B.B & S.R Imagines

Tough Break (Request) - S.R.

Requested by: nicole_evansrogers97
Prompt(s): #6
Warnings: strong language, some mentions of fire/death (child loss & suicide)/injuries/hospitalization, angst, a lot more fluff, period cramps (aka bleeding/blood)
———

"There's been a fire—"

You dragged your feet down the hall, lifting your head up and tugging your clipboard to your chest. Your heart felt heavier and the more you tried to tune out of your surroundings, the more you focused on the little details that made your heart ache.

"—accident—"

White and green blurred around you, shifting into the background noise as the little sounds made their way to the front. Little whispers of sweet nothings and the hushed promises of feeling better. The cries of a newborn and the cries of a broken heart. A gut-wrenching scream of a mother and another cry.

"—girl around five years—"

Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart tore out of its place into your stomach. You felt the flutters of a shiver, clogging your lungs and making you rush your feet through the maze of plain white halls. You slipped into the room, hoping it was quiet and isolated.

"What should we—"

You wiped your face, trying to clear it of the tears before you went back out into the hallway. Your heart was still lodged into your throat and you felt your sudden urge for a hug grow by times two. You clutched your pen and clipboard, huffing out a breath and repeating an inhale-exhale exercise that your therapist had recommended when your anxiety attacks were brought up.

"I'll break the news to—"

You grabbed the knob and turned it, hoping for no one to notice your distressed state. You put your head down and tried to count to hundred. Hundred steps until your office and then you could hide up there until you were done your paperwork. Once you were done that, you could go home and freshen up and have a little nice conversation.

"Y/N?" You looked up in mock surprise at Keira, her greying hair pulled back into a ponytail and her glasses on the top of her nose. She pushed them up and looked you over once, shaking and sighing once she had accessed you.

There was no way you would get to your office now. Knowing Keira, she probably saw right through that mask you had on for your overwhelming emotions. She knew about the calls and the fire and the accident. She knew about the death and toll it took on you.

"Go home," she said sternly, her voice shaking when she continued, "you've been here long enough today and yesterday. You can't overwork yourself on my watch. Go home."

"But—"

"No, Y/N," she cut in sharply, eyeing another one of the coworkers as she tried to pry into the conversation. "You're working overtime. Go home."

With that final statement, she walked off and tapped away on her tablet—sending out a new schedule that doesn't have your name on it, no doubt about that. If she ever saw you overexert yourself again, to the brink of fainting, she would personally put you in bed rest.

You were glad for her care and damn thankful she did send you home that day.

Once you had gotten back home, you showered and then saw the trail of blood mix in with water. You should have known with the slight cramping and headaches you were getting, but you had blamed it on work, on the bad days at hospital.

You loved your job, you really did, but it was complete chaos sometimes. One life after the next and sometimes that meant you had to be the one breaking the news. That, out of all the people in the world, your person was taken out of it. Most of those announcements left the families and friends in despair, others couldn't process it, barely managing to nod and form a sentence.