[apertcre]

APERTCRE INTRODUCTION ᵕ̈

aperture let's the light in.

⚢ *·˚ ⋮ 20 years old. german. lesbian but shawn hatosy is my exception. #1 harry styles fangirl. professional yapper. the pitt enjoyer (an unhealthy amount). too many obsessions to list them all. i like to imagine my favorite characters as my dads <3. ✷ ༘ *

MASTERLIST. ABOUT ME.

[ssensual-politics]

[weemswife]

Thank you Brie Larson for this one🙏🙏

[lavenderpanic]

all of my writing is actually just thinly-veiled fantasy about being seen at your worst and still being loved

[whiitkrs]

[apertcre]

SIDE BY SIDE ✷ The Pitt.

and you're the reason why.

PAIRINGS ⋮ Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader, The Pitt x Abbot!Reader (platonic)

SUMMARY ⋮ Jack Abbot trusted his daughter; significantly so. When she is out with her friends and doesn't answer her phone, however? He can't help but think he should've been a bit more protective.

Jack Abbot wasn't a strict dad by any means — After losing his leg; after losing his wife, it felt unfair to beg for anything more than for his daughter to be happy, healthy, and — most importantly — safe. Her safety was the one non-negotiable that he had set in place when raising her. She had driven to a party and drank anyway? She called him and he would pick her up, no lecture given. She felt unsafe at any given point, no matter because of who or what? She told him or a trusted adult (the list was short of the adults he trusted — Robby, Dana, Shen and Ellis) and they would take care of it.

"Hey, Grumpy! Haven't seen the kid around in a few? Where's Tiny?" Parker Ellis grinned as she slid up next to Jack at the nurses station, head tilting at him as she saw the way he just starred intensely at his phone.

Hey, you OK? was the message starring back at him menacingly, the timestamp next to it reading two hours earlier. He blinked blearily at the tiny Send beneath it, willing it to change into a Seen.

"Abbot?" Ellis called out again, her grin slowly melting into a concerned frown.

Jack's head snapped up, dropping the hand holding the phone "Hm? Oh, uh, she had exams this week. 's out with her friends tonight to celebrate their newfound freedom."

"Oh— I see how it is!" Ellis hummed thoughtfully, the grin reappearing, "Grumpy Abbot has a hard time letting go."

Jack shook his head ever so slightly "It isn't like that."

It really wasn't like that. Jack trusted his daughter — more than anyone, probably. He had raised her — all on his own ever since she was a three years old toddler that threw tantrums when served broccoli for dinner and asked When is mommy coming home? while dangling her legs from a swing — and he knew he had given her every single ressource to make smart decisions and to know that, even if she had a crashout (whatever that meant; Jack had long given up trying to understand the way she spoke) he was there to pick it up, piece by piece.

In simple terms; he had raised her to be his best friend.

Jack didn't trust anyone else — Not with his daughter. Certainly not with his daughter.

His fingers moved swiftly over the screen again, Ellis' laughter barely audible over the ringing in his ears. Call me when you get this please. Love you. He send the text, mentally chastising himself for opting out of sharing locations with her in fear of coming off to overbearing.

The doors to the pitt slid open, a trauma being wheeled in fast and steady, effectively pulling Jack back into the chaos of the ER and — after the brief panic that it could be her had subsided — he was by the gurney, sharp and focused, the worry over his daughter only a distant pain in his chest.

The trauma took a lot longer than Jack had thought — MVA, three victims; a family. The daughter, only six years, had died after Jack spend 47 minutes perched over her chest, doing chest compressions until the sweat dripped down his forehead and now he was sprawled out in a chair at the nurses station, too exhausted to even think about making the way up to the roof.

"That was a rough one." Shen sighed, leaning up against the hub across from Jack, hands fiddling with the straw in his Dunkin Donuts cup.

"The child ones always are. Always makes you wonder..." Lena trailed off with a frown, noticing the tight set of Jack's jaw. Everyone at the PTMC knew about Jack Abbot's daughter — Tiny Abbot as Shen and Ellis always proclaimed so lovingly when she once again spend one of Jack's night shifts, huddled up in a seat next to Lena, head stuck in a book. By now they had also all noticed, that Jack seemed to be on edge that night, hands and eyes trained to react at the slight buzz of his phone. 
Shen furrowed his eyesbrows, mulling over whether it was safe to ask or if Jack would rip his head off for just as much as suggesting that something was amiss when the ringtone Jack had specifically set for his daughter made his body jerk into action.

"Kiddo, hey!" Jack breathed, all the air escaping him in one as he registered her name in bold letters on his screen. The relief was short-lived, however, when the line crackled; a tiny whimper cutting through the jumbling noise.

"Dad? Dad, I— I'm sorry. My friends— They left me. I'm drunk, I don't know— They kept saying I should loosen up and I should drink more and then they just left me! I'm scared, I—"

The sirens in Jack's head were blaring two times over as he listened to his daughter's babbling and blubbering "Hey, baby. Baby, it's okay—" he cooed, jumping up to his feet against the strain it put on his prosthesis. "Yeah, it's okay. I'm at work but send me your location, okay?" he turned over, eyes wide with a panic that was entirely unusual for the always so stoic doctor "Lena, call Robby. Kiddo's in trouble, I need him to pick her up."

Lena nodded, hands already grabbing for the red phone — hospital emergencies only policy be damned. Tiny Abbot was one of PTMC's own; a staple in the dysfunctional family that was the night shift and, most importantly, the one thing to bring Jack Abbot from the dark every single time.

"Dad, I'm sorry." Tiny sniffled and she sounded so sad Jack had a hard time not ditching work to pick her up himself. His head spun to string together the worst images it could muster — The idea of his daughter sitting on a curb somewhere far out of his reach, only a dim street lamp as company as she tried to keep herself warm (She never took a jacket with her; no matter how much Jack nagged).

He let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh, scrubbing his free hand over his face to get rid of the haunting images "You've got absolutely nothing to apologize for. You hear me, kiddo? Nothing." he soothed desperately, shooting a look at Lena "Send me your location and I'll have Robby pick you up and bring you here, okay?" he added after Lena gave him a nod and a brief thumbs up.

53 minutes — That's how long it took from the moment his daughter had hung up the phone to call Robby ("uncwe Wobby" as she used to call him all those years ago) to the doors of the ER sliding open to reveal a worried-looking Robby — an usual sight; dressed in sweatpants and a faded band tee — arm wrapped around Jack's daugher. She looked even more sad than she had sounded; Robby had brought her one of his hoodies and a pair of one of her sweatpants that were always flying around at his place to change into in the car and, mixed with the smudged make-up Jack had watched her put on mere hours ago, she looked like a lost little lamb brought to the slaughter.

"Tiny Abbot..." Shen frowned, as he appeared next to them, holding out a fresh Dunkin Donuts' iced coffee "Grumpy Abbot told us what happened so I immediately got your favorite. Donuts are in the break room."

"Thank you, Johnnie." she sniffled, giving him a watery smile, that had Shen's frown deepening, as she took the cup tentatively "Where's dad?"

Shen grimaced "Still with a patient, kiddo. He should be out soon— C'mon let's get you seated. You need something?"

She shook her head, letting Robby and Shen guide her over to a chair at the safety of the nurses station. All she wanted was a hug from her dad — letting him wrap her up in his arms and keeping her safe from all the bad things like he did when she had a nightmare as a kid.

It took seven minutes — seven agonising minutes for Jack, who'd been told that his daughter had arrived safely — for him to finally dismiss himself from the room; eyes seeking out his daughter's form immediately.

She was still sitting at the hub, legs pulled up to her chest with Robby keeping watch over her from his place leaned up against hub across from her. Her eyes were cast down to her fingers fiddling with the straw from her iced coffee but as soon as she recognised the sound of his uneven gait her head was flying up, relief melting her body into a slumped form as she found his gaze.

"Hey, kiddo." he breathed out, pulling her up to her feet and crushing her against his chest with no hesitation "Are you okay?" he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her head.

She hummed, nodding against his scrub top "'m okay, just... sad, I guess." she shrugged. Jack nodded wordlessly — He had had his suspicions about her friends for a while now; they always seemed nice enough during the few moments they spend at their place. Every now and then, however, Jack heard the quiet comments — He heard the insults, cowardly slipped into a passing comment over a snack at their dinner table, saw the glances and smirks shared when his daughter wasn't looked but he'd kept quiet about it; had smiled at his daughter when she came home all giddy and giggly and had told her how happy he was that she did have finally found friends, after all.

Now he loathed himself for never saying anything.

He pressed another kiss to her head, one heavy hand moving towards her back to trace absentminded circles. Jack had always been good at fixing injuries or sickness — He knew what to do when she fell and scraped her knee and he knew how to take care of her when the flu once again caught up to her, but he always struggled with the emotional side of parenting. Years and years of therapy had helped; he was better at being emotionally present now, the words of comfort came easier to him now, but — every now and then; just like now — he had a hard time figuring out what to say.

"Are you good to go home?" he asked instead as he pulled back, eyebrows furrowed together in almost paralysing worry "Robby's gonna drive you and stay with you until shift change."

"Okay, okay..." she muttered quietly, rubbing her eyes with a muffled sniffle, before bringing herself back against her dad's chest; head flush against his broad chest "'m sorry, dad."

She didn't know what she was apologising for — For worrying him? For drinking? For losing friends? Again? Surely, he didn't think it was cute for his sixteen years old to say that her dad was her best friend.

Jack shook his head vehemently, shifting his stance so she could lean all her weight on him without his prosthesis hurting "Kiddo. You are not at fault here — Absolutely not; in no way. People who do that? Who guilt-trip you into getting drunk and then abandoning you? These people are not your friends and they never were."

His daughter cried something in his chest and it took a beat for Jack to understand that she had said, that she just wanted to belong.

"You belong, baby." Jack spoke firmly, slipping a finger underneath her chin to look into her eyes "You belong with me. You belong in this life. You belong."

She sniffed again, more tears spilling over but yet she nodded, rubbing her head against his chest one last time before taking a final step back. Robby was there immediately, his arm coming up to wrap itself around her shoulder again "Let's get you home, kiddo, hm?"

She nodded tentatively and — after a last hug and a long kiss to her forehead — Jack had to watch his best friend guide his daughter out into the dark night that awaited them outside of the hectic walls of the pitt.

The remaining two hours of his shift dragged on for seemingly forever — All he wanted was to get home to his daughter, maybe stop by the breakfast place they frequented at every Saturday morning and get her one of the cinnamon buns she loved, and put on her favorite movie in the living room where he could keep an eye on her.

Jack Abbot may not be a man of emotional loaded words, but, what he was was a man of actions.

By the time he finally stepped into the townhouse he and his daughter had been living in for the past fifteen years the sun had long risen behind the horizon "Kiddo? I'm home." he called out softly as he closed the front door with one hand, the other one clutching a bakery bag, the sweet smell of cinnamon following him.

Jack had spend the last two hours berating himself for never saying anything — He'd spend ten minutes in between patients, doing the breathing exercises his therapist always spoke off and Lena still called him out for looking brooding — and the cinnamon buns felt like a kind of peace offering now; an apology of sorts for failing her.

"Dad?" a voice breathed. Jack's head whipped around and, for the first time, Jack understood why everyone at the PTMC called her Tiny. His daughter was standing in the doorway to their living room, her favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around bony shoulders and a stuffed rabbit Robby had gotten her when she was younger and refused to go to sleep every time her dad was on night shift clutched to her chest.

She looked like a little kid, all over again.

"Hey, baby." Jack swallowed down every heavy feeling, forcing the corners of his lips into a soft, weary smile as he held up the bag. "I have cinnamon buns."

Her face twitched into something akin to a smile despite the tears brimming hot and heavy behind her waterline. "Robby already helped me move all the blankets and pillows to the sofa."

"Hot chocolate and Princess Diaries?" Jack grinned.

"You always know how to cheer me up, old man."

Jack huffed out a laugh at the old man, dismissing his go-back carelessly by the door as he moved to wrap an arm around her. With a tender kiss to her head he began guiding her towards the sofa, turning off the police scanner while he was at it — He didn't need that today.

Today was all about her.

Taglist ⋮ @sommywithluv @suntello (special thanks to this one for being my biggest supporter in writing this <33)

[iamaya03]

shawn and noah in this gif are we serious

[juniper2moon]

The way Shawn Hatosy's face lights up when he talks about doing this for women. The little furrow in his brow as he explains stepping into this highly criticized environment, with intention, and doing it for women. And then his whole face lights up.

Shawn Hatosy loves women, and you can clearly see it. 👏👏👏

I am so happy to exist in a world and time where this wonderful man is willingly stepping into this space, bringing awareness and sex positivity to women and their desires. Thank 👏 you 👏 Shawn 👏 Hatosy 👏

[rrrotgut]

if i ever spamlike your posts and then you mysteriously get an anonymous ask it wasnt me . dont even bother worrying yourself that it was . ok .

[jackabbot]

I love him so much

[kiraavi]

Shawn Hatosy - Quinn App Promo 3/4

[apertcre]

𑣲 ABOUT APERTCRE

time won't wait on me.

FILM & MUSIC ENTHUSIAST.

ABOUT FILMS & SHOWS

Marvel — especially the OG Avengers. Harry Potter (Wolfstar truther). THE PITT!!! Absolutely obsession. Peaky Blinders. Star Wars enjoyer. My Letterboxd Top Four are Dead Poets Society (I got Oh Captain, My Captain tattooed!!), Fantastic Mr Fox, Knives Out and Little Miss Sunshine.

ABOUT MUSIC

HARRY STYLES. OMG. I'm seeing him in Amsterdam this year and I am. so. excited. Louis Tomlinson (Seeing him live FOUR TIMES this year) Role Model?? Saw him live last year and it was the best night of my life. Niall Horan. ALSO SEEING HIM LIVE THIS YEAR. Can you tell I love 1D??? Fleetwood Mac — I'm actually named after a Fleetwood Mac Song. Not to brag. Noah Kahan. Olivia Dean. Sam Fender.

[apertcre]

APERTCRE MASTERLIST ☄︎

we belong together.

CURRENTLY INCLUDES... THE PITT.

THE PITT SERIES

coming soon...

PAINY BY NUMBERS ✷ Trinity Santos.

Maude Sterling was, as charge nurse Dana had so lovingly proclaimed over a cup of hot chocolate (courtesy of Doctor Abbot) one week into Maude's residency at the PTMC, the baby of the pitt — All soft voice, a fond smile and thin limbs weaving through the chaos of the ED. Trinity Santos is the polar opposite to her as spits a sarcastic remark left and right, hands always sharper; always a little meaner. But you know what they say — Polar opposites attract (even if Maude's honorary dads Robby and Jack would really like a mandatory social distance.)

coming soon...

LOOK AT THAT WOMAN ✷ Jack Abbot.

Juno Robinavitch and Jack Abbot were two sides of the same coin — Where Juno was all smiles, too much understanding and a soft frame; Jack was sharp edges and a gruff voice as he barked out orders and, still, it all lead them to each other at the end of the every day. On the roof, in the corner booth of a small bakery at the end of the night shift or on the doorstep in front of Juno's apartment — Juno and Jack, as different at they were, would always find their way back home to each other.

THE PITT ONESHOTS

SIDE BY SIDE ✷ Dad!Jack Abbot.

Jack Abbot trusted his daughter; significantly so. When she is out with her friends and doesn't answer her phone, however? He can't help but think he should've been a bit more protective.

coming soon...

YOU'RE GONNA GO FAR ✷ Dad!Jack Abbot.

Jack Abbot didn't feel fear — He wasn't terrified when he was hands deep in a patient's chest, willing their heart to start beating with his hands and sheer willpower. He wasn't terrified when he put on the SWAT uniform and walked into the line of fire just for the sake of it. When his daughter — the one good thing he has left — is involved in a car crash, however? That's a different story.

[apertcre]

new name because i'm actually about to post a masterlist over the next few days!! who wants to read a trinity santos x reader fanfic with jack and robby as father figures 🙂‍↕️

[intheglorybox]

Let The Light In (Ch.2)

Summary: As any (work) daughter would do, you disobey Jack and Robby. However, that doesn’t work out too well for you…

Genre: Angst, I suppose?

Notes/Warnings: Reader is Robby’s twin, right down to the martyr complex. Reader treats a patient with Sjögren’s syndrome. Mention of collapsing.

Word Count: 2.4k

HOUR 8: 2:00 P.M—3:00 P.M.

“It’s just a cough!” you heard a voice say from behind the curtain. Squinting, you saw that by the worn gray sneakers peeking out from under the cloth, that voice belonged to… Ogilvie. You’d made it a little game, per se, as you rested against your will, to guess who was taking a pit stop outside of your room based on the voices you could hear and the shoes you could see, mostly to keep yourself from going insane as you waited to be discharged. It had been an hour, and you swore you were about to lose it. Did nobody carry books anymore?

“She came in with joint pain!” responded another voice. Faded purple sneakers—Javadi. “We can’t assume that the two symptoms are unrelated if they present together.”

“You know, joint pain is one of the easiest symptoms to—“

Your hand twitched to reach for the bedside railing; it was practically unbearable to listen to the two bicker when the diagnosis was practically staring them straight in the face.

“Does she have a rash?” you called from behind the curtain—you couldn’t resist. You could hear the swish of the paper on his clipboard as Ogilvie whipped around.

“Did you hear—“

“Flip the curtain.” God, were you going to have to do all of his work for him? Tentatively, Ogilvie pulled the curtain aside with the slowness of someone anticipating being pounced on. You raised a hand when Javadi’s eyes went wide with concern upon catching sight of the bruises mottling the skin under your eyes and the butterfly bandage on your temple, willing her to remain silent. “I asked you a question, Ogilvie.”

“Well, she’s wearing—“

“So, you didn’t check.”

“I… didn’t think it was necessary.”

“You said she came in with joint pain—even if that’s just something as common as arthritis, you always check for a rash. That lifts you from normal inflammation to, at the very least, a complication of rheumatoid arthritis, which is something you can treat.” Sighing, you stood, albeit not without a bit of a stumble. “She in Chairs?”

“Dr. Robby said you should be resting,” protested Javadi.

“Robby’s not losing a paycheck to be here,” you replied, grinning with the very I know better grin that you knew you hated. “And, besides, he doesn’t have to know, right? Now, take me to her, please.”

Without a second thought, you ripped out your IV. The effect of the withdrawal wasn’t immediate, so you used this short burst of energy to stand, somewhat stable. All you had to do was give the impression that you were perfectly fine for 30 minutes, tops—you kept your head down in a long, painstaking walk towards the examination rooms adjacent to the Chairs exit, praying that you wouldn’t be spotted. In a bustling ED, it was an easier task than you thought.

When you pulled back the curtain, you received new insight—the patient was a known unhoused woman with a string of unknown chronic ailments, dressed in a thick winter coat and a scarf that obscured virtually all of her extremities. Usually, the street team assessed her, but with their limited resources, considering she usually refused to come into the hospital, it was difficult to come to a conclusion without proper tests.

You saw now why Ogilvie was being such a prick.

“Hi, Ms.—,” you began, glancing at her Patient Passport, “—Farraday, okay.” You stated your name, and she nodded.

“Your face,” she said, and you couldn’t place her accent. Ukrainian? Polish? Shaking the thought from your mind, you nodded, acknowledging the concern but choosing to move on. Who had time to mull in their own self-pity when there were patients that needed treating?

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Farraday. I’m more focused on you.”

“Unclean,” she muttered, looking guiltily at her worn shoes.

Your brows raised towards your hairline. Unclean was a label given to... she had couldn’t be serious. “Ma’am, what gives you the impression that you have leprosy?”

“Leprosy?” exclaimed Ogilvie. “There’s absolutely nothing to suggest that—“

“I wasn’t addressing you, was I, Ogilvie?”

“...Sorry.” You’d never seen him shut up so quickly—internally, you grinned just a little.

“You should be,” you replied, and the coolness of your voice startled you. “Continue, ma’am. I apologize for him.”

“My skin, it’s…” She hesitated. You nodded, giving her the okay to lift up her skirt. Slowly, she peeled the garment off, revealing a smattering of inflamed blisters and lesions along her thighs and shins. You winced—they were nasty, sure, but not leprosy nasty.

“Palpable purpura,” you announced, turning to Ogilvie with a look the said I told you so, bitch, “combined with joint pain, general fatigue, and a dry cough, give us…?”

“Sjögren’s!" blurted Javadi, and you nodded.

“Correct. Do a Schirmer—bring me the results when they come back… if you could. Thank you.” You were getting a little too commanding for your liking—God, under stress, it was like you turned into Robby.

With their nods, you turned back to the patient, who clearly didn’t understand what these symptoms meant and was thus assuming the worst. “Ma’am, I promise you, you do not have leprosy, or any disease adjacent to it. Sjögren’s syndrome is mostly manageable with treatment. You will be given some medicine via IV and some steroid cream to manage that rash of yours—does that sound okay to you?”

“Will I get a bed?”

You frowned. “Unfortunately, no, ma’am. We can provide you with treatment, but if it can be done outside of the hospital, they’re not likely to give you a bed overnight, at least. We're in a pretty nasty shortage."

The woman’s face fell. “But I—“

“I can get you a bite to eat, though,” you assured, as if that made the situation any better. Your heart clenched in your chest, but there wasn’t much else you could do for her. However, at the news of a meal, she brightened ever so slightly. You turned to Ogilvie. “Snag her a few sandwiches from the cart, will you?”

Ogilvie opened his mouth to protest, but with the raise of your hand, he quickly shut it. You turned to Victoria. “See to it that Ms. Farraday gets her test results and her meds—uh… please, if you could.”

You were beginning to, under the stress, start getting a little too commanding for your liking—God, you realized, you were turning into Robby.

She nodded. “On it.”

“Good, thank you. Now, I need to get back to that room before I get my neck wrung. Good work, Javadi."

You had no intentions of returning, really, but Robby didn’t need to know that. Your patient deserved the room more than you did, anyway—the two med students would keep your secret, right? …Right?

HOUR 9: 3:00 P.M.—4:00 P.M.

Wrong.

“Ogilvie!” called Robby from down the hall, clapping the medical student gamely on the back as they approached the command center to take a glimpse at the patient board. “How’s, uh…” he squinted. “How’s Ms. Farraday doing?”

“Who?”

Robby had been trying to give Ogilvie some extra attention after his kidney stone patient so hopefully he’d be a bit less likely to take out his embarrassment on this peers, but damn did this kid make it hard to be nice. “…Your Sjögren’s patient. Javadi told me you two finally made a diagnosis—apparently she didn’t need my consult anymore. Was she discharged?”

The realization dawned on him. “Oh, the homeless lady?” (Cue Dana’s walk-by with an exclamation of unhoused!) “…I’m not sure. Javadi put her up in a room. I didn’t think she needed one, but—“

Robby’s brows furrowed. “A room? Last time I checked, we didn’t have any available. We’ve been putting people in the hall.”

Ogilvie shrugged. “Dunno. Guess something opened up.”

Before Robby could make a further comment, the med student departed, muttering something about going to take a look at a burn patient in North 2. Something nagged at him to use his authority, to tell him to get the hell back here in the voice he reserved for combative patients, but he wasn’t aiming to make a scene. Instead, he settled for the next-best option.

“Javadi!”

Victoria whipped around, startled. “…Yes?”

He smiled in that false-calm way that he did when he was really pissed, and Victoria’s eyes went wide. Well, shit. He asked, slowly, if she’d seen you, and before he could even utter a second question, everything came spilling out.

⋆｡°✩

Technically, you hadn’t left—all you’d done was swiped a portable IV pole to hook yourself up to and given your patient the bed. She deserved it more than you, anyway, and it would’ve been a cruel thing to do to deny her a bed and then immediately return to one you didn’t even need. Who cared if you were getting increasingly lightheaded as the day went on and the world was beginning to swim? You had things to do.

“Okay, Ms. Farraday,” you began, snapping on a pair of gloves. “It’ll just be a little pinch.”

After you’d cleaned her left forearm with an antiseptic swab, you placed your free hand on her shoulder for a fleeting moment. “Just look at me. Don’t look down. Okay—done. There, see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Slowly, she nodded. You gave your best reassuring smile, although you could feel the room beginning to tilt around you. You placed an arm on the wall behind you in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Now, we’re just going to keep your legs elevated to prevent, uh…” Edema. The word tasted bitter and metallic on your lips. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard. “…edema.”

“What is edema?” It was a softer, more polite version of the earlier question, but it didn’t fail to make your skin crawl.

“It is, um—it’s fluid accumulating in your extremities. We’re especially worried about your legs because of the palpable purpura.” A furrow of her brows. “Sorry, the—the rash.”

Was it just you, or was everyone starting to get that pitiful look in their eyes, the way one would look at an injured animal or a mother comforting a wailing child on the subway? “Are you sure you’re alright, doctor?”

You nodded a bit too quickly for your next words to be completely truthful. “Of course! Of course. I’m great. Perfect. Tip-top shape.”

You winced. Were you trying to convince her or yourself? Well, couldn’t two things be true at once?

It seemed that all of that walking was beginning to catch up to you. It was fine. Everything was fine. You’d adjust the IV, send in a nurse to apply your patient’s steroid cream, right yourself in the bathroom, and then—

⋆｡°✩

“Woah, woah, woah!” called Jack, jogging up to meet Robby’s pace, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder in an attempt to calm what appeared to be building into some sort of rampage. Immediately, Robby stilled. “What’s going on, brother?”

Robby said your name, and Jack cocked his head. “What about her? She’s a big girl, Robby—she can handle sitting in a bed.”

“Well, imagine my surprise when Javadi tells me we’ve got a patient in South 20.”

Jack’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, more so in dejection than surprise. He’d had a sneaking suspicion this was going to happen based on, well, your entire persona—frequent appearances on the night shift staff as you insisted on taking doubles, your perpetual lack of sleep and sustenance… you were either strapped for cash or the not-so-proud owner of an outrageous martyr complex. Jack suspected it was both.

For a long moment, he was silent. He could tell Robby was waiting for a gasp, an exclamation, the drop of his jaw, anything that meant Jack shared his outrage, but he couldn’t muster the facade. He’d been expecting this—hell, he figured Robby hadn’t been because he was caught up in his own self-sacrifice. The three of you’s little acquaintanceship felt like he was a bystander offering the occasional remark to the conversation of a father and a daughter. Robby was only frustrated with you because he was frustrated with himself.

Robby huffed. “I should not have to babysit her like she’s three years old to keep her from killing herself!”

“Robby, she’s an adult. She can make her own—“

“She disobeyed a direct order! I should not—“

Jack gave his companion a hard, firm look. “Robby, go take a break.”

“Jack, man, don't tell me what to—“

“Take a break,” he repeated, calm but still firm. “I will talk to her, okay? Go cool down.”

“I need to hit the can anyway,” muttered Robby, more to himself than Jack, as if reassuring himself he was leaving not because he’d been commanded to, but because he had his own justification—his little way of regaining control when he felt powerless.

Jack nodded, patting Robby on the shoulder, which seemed to ease the tension in his stance just a bit. “I’ll see you, brother.”

“Yeah.”

Sighing, Jack began the trek to South 20. As he walked, he attempted to formulate some sort of lecture, but he knew that it would fall on deaf ears. If you were anything like Robby, which he knew you were, no speech would get through to you--you'd have to learn it the hard way.

Upon arrival, he slowly pulled back the curtain, almost as if bracing for impact, for the bullshit sermon he'd be preaching to the choir, but, almost as if by fate, there you stood, at the beside of your patient, adjusting a leak in her IV bag while still attached to your own. Jack winced. As much as he knew Robby wanted you to be chewed out, he couldn't put much force behind his voice when you were currently two seconds away from crumpling like a paper bag.

Jack cleared his throat, and you whipped around, eyes wide like you knew you had been made. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need--"

Or, at least, you had, before your knees went out from under you, because of course.

"Shit!"

Before you could hit the ground, Jack lunged to grab you by the armpits, flinging your arm over his shoulder as he ripped out your IV (once more, he thought, by the watercolor of purples and yellows on your forearm) so he was able to get a solid grip behind your knees and lift you without the pole being dragged as he ran outside.

"I need a gurney and a crash cart!"

As he hoisted you—with the help of Mateo, considering his prosthetic could only take so much weight—onto the gurney, Jack couldn’t help but sigh. Well, this was certainly the hard way, wasn't it?

[apertcre]

i need someone to motivate me to actually finish something for once

[sammy-bryant]

THE PITT Trinity Santos & Jack Abbot

[apertcre]

my dad and my gf <3