patients and acquaintances.

Zoe tucks her nose against your neck, leaning down slightly to even out your heights, and you can feel her breath puffing against your skin.

The two of you stay like that for probably a lot longer than is appropriate.

When Zoe eventually straightens her smile is small and slightly crooked and she just looks… Soft. And then she thanks you, with a bright smile and still red cheeks, before doing this awkward head nod that you don’t know quite what to make of and taking off.

You’re left stood like a very strange statue just within the doorway of the bathroom, and you almost forget to actually use the toilet after you finally shake yourself out of your stupor.

When the pub turfs you out at closing time, you’ve got a not insignificant buzz going and you definitely don’t want to go home, but everyone’s leaving until it’s just you and Zoe left on the pavement. You wiggle your eyebrows hopefully. “I have wine at home.”

“We both have work tomorrow.” She’s trying to be stern but also struggling to stand up, listing slightly sideways even with her hands on her hips.

“Oh c’mon, you’re not in any state to get home by yourself anyway.”

The two of you are suddenly in a taxi and Zoe is laying against you quite heavily, curled sideways into you and the seat, nose cold against your neck as she snuffles and tries to get comfortable.

“Nope, no way, you’re not sleeping on me.” You declare even as you wrap an arm over her shoulder

and apparently alcohol makes her brave as she just throws an arm over your waist and snorts quietly to herself. “As if, I don’t think you could say no even if it seriously damaged you as a person.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” but really you’re not even truly paying attention, eyes locked on how long her legs look splayed in the back of the taxi, the black, straight leg smart trousers just making it even worse. “Wait, are you calling me easy?”

Zoe spluttered a little, and then tipped her head back and burst into what you think is laughter, but is really these strange, parrot sounding exclamations that make your heart clench and your mouth drop open. She slaps a hand over her mouth but it’s already too late, and the two of you just eye each other warily like cowboys in a gunfight.

“That was… I was not expecting that.” You finally manage to choke out.

“If you tell anyone I’ll have you killed, slowly and painfully. I’m a doctor, I know how to keep you alive to torture you.”

“Whatever, you couldn’t hurt a fly, but you have my solemn promise.” You attempt a faux sincere face and go so far as to try and cross your heart.

In return, Zoe attempts to side eye you, but it’s more just an exaggerated squint, and you’re already laughing at her again. She sighs and buries her head back in your neck, hot breath spilling against your ear and you’re really not laughing anymore, instead quietly trying not to choke on your own spit.

“I much prefer you as a silent pillow.”

“Many people have tried to shut me up and most, if not all, have failed.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah, all the time.”

“Well,” Zoe sleepily murmured into your flushed throat, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“What time is it?” Zoe asks from where her lanky frame is draped over you as you push the two of you into your front hallway.

“Probably about 3 am.” You sigh ruefully. “I’d check but someone is using me to prop them up.”

“Would it be okay if we just went to bed?” Her voice sounds so small and kind of sad, and you can’t imagine refusing her ever.

“Of course we can, if you just give me a second to find some sheets for the spare bedroom-”

“No, I, well, would it be okay if I, if we, shared? I just… I miss sleeping with someone…” You choke on an involuntary dirty chuckle as she finally shoots up to stand straight. “Not like that!” Her face blushes bright red and she desperately shakes her head, hair falling even further out of her clips, and you take pity on her.

“Oh come on, you silly goose.” And you take her hand and pull her upstairs, which is a challenge of itself considering you’re both very drunk.

You give her some pyjamas that’ll maybe fit her and guide her to the bathroom and by the time she’s come out you’ve given up on maybe brushing your teeth and are instead already in bed. The shirt’s too big and barely clinging on to her shoulders, the trousers too short and flapping around the mid calf level and she’s absolutely adorable and you lowkey want to die. She climbs in in-front of you even though you’d meant for her to have the other side of the bed. You huff and shuffle backwards muttering about her purposefully making your life difficult, but she stops you silently with a hand on your arm and lies with her back flush against your front, the two of you squished together on the same side of the bed.

When you fall asleep, it’s with her hair itching your nose, her shampoo the only thing you can smell.

You wake up to a persistant dull throbbing in your skull, your mouth tasting absolutely terrible, and your pyjama shirt on backwards. Then, of course, there’s the surprise appearance of Zoe, who’s currently using your shoulder as a pillow and also drooling all over it. With a groan, you shove her off and stagger off, leaving her to sleep.

You stand, brushing your teeth in the entrance of the bathroom, watching her as she snores lightly, face buried in the pillow and limbs spread eagle. She snuffles slightly, rubbing her face against your sheets, and you just know the whole bed’s going to smell like her tomorrow. You should probably wake her up. You don’t.

Instead, you get showered and wake her up much later with water, paracetamol, and toast in bed. The shirt you leant her has slipped down to reveal a shoulder, and her hair is ridiculously messy, sticking up in all directions, and she’s still adorable and you’re still suffering. She kind of blinks slowly at you, before groaning and rubbing her face against your pillow. “Oh, God.” After managing to slowly wriggle onto her back, she rubs both hands vigorously against her face. “What time is it?”

“Half 8. I need to leave in about 20 minutes; you probably have time for a very quick shower if you want a lift.”

“Shit.” She grabs at the paracetamol and water, tossing both back quickly like a champ. “Thanks, you’re an angel.” As she up she leans over and kisses you on the cheek, although with a slight chuckle she has to grab your shoulders to steady herself. “Oohh, still a little bit drunk. Make sure I don’t operate on anyone, hmm?” Zoe staggers over to the bathroom door. “Do you have a toothbrush and towel I can borrow? Well, steal, in the case of the toothbrush.”

“Toothbrush under the sink and I left a clean towel for you on the rack, it’s the pink one.”

“Ooh, very me.” She grins a little to herself, and then accidentally slams the bathroom door behind her, yelling “Sorry!” through the door.

You’re in a rush so the two of you don’t really speak as you practically run out the house, Zoe just gives you a small, secretive little smile just before she bites into the toast you made for her. In the car, she murmurs an apology for the crumbs around a large mouthful of bread, to which you just eye her disbelievingly and drive off in your usual, slightly scary fashion.

In the entrance of the building, she kisses you on the cheek again, and honestly all this cheek-kissing is starting to get slightly suspicious, and it’s all very domestic as you leave her to sway her way into her office. You probably shouldn’t be letting her into the practice but, well, you only live once, or something, and just thinking about the pout she’d probably give you is enough to almost give yourself a hernia.

The whole team whistles at you as you enter the nurses’s station. You swear at them and stomp into your office, ignoring the lewd comments about shagging your boss because, sure, you wouldn’t be adverse to it, but it’s not actually what happened and you’re a better person than them. Plus, if you try and argue with them they’ll probably actually get worse. It only takes one comment about whether you’re a lesbian now when you go to get some tea to drive you out of your office entirely, spending the rest of the day on call.

At around 6, you get a text from Zoe, who you didn’t even know had your number. Please, can I steal a lift to where I left my car or should I call a taxi? Thanks, Zoe.

You start your car and call her. “Hey, Zoe, I’m about 15 minutes away if you’re prepared to wait?”

“Oh, sure, of course, thank you.”

“Great, see you soon.”

“‘Bye!”

You stare in despair at the lunch wrappers covering the passenger seat and then throw them behind you as you drive.

She’s stood waiting for you in the carpark, wringing her hands and looking adorable, and all this unsurety from someone who looks that cute when they’re nervous has got to be bad for your health. You lean over and open the passenger door because you’re sure if you didn’t take decisive action she’d have just stood on the pavement for at least a couple of minutes, if not the rest of the evening.

“So. How was your day?”

“Fine, fine, well apart from about an hour in when the hangover started to set it. That’s maybe the last time I go out with you on a work night.”

From the glances you’re stealing at her she still actually looks pretty rough, and you wince in sympathy. “Ooh, yeah, that’d probably be better for both of us.”

“What about you? How was your day?”

“Oh, hellish, like usual. Nah, you know me, I love my job, even if my team did spend the whole day being, well, wankers to put it nicely.”

“Oh no, why? I thought you got on really well with your team?” And, damn her, she sounds really genuinely concerned, how do you tell her it’s because they all think you’re shagging?

“They couldn’t stop with the jokes about us going home together, and you wearing the same clothes, and all the rest.” You felt your cheeks heat, even as you try to act really interested in the roundabout you’re currently driving round.

“I’m sorry if I’m causing problems at work.” Her voice is so quiet and sad, and honestly shouldn’t she owe you some kind of recompense for the amount of emotional heavy lifting you have to do around her. Why, oh why, does she have to be so, so nice under that ice queen shell?

“God, no, it’s not your fault, they’d just find something else to rib me about if it wasn’t this. Seriously, it’s not you, okay?” You smile at her fleetingly and take her hand for a second before you have to shift gears.

“Okay, good.” She murmurs, and you can feel her eyes on you for the rest of the silent trip.

“So, this is maybe not the best time to ask to this but, I, er, wondered if you’d want to, well, go for dinner some time? My treat?”

You side eye her. “What, like, as a date, or…?”

“Well, yes, if you’d like, I mean even if you don’t want that I still want to be friends-”

You grab her lapels and kiss the life out of her just to get her to stop mumbling, even though you practically have to haul her over the gear stick, and she sinks into it, one hand curling against your jaw, the other going to your waist to firmly pull you against her.

When you both pull away, she rests her forehead on yours. “So… I can take that as a yes?”

“You are truly a ridiculous person.” And you pull her in and kiss her again.