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1.
Anyone who recommends working at Metro-General Medical Center is a fucking moron, Isak thinks viciously as fights his way through the throng of reporters blocking the ambulance entrance. He gets that Captain Phantasmic makes for a great story, really, he does. But at the same time, he kind of has a job to get to. One in which he saves lives. He’d almost hope the obnoxious reporters would all get run over by an incoming ambulance if it didn’t mean he’d just be responsible for patching them all back up again.
It’s not that his job sucks, exactly, it’s just that the interns are hopeless, the residents are chronically overworked, the nurses are dangerously understaffed, and the most recent round of budget cuts eliminated the coffee machines in the breakrooms. Not to mention the day to day reality of working in one of the most heavily trafficked emergency departments in the country has Isak’s stress levels so keyed up he thinks he may need to appropriate a morphine drip just to get a decent night’s sleep.
So okay, maybe his job sucks. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even a cushy residency at Metropolis U, which is something Isak needs to remind himself during times like these, when the ED is overflowing in the way that means he’d be working through his lunch break. Again.
It could always be worse, after all. He could’ve been matched to Gotham.
Isak spares a thought for what that might be like, and shudders. Metroville has it’s fair share of supers, but if it were as inundated with supervillains like certain other cities are nowadays, Isak would probably never get to leave the ER. He’s quite happy to deal with the relatively (blessedly) minor fallout of the villainous activity of assholes like the Purple Prowler or the Fuschia Fuckboy or whatever idiotic name this week’s supervillain’s been slapped with by the media.
Of course, every supervillain needs a superhero foil, and Isak supposes he should be thankful for Captain Phantasmic. After all, if it weren’t for him, things probably would be a lot worse, especially since everyone with the slightest hint of a superpower seems to prefer going the villain route nowadays. But does he really have to leave the villains he apprehends hogtied on the steps of MGMC? Can’t he pick literally any other hospital in the city? Specifically, one Isak doesn’t work at? If Isak has to fend off one more reporter trying to get an exclusive with Captain Phantasmic on his way into work, he might just turn supervillain himself. It would be a shitty origin story, but judging by the smell of the suspiciously brown substance caked to the bottom of Isak’s nice work shoes, shitty just about sums things up.
His annoyance must be visible as he passes the nurse’s station, because Eva stops him with a hand on his elbow.
“Magnus just wheeled a walkie-talkie into Blue Team, and he looks simple, so I saved him for you,” she mutters under her breath. “Second blue folder in the pile.”
And really, Isak doesn’t know what he’d do without her on days like these. He doesn’t have time to tell her as much, just grabs the folder and goes, but he hopes the exhausted smile he throws over his shoulder is enough to convey just how how much he appreciates her gesture.
He begins to peruse the thankfully thin file as walks, scanning the information inside as quickly as he dares.
Patient name: Næsheim, Even Bech. Past medical history: Bipolar II, no significant surgical history. No known drug allergies. Vital signs stable. Patient admitted himself to the ER with suspected concussion, stating he “blacked out for probably a minute/minute and a half” after…
Isak debates reading the rest of the admittedly short admissions note on file, but the headache slowly building behind his eyes is enough to convince him not to. Instead, Isak pushes the curtain surrounding his patient’s bed to the side, and is immediately met by the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen.
So naturally, Isak steps back and pulls the curtain into place behind him so he can quite literally knock an appreciation for the medical code of ethics back into his suddenly pre-pubescent brain.
Isak only manages one good thwack with the folder before the patient, his patient, pulls the curtain back aside interestedly.
“Are you alright back there?” the man asks, and right, fuck. Isak’s the one who’s supposed to be asking that sort of question.
He takes a deep, bracing breath before turning back around and flashing his patented Trust-Me-I’m-A-Doctor smile.
“Everything’s fine,” he lies shamelessly. “It’s just been a long day. I’m Dr Isak Valtersen, by the way.”
“Even,” the man responds. “Bech Næsheim. But you probably knew that.”
“I did indeed,” Isak says, opening Even’s folder simply for something to do with his hands. “So I see you’re here because you blacked out and think you may have a concussion. May I ask what led to your loss of consciousness?”
“Would you believe me if I said I flew headfirst into the eighteenth floor windows of the MagnussCorp building?”
Isak looks at him, unimpressed.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Well then,” Even smiles, as if in response to a joke only he understood, “I flew headfirst into the eighteenth floor windows of the MagnussCorp building.”
“Okay,” Isak says, snapping the folder shut. “How have you been feeling in the days leading up to your blackout? Have you been particularly irritable? Felt an increase in energy? Libido?”
Even’s grin immediately disappears. Isak misses it a little.
“I’m not manic at the moment, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Even says. Anyone else might mistake his tone for nonchalance, but Isak has had years of experience at masking his bitterness. He knows better.
“I’m sorry,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “I had to ask. I probably could have gone about it better, though, but like I said, it’s been a long day.”
He chances a glance back at Even. The man is looking at him with the oddest expression on his face. He looks almost soft, which is ridiculous, because no one looks at their doctor softly.
“You know, you might be the first doctor to ever apologize for that,” Even says. And oh. Oh. Isak fucking hates his profession sometimes.
“Yeah well, sorry for that too, I guess,” he says. And then, because this conversation is not one that his four years of medical school, year-long internship, and two and half years of residency prepared him for, “If you’re not going to tell me what really led to your blackout, the most I can do is give you a neuro check and hold you overnight for observation.”
“That’s alright by me,” Even says, smile back in place and brighter than before. “I had no plans tonight anyway, so I’m more than happy to spend it here with you.”
Isak briefly considers explaining that they’d hardly be spending the night together since Isak would be on call and Even would inevitably be moved to a floor, but somehow he doesn’t think Even would care for the distinction.
2.
Another day, another supervillain attack on the metro means Isak is running almost an hour late, and now has to forfeit his lunch break in favor of making up morning rounds.
He’s less than thrilled, which is perhaps why Eva pulls him over towards the end of her shift, green stickered folder and extra-large black coffee in hand.
“That super chill walkie-talkie from last week is back, so I saved him for you again. He’s waiting in Green Team this time.”
“Thanks, Eva. I appreciate it.” Isak’s not actually sure he should be thanking her for saddling him with an entertaining yet slightly delusional patient once again, but Eva seems to think she’s doing him a favor, and who is Isak to disabuse her that notion?
“Oh, heads up,” she says, already pulling on her coat, “According to EMS, he’s a little more talkie, a little less walkie today.” And with that, she’s gone, leaving Isak with no other choice than to turn to Even’s file for answers.
***
“You fell out of a tree?” Isak asks in lieu of greeting. “What were you doing in a tree?”
Look, he never pretended to have the greatest bedside manner.
“If you must know,” Even sniffs, affronted, “I was trying to rescue a cat.”
“Of course you were.” Isak shakes his head in exasperation. “Rescuing cats, flying into buildings… who do you think you are? Captain Phantasmic?”
Isak’s exhausted, sure, but not too exhausted not to catch the way Even’s eyes widen ever so slightly before settling into a far more relaxed expression. Almost too relaxed.
“Nah, I’d pick a better name than Captain Phantasmic for sure,” he chuckles. And, is he nervous? Why would he be nervous? Isak’s probably imagining things. Maybe he should lay off the caffeine.
“I don’t think superheroes get to pick their own names, though,” Isak says, already mentally checking out of the conversation. The x-rays in front of him are far more important. Also less likely to give him a myocardial infarct by merely existing.
“So what’s the verdict, doc?” Even asks. “Will I ever walk again?”
“Why? Sick of flying?” Isak retorts. “You’ll be fine, it’s just a simple sprain,” he adds in a concession to professionalism. “Your lithium levels look good, but I’d prefer you steer clear of NSAIDs just in case, so stick to acetaminophen for the pain. Get plenty of rest, ice and elevate when you can, and you should be back rescuing kittens by the end of the week.”
Even salutes, and Isak rolls his eyes, gathering his paperwork.
“What would yours be?” Even’s questions halts him in his tracks.
“Huh?” Isak asks, intelligently.
“Your superhero name, if you could choose it,” Even clarifies.
Isak stops, actually considers the question.
“I don’t know,” he answers. “Doctor something, probably.”
“Doctor Something,” Even repeats, giving the moniker a weight Isak definitely hadn’t. “I like it.”
He grins, light and teasing, and Isak feels his heart skip a beat. Yeah, he definitely needs to lay off the caffeine.
Isak bustles away, and it’s not until later that he realizes he’s smiling too.
3.
Isak’s definitely not smiling when Even shows up the following Friday sporting two black eyes and a broken nose.
Because godfuckingdammit he should’ve seen the signs sooner.
It’s not too late, he tells himself, sucking in a long calming breath, followed by another for good measure. If Even made it here, it’s not too late.
He draws the curtain around Even’s bed as close as he can, giving them at least a semblance of privacy.
Even opens his mouth, probably to make a suggestive comment if Isak knows him at all, but stops short at the look on Isak’s face.
“What’s up?” he asks, brows knitted in concern, and Isak hates to be the reason Even’s not smiling (and when did he become so invested in Even’s smiles?), but this is important.
“Look, as your doctor, I want you to know that if you’re feeling unsafe at home for whatever reason, you can tell me and ---”
Isak doesn’t get to finish because Even is smiling again, shaking his head adamantly.
“No, Isak, no. I promise I’m okay,” he says, and the gentleness in his voice is unreal. Isak only wishes he could sound like that. Fuck, he should’ve sounded like that.
“Are you sure?” Isak asks. “Because there are steps we could take to help--”
“I’m not being abused, Isak,” Even cuts him off again, firmly this time. “I really did get punched in the face by The Penetrator, I promise.”
Isak wants to ask what the fuck Even was doing trying to fend off a Class II supervillain like The Penetrator of all people, or when the fuck he stopped being Dr Valtersen and started being Isak, or why the fuck Even made the distinction in the first place. What comes out instead is, “Right. While you were helping a little old lady trying to cross the street. Sure.”
Isak knows he sounds like an asshole, but. It’s not that he thinks Even’s lying. It’s just. He really, really wants to know that Even is safe.
Even must realize it too, because he sighs, and leans in closer.
“All right, if it’ll make you feel better… what would you do if I did need that kind of help?”
Isak tells him. Tells him about the resources they could call, the programs they have set up, the services they’d bring. Does not tell him how he’d punch the living daylights out of whoever did this, or show up with a syringe and put his malpractice insurance to good use, because fuck whoever did this to Even. No really, fuck them, code of ethics and conduct and hospital policy be damned. Tells him instead about how he wouldn’t have to worry, he wouldn’t be the first, and there are so so many support groups Isak could offer, if he just says the word. Tells him how if he refuses help, it’s still his choice, and Isak will still respect him, no matter what.
Isak tells all this to Even’s feet because he can’t bear to say it to his face.
And when he finally does look Even in the eye, he’s met with an expression of such unadulterated awe he’s not sure what to do with it.
“You know,” Even says softly, “Of the two of us, I think you might be the real superhero here.”
“As a medical professional, I’m a mandated reporter. It’s literally my job to help you,” Isak says weakly, deflecting, squirming under the weight of Even’s gaze.
“Don’t sell yourself so short, Isak.” Even ducks his head to meet Isak’s eyes. “The world needs more people like you, Doctor Something.”
It’s stupid, Isak knows, but he carries the warmth of that statement with him for the rest of the day.
4.
Isak honestly thought covering Sana’s PM shift was a good idea. He doesn’t get much sleep at night at the best of times, and this way, she’d owe him. Just his luck, the one time people’s lives actually depend on him staying awake, he can barely keep his eyes open.
“Red Team incoming!” Eskild calls, and although Isak could let Julian get it, he figures he may as well. If he sits down for a break now, he might not be able to get back up again.
Isak grabs the patient file without bothering to look at its contents and shuffles over to the newly filled bed in Red Team, pulling back the privacy curtain with a put-upon sigh. He’s expecting a head wound or alcohol poisoning, or something major enough enough to warrant a trip to the ED at 4 AM on a Thursday, so it takes Isak a moment to recognize the steaming cup of coffee thrust into his hands for what it is.
He’s chugged at least a quarter of the remarkably strong and incredibly sweet brew on instinct before he thinks to wonder where it came from. He should probably be more surprised than he is to see Even looking back at him amusedly, ridiculously long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Instead, he just shakes his head tiredly and takes another sip of coffee. If it’s laced with anything, well, a hospital’s probably the best place to get accidentally drugged anyway.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” Even asks, and right, it probably wasn’t just to bring Isak blessed, blessed coffee at ass o’clock in the morning.
“Let me guess,” Isak says, as deadpan as he can in hopes of distracting from the blush he feels crawling up his neck. “You broke your hand punching Hitler. Or, no, I know! You strained your back stopping a train from speeding off the tracks! Or maybe you---”
“Or maybe,” Even interrupts, “I felt so bad leaving you to deal with the pair of concussed bank robbers I left tied up in the lobby that I thought I’d bring you some coffee to make up for it,” he says.
And, nonsense about concussed bank robbers aside, that’s actually pretty sweet. Except…
“If you just stopped by to bring me coffee, why were you triaged?”
At this, Even looks a little sheepish, and holds out his left hand for Isak to inspect. A large portion of the dorsal surface is covered with what has to be at least a partial-thickness burn.
Isak raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“So I might have burnt myself carrying the coffee?” Even tries.
“No, you definitely burnt yourself carrying the coffee,” Isak says, shaking his head. He tries for exasperated, but has a sneaking suspicion he missed that and hit ‘hopelessly endeared’ instead.
Judging by the smile directed his way as he bustles off to locate some Silvadene, Even probably thinks so too.
***
Two hours later and Isak’s all but forgotten the official purpose of Even’s ED trip in his exhaustion, at least until Eskild asks him to sign off on the two criminals they’re about to hand over to the authorities.
“Captain Phantasmic delivered them,” he stage-whispers to Isak, as they watch the would-be evil doers get led away by the cops. “What a guy.”
“Yeah, what a guy,” Isak agrees weakly. Is that? A coffee stain? On Baddie #1’s shoulder? It couldn’t possibly... Could it?
No, Isak decides, after his gawking almost gets him run over by an overly enthusiastic EMS team wheeling a stretcher through the ambulance bay for the second time in as many minutes. Coincidences happen.
Right?
5.
When the red phone rings, Isak jumps into action.
It’s Yellow Team’s turn to accept the incoming trauma, and as Yellow Team Leader today, Isak is more than ready to take charge.
They haven’t had a real trauma in a while, and while that’s all very well and good for the patients, Isak’s been getting antsy. He chose to work in the Emergency Department for a reason - the laid back, low-stakes atmosphere of a medsurge unit just isn’t for him. No, Isak’s an adrenaline junkie through and through. He lives for moments like these, thrives on moments like these, moments when the only things stopping a patient from crashing on the table are his own ironclad nerves and superior medical expertise.
It probably makes him a dick to admit it, but he feels most alive when pulling a patient back from the brink of death.
He has his team around him, Mahdi and Sara and Chris, as well as phlebotomy, radiology, and respiratory. They’re good, some of MGMC’s best. They know this. Isak knows this. And yet, when they wheel John Doe’s stretcher in, everything Isak thought he knew flies right out of his head and sinks like a rock to the pit of his stomach.
Because John Doe has floofy blonde hair, and ridiculously long legs that dangle off the end of the stretcher. And Isak knows, he knows, that John Doe has piercing blue eyes too, ones surrounded by laugh lines, and a burn scar only beginning to fade on his left hand.
Isak can’t be here, he can’t do this, but he also can’t not, so he starts calling orders, demanding an IV insert, a BP reading, an O2 sat stat, anything to avoid looking down. Anything to avoid acknowledging what’s in front of him.
But Isak can’t push off the inevitable forever, and when he looks at the code (only the code, never Even) laid out on the table in front of him, he feels the suffocating vise around his trachea relax for the first time since John Doe entered the trauma room.
Because John Doe’s eyes are brown.
And now that Isak allows himself to look, really look, it’s obvious that the man’s mouth is the wrong shape, his build just this side of too stocky. And he should wonder, really, why it is that he’s so relieved by the revelation of not-Even, but right now, he has a code to run and a life to save. He can worry about Even later.
(If he sees blue eyes and a blinding grin every time he closes his eyes, no one needs to know. He’s running a code, godammit. Interpersonal ethics can wait.)
And then, after thirty of the longest minutes of Isak’s life, it’s over. John Doe made it, is being transferred to surgery where he’ll be Noora’s problem, and Isak can wash his hands of the whole affair.
Isak’s only just literally washed his hands, leaving them still dripping against hospital policy, when a painfully familiar voice stops him in his tracks.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just wait for Dr Valtersen, if that’s alright.”
Isak turns, almost scared at what he might find, and spots Even immediately. Even catches his eye from his seat in the waiting room and waves, and fuck, this time it really is him.
“I told the clerk here I’d rather wait for you,” he says. “Thought you’d appreciate the fact that I pulled something in my back stopping a speeding train, and---”
Isak’s no longer listening.
Instead, he grabs Even and pulls him into a fierce hug, relishing, reveling in his vitality. It takes a moment for Even to respond, to wrap his arms around Isak in kind, and when he does Isak almost sobs in relief, ethics be damned.
He thinks he may have just lost his taste for codes.
+1
It’s late, or maybe it’s early, Isak’s not entirely sure.
He’s also not entirely sure how long he’s been on call for, but according to his attending, Dr. Skrulle, it’s been far too long to be legal, so she’d sent him home before he “wakes up enough to sue.”
That’s not going to happen anytime soon - Isak’s barely awake enough to walk home, and come to think of it, he may have taken a wrong turn because this particular back-alley doesn’t seem all that familiar.
He turns to double back, and that’s when he realizes he’s being followed by no fewer than three guys wearing ski masks. In August, for fucks sake.
Well, if they’re after Isak’s wallet, the joke’s on them, because his paychecks have all been going towards his student loans, so all Isak’s wallet actually contains is his hospital ID, non-driver’s license, and a couple of fast-food receipts.
Still, the responsible thing would probably be to call Jonas, just so somebody knows what his dead body is doing roughed-up in a dark alley.
He pulls out his phone, nearly dropping it out of exhaustion or nerves, but thankfully Jonas picks up on the first ring.
“”M asleep, Is,” Jonas mumbles, sounding it.
“I know, dude, but just stay on the line, please. I think I’m being followed.”
“Fuck, man. Why didn’t you call the hotline, then?” Jonas asks, sounding immediately more awake.
“What hotline?” Isak can practically hear Jonas roll his eyes.
“The one written on the back of every Captain Phantasmic poster, including the one hanging in your room. 1-800-CALLCAP? It goes directly to Captain Phantasmic’s PhantaPhone.”
And okay, Isak did always wonder how Captain Phantasmic knew when shit was going down.
He has more pressing worries at the moment however, like the fact that the footsteps behind him seem to be growing louder. Isak sneaks a glance over his shoulder and yep, the thugs are gaining on him. Not for the first time, Isak wishes he worked out more.
“I don’t think I have enough time to call the hotline, Jonas,” he whispers frantically.
Jonas exhales through his teeth. It sounds like static over their connection. Maybe it is static. Fuck, Isak really hopes not.
“Jonas, you there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here bro. I’m not going anywhere. Where are you?”
“I’m in the alley between 34th and Vine,” Isak says. His phone beeps in a way that can’t mean anything good. He speeds up, almost running now, takes a sharp right, and fuck. Dead end.
Shit.
“Jonas,” Isak says, voice trembling just a little, “You should call the hotline. I think I have to go.”
As if on cue, his phone dies.
Isak turns, slowly, resigning himself to his fate of getting the crap beat out of him.
Like high school all over again, he thinks sourly.
Except, the three guys never show.
Isak’s not stupid enough to wait around, and he’s not stupid enough to walk back towards them either, but he’s stuck at a dead end and doesn’t really have much of a choice. Maybe he can run past the alley they were in. Maybe he could even run really fast.
It’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one he has, so he’s sticking to it. At least, he is until he passes the alley where the three unconscious would-be muggers are currently being tied up by none other than Captain Phantasmic in the flesh.
“No fucking way,” Isak says. “You’re Captain Phantasmic!”
And yes, okay, maybe he’s a little starstruck. But come on, it’s Captain Phantasmic.
But then Captain Phantasmic turns to face him and Isak finds himself looking into a pair of veeeery familiar blue eyes.
“No fucking way,” Isak says, jaw dropping somewhere around his knees.
“Hi?” Even says, giving him a little wave.
“You’re Captain Phantasmic!” he replies, a little hysterically.
“Yes, and?”
Isak just gapes.
Even must realize he’s not going to get much out of Isak in this state, because he shakes his head, runs a hand through his gravity-defying quiff.
Isak wonders if perfect hair could be considered a superpower. Probably.
“Yes, I’m Captain Phantasmic,” Even says, sounding more than a little amused, the smug fucker. “But to be fair, I don’t know why you seem so surprised. I literally told you this when we met.”
“No!” Isak splutters, poking Even in the chest indignantly. “You told me you flew into an eighteenth storey window!”
“Yes, and how many people do you know who can fly, Isak?” Even asks, rolling his eyes.
Which, fair point.
“But but but… you? How?” And then, horrified, “I have your poster above my bed!”
Even laughs, delighted. Isak thinks he may have made a tactical error.
Just then, one of the tied-up baddies makes a last ditch effort to escape. Or maybe he just twitches, Isak isn’t sure, because all that really happens is that he manages to sort of kick Even’s foot. It’s more of a tap really. Almost a nudge.
Still, Even throws up his hands in exasperation. “That’ll leave a bruise, you know,” he says glaring down at the goon, with are those actually laser beams?
Isak can’t help the snort that escapes him.
“What?” Even asks, totally shameless. “I have a very fair complexion! I bruise easily.”
Isak just shakes his head. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the stress of almost getting mugged finally catching up to him, but it’s all he can do to keep from breaking out into helpless giggles.
“I think I might need Doctor Something to kiss it better,” Even says, waggling his eyebrows.
Isak’s laughter dies in his throat.
“You want me to kiss your toe?” he asks incredulously. And look, Isak’s never been much of a foot guy, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. Even moves in then, so close that Isak can count his eyelashes, and very nice eyelashes they are too. Isak licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and Even tracks the movement with his eyes.
“I can ask this idiot to kick me somewhere higher if you prefer?” Even offers.
“You’re ridiculous,” Isak says, pulling Even closer.
(He kisses him anyway)