Falsettos one shots

The countertop felt sticky beneath the fingers Whizzer tapped repeatedly on the hard oak. His elbow ached at the pressure of holding up his hand to signal the bartender.

Finally, he approached Whizzer, smiling politely, “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Tequila shots. Four.” Whizzer ordered. “I’m starting an internship tomorrow…” he trailed off, as the four shots were lined up in front of him, taking the first shot without even flinching.

His mind had been twisting around itself for a while, thorns embedding themselves into his sides as he felt the twinges of unthoughtfulness, the fear and stress of starting a new job.

He hid his face behind his arm as a man, who smelt of honey and lavender chewing gum, slowly sat on the barstool beside him. “so, is it always this rainy in Seattle?” the stranger asked. Whizzer didn’t reply, instead, downed the second shot, gesturing to the bartender for another two, “I’m from New York, bred to hate everything and everyone not from here, there.” he looked over at Whizzer, “Can I have a double single malt whiskey please. Your finest.” He said to the bartender, looking back over to Whizzer, “I’m starting a new job tomorrow too.”

Whizzer quietly took two consecutive shots, trying to block the stranger with his back.

“so, you’re ignoring me, huh?” the stranger asked, laughing gently to himself.

Whizzer rolled his eyes, “so you’re stalking me, huh?” he mimicked. He turned to face the stranger. He hated men trying to pick him up in bars, “look man, can you just—”

Whizzer instantly stopped.

The stranger’s hair was long and choppy, flowing over his head like small waves. His smile was bright, sweet, and toothy, almost as though he could sense trouble was brewing.

Brewing a perfect storm.

He nursed his glass between his hands with long skeletal fingers, nimble and perfect. Whizzer could feel the redness settle in his cheeks. His fingers were thin and dragged around the ring of the glass, playing it like an instrument. In fact, he would have put money on the man being a musician par the fact he had no callouses on the pads of his fingertips.

They were perfectly steady as they drew their circles.

That’s the thing you notice when you’re training to become a surgeon.

“Can I just…” the stranger raised his eyebrow, a seductive smirk trailing over his lips. “…what?”

He knew how attractive he was.

Whizzer bit his lip “can you just…”

…

“Shut up and kiss me.”

-

And that was how Whizzer Brown ended up being late for the first day of his internship.

He sat up, head aching as he tried to catch a bearing on where he was. His mothers couch, bright light streaming in through the open curtains, dust, dancing like ballerinas through the air.

He got up, naked, and saw the Man below him, lying on a pillow on the wooden floor, ass up.

Whizzer kicked him, rubbing his forehead.

“get up.” He muttered, “I’m late.”

The man on the floor bolted up, his arms feeling around him as he tried to figure out where he was, “what?” he asked.

“I’m late!” Whizzer exclaimed, “I’m gonna go have a shower and… um… when I’m back… er…”

“er?” the stranger asked, quirking an eyebrow up with an amused expression on his face.

Whizzer winced, “what’s your name?”

The awkwardness was thick in the air, “Marvin. And you are…” he trailed off, eyebrows meeting in the centre of his forehead, trying to remember.

“Whizzer.” There was a painful silence, “I’m gonna have a shower. And when I’m back, Marvin, you won’t be here.” He picked up a blanket, draping it over his shoulders, “I—er…” he smiled, “yeah.” He muttered, dancing up the stairs, his eyes fixed on Marvin.

To be fair to Whizzer Brown, he had just returned home from almost consistent partying for a month since the end of his medical exams and was trying to ween himself off of alcohol.

That one tequila shot turning into eight wasn’t a good decision but hell, not much was.

Having to stuff a bagel into his mouth and basically leg it down the hallway to follow the onset of new interns, all of which seeming to be a lot more awake and competitive than he was, wasn’t how he expected the first morning of the surgery programme to go.

The hospital was exactly how he remembered.

The lemony burn of detergent.

The rush of doctors surrounding him, the constant beeping of the pagers.

He followed after the boy in front of him, trying to peak over his jewfro as the head of surgery led them into the operating room. He grinned, his heart thumping as he ran his fingers over the shining, plastic covered bed.

These will be the best and worst years of your life.

He felt like he had an advantage, practically living in the hospital since he was born. He could hear the whispers behind him and turned with a cocky smile on his face. ‘Wait, Whizzer Brown as in Celeste brown?’

Take a look around you.

He turned away from them, cocky smile falling as he swallowed the nerves. They think he’s a threat, they think he’s exactly like her. Having someone to live up to is difficult. He can’t let them get in his head. He has to be the best. That’s what his mother wants. That’s what his mother expects.

Some of these people won’t be able to handle the stress. Some will fail their exams; some will be kicked out. Only seven of you are good enough.

He catches the eyes of the boy with the jewfro and watches as he flinches suddenly, turning his back. He’s sweet and already obviously in love. It’s cute, but Whizzer doesn’t have time for relationships.

Good luck.

“Whizzer, a moment?”

“Hey chief.” The chief was who kept him company when he was a kid, picked him up from school when his mother was in a long surgery, sat with him in the waiting room with his barbie and looked after him.

“it’s been a while.” The chief said with a smile. He held out a hand and Whizzer ignored it, instead, bringing the chief into a large hug. He was almost exactly how Whizzer remembered. Big, bearlike, soft spoken. “how’s celeste? I haven’t heard from her for a year.”

Whizzer planted on the huge fake smile as he pulled away, “my mother’s travelling at the moment. Italy.”

“Travelling?” the chief had a smile similar to Whizzers, “doesn’t sound like her.”

Whizzer should’ve known better than to lie to the man. “Yes. Well, she’s turned over a new leaf.”

That sounded even less like her, but the chief didn’t point it out. “I look forward to teaching you Whizzer.” The chief said with a worried smile.

He peeled off and Whizzer could finally breath again.

He followed the throng of the other interns to the changing rooms that stank of sweat and tears if tears even have a smell. He walked straight through the centre of the lockers, smiling as he took the very central one. He would never admit, but he liked the eyes on him, the attention, everyone afraid of the competition.

“Hi.” The voice came from behind his open locker, and he slammed it shut, pulling on the white doctors coat with a huge internal smile. “I’m Mendel, we met at the drinks event, although you might not remember me you seemed slightly drunk and kept making moves on this server and I was slightly embarrassed for you because he seemed very straight and—”

“a server?” Whizzer asked, “what, weren’t there any attractive doctors?”

“i—” Mendel looked slightly taken aback, “I think you mentioned something about being a whore for a uniform—” he brushed a bright red, smiling goofily as he put his hands into the white doctors coat, trying to show it off.

“Word of advice sweetie.” Whizzer interrupted, rolling his eyes as he pulled the stethoscope around his neck, “be sweet but not stompable.” He stalked off.

“Sweet but not stompable…” the boy repeated behind him, “what does that even mean?”

They hurried to the surgery board, the girls pulling up their hair as they began to gossip, “Whizzer Brown? Celeste Brown’s son? I read every single paper she published, she’s the reason I signed onto this programme!”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t idolise her if you were her kid.” Whizzer said as he came up from behind the girls, a few fleeting glances flung at him, “anyway, I heard there was a model on the programme, some blonde chick.”

A few of the boys squawked in quiet agreement.

“Apparently we have ‘the Nazi’ as our attending” another girl added.

A boy laughed brashly behind them, “what kind of nickname is ‘the Nazi’?”

The quiet girl ahead of them turned around, pulling up her perfectly bouncy, blonde hair into a bun on the top of her head, “I’m sure he’s lovely.” She announced, stopping abruptly. “I’m Cordelia, we should all try and get to know each other!”

“Guess she’s the model.” Whizzer whispered, turning to the boy beside him who turned out to be Mendel.

“Yeah, guess…” he said, trailing off as he stared at Whizzer.

He snapped his fingers in front of Mendel’s face, grinning as the boy blushed profoundly. They all waited a second and then suddenly, a black woman the size of a child stalked up to them. “What are you all standing around for!?” she exclaimed, “grab a pager, trauma protocol, phone list and follow me!”

The group of hungry interns scrounged at the pacers as though they were vultures to a dead carcass. They rushed after her, knocking people out of the way.

“My name is Doctor Charlotte Bailey.” She said, “I have five rules, memorise them. Number one don’t bother sucking up, I hate you already. That’s not gonna change. Answer every page at a run, that’s rule two. A run people.” She sharply turned a corner and a few of the interns almost took a tumble. “Your first shift starts now and lasts 48 hours. You’re interns, the bottom of the food chain. Run labs, take bloods, write orders, and work every single second until you drop from exhaustion.” She gestured pointedly at a door in the wall, “on call rooms. Attendings take them, please do not use them for sex—”

“People do that?!” one of the boys exclaimed, a foxy grin on his face as he bit his lips, smirking as he looked doctor charlotte bailey up and down.

“They do. It’s disgusting and—”

“I’d be down.” He interrupted, “what do you say, doctor—”

Doctor Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks, “I’d say you’re not my type but that would be acknowledging the fact that you just interrupted your attending.”

“Not your type ‘cause you’re my boss?” he smirked.

Charlotte snarled; teeth gritted at the audacity, and took a lunge towards the boy, barely reaching the height of his chest, but before she had a chance to yell, Whizzer let out a snort.

He laughed loudly, “great job kid—” He said, shooting a double thumbs up at the man who looked as though he were twelve and about to be ripped into shreds by ‘the Nazi’. “Flirting with your lesbian boss on the first day is bound to get you brownie points.”

The boy suddenly turned bright red and mumbled his apologies as he looked at his feet.

But suddenly Whizzer found himself doing the same as the five foot three woman approached him, with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time, “child, I don’t care whether you’re celeste brown’s kid or not. You better shut it and stop running round here like you own the hospital before you can prove it.” She turned, but instantly turned back again, “is that understood?” she barked.

Whizzer understood now why her nickname was the Nazi. “yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She started the almost jogging pace again as the interns followed her, “no more interruptions. Find a floor and sleep when and where you can. Brings me to rule three. If I’m sleeping don’t wake me unless your patient is dying. Rule four, the dying patient better not be dead when I get there, or you woke me for no reason.”

She seemed to finally take a breath as she turned around, seeing the sea of enamoured faces jotting down every single word she was saying. She scanned the crowd, noticing Whizzer’s hands raised above the rest, “yes?”

“You said five rules.” He pointed out, “that was only four.”

Charlotte smiled, “rule five. When I move, you move.”

That was when the pacer attached to her hip burst into life. She took off in a sprint and the interns scrambled, almost knocking over a cart holding bags of blood as they followed. They dashed through the hospital, slipping on wet floors as they hurried to the emergency room, the bay doors opening as Charlotte pulled on the protective plastic suit.

“Grab a vest.” She called out.

The interns grappled for the plastic, pulling and fighting over them like children. Whizzer easily reached over the squabble, pulling out his own as he grabbed a second, helping the tall blonde model, who even though he tried, couldn’t seem to shut his jaw around, tie her own.

“Thanks.” She smiled, teeth shining like the glinting pearls around her neck. “Cordelia.”

His lip upturned into a smirk, “Whizzer. You are gorgeous.”

She turned into a blushing mess, “I’ll say the same about you.” She retorted, her eyes glinting with feverous sexuality.

“Alright, huddle up!” Charlotte yelled over the ear-piercing shriek of the ambulance siren, “stay out of my way, stay out of the paramedics way and if you don’t do exactly what the nurses say… I’d say I would do something, but the nurses have got that covered.”

The ambulance pulled up and Charlotte ran to the doors, flinging them open, “What’ve we got?”

“Kid, seventeen, stabbed in the stomach.” One of the paramedics yelled, running the stretcher through the wide-open doors. “Knife still inside, jealous girlfriend.”

“The fuck?” Whizzer stated.

“Brown!?” Charlotte exclaimed, turning to make a huge gesture at Whizzer, “we don’t swear in front of patents, Jesus have you been taught nothing!?” Whizzer grinned sheepishly as they followed her, “okay, you, you you and… you. Follow me. The rest, get your assigned patients.”

Both Whizzer and Cordelia grumbled as they stood beside each other, staring after the boy who was writhing in pain on the stretcher.

“So, whizzer, why does everyone keep talking about you?” the model asked, pacing beside him.

“I—” he smiled, turning, “-well I could ask the same about you.”

She smirked, “modelled to pay off my med school debt.”

“Mum invented ‘the Brown method’.”

“you two! What did I say?” Charlotte yelled as she sprinted past them in the corridor in the other direction, “answer every call at a run!”

Whizzer picked up his pace until he was jogging, when suddenly he stopped as though he had hit a brick wall, a flash of panic running through his blood like adrenaline.

Standing at the front desk, choppy hair tamed into a single wave, clipboard, and pen in his hands, delicately scripting his name on pages and pages of paperwork as he laughed with a bright smile at the nurse at the desk, he saw him.

The scrubs were too tight, the dark blue bringing out the indigo flecks like paint in his leaf green eyes. His biceps bursting from the soft fabric like luggage in a suitcase.

Whizzer didn’t remember him looking this good when he was late this morning.

His smile was so perfect, soft like angel wings but with a dash of wickedness.

Fallen angel.

And then those perfect, leaf-coloured eyes with flecks of indigo met Whizzer’s from across the room.

“Oh shit.”