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apple or wyr - twenty two - she they

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-> favorites - take care of you ; ryland g. - medical emergency ; ryland g. - the creep in the nearby laundromat ; robert r.

-> latest fics - take care of you ; ryland g. - untitled ; ryland g. - the dewey decimal system ; ryland g. - mixing heartbeats ; ryland g. - human connectivity ; ryland g.

all works are written by me - don’t repost w/o permission requests are open

[appletreat]

take care of you ryland grace x gn!reader (fluff) synopsis: you want to keep working but ryland knows you need to sleep m.list / wc: 1.2k

    you stare into the ship’s small, makeshift greenhouse. it was one of the more major last minute decisions made by stratt, to test the effects of long space travel on crops. so you worked hard with the team building the ship to include a small greenhouse enclosure for an array of crops. the plan was for the machinery to plant the seeds once the hail mary reached tau ceti’s solar system. it would then water the soil and care for them until the astronauts woke up. 

  which led to your involvement in the mission. you were initially brought on as a nutritionist, to help make sure the astronauts could survive and live off of the food sent up with them. however, when this idea came to fruition, your work with mark watney as his pseudo-prodigy brought their attention to your background in botany. it was an interesting development that brought you to be standing in front of the ship’s greenhouse, small sprouts working their way to having a few leaves each.

  a clipboard rests in the crook of your arm, a pencil in your hand as you chart their growth stages. most of the tomatoes had already started to outgrow the other plants, the ship’s system indicating that the soil’s ph level was where it should be. setting down the clipboard, you stare down at the plants, shoulders dropping. after the accident at adrian, some of the leaves were starting to droop, spots popping up. 

  “you should get some rest,” a voice echoes into the room, a familiar feeling settling inside of you.

  “i will soon,” you turn around, resting one hand on your thigh, resisting the urge to expel a yawn. you had an interesting game with ryland, one where you both try to convince the other to sleep. usually in one of your scientific breakthroughs, forced awake knowing you may discover something life saving. 

  one of ryland’s hands are pressed against the top of the room’s opening, the other on his hip. he has on one of his science shirts, the sleeves of his jumpsuit wrapped around his waist. his eyebrows are raised, like he was expecting this answer, glasses falling down his nose as he stares at you over the browline. “you’ve been watching these plants like a hawk since we visited adrian. they will be there in the morning, along with all of the seeds that they packed,” he drops his hand to his side, taking a few steps into the room. 

  taking in a deep breath, you look between him and the plants. your head tilts with a small look, as if to say a gentle ‘not yet’. biting the inside of his cheek, ryland’s shoulders drop, eyebrows furrowing down at you. “just a bit longer, once the system waters them i’ll come to bed,” you reach your hand up, grabbing at his.

  your fingers interlock with his, squeezing to give him a little reassurance. “fine, but at least drink some water. you also need to take care of yourself,” ryland leans down, kissing the top of your head, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. 

  “that’s what i have you for,” you try to say it in a joking manner; however, his eyes roll quickly, annoyed by your incessant manner. 

  squeezing your hand once more, he walks backwards out the room. you can hear him say something to rocky, followed by the translator replying something about watching ryland sleep. smiling to yourself, you spin your chair back around, watching as a slow mist sprays into the greenhouse. it comes out at a steady pace until all of the plants have been sufficiently watered. 

  grabbing the pencil, you hurry to jot down the watering time. eyes glancing over to see how many liters the machine used to water them, only to write that down as well. staring back at the plants, the ship seems to come down to a calm state. there was still the typical whirring of the machinery, but everything else felt still. no loud banging or talking, only you and your plants, fresh oxygen permeating through the cracks of the greenhouse.

  resting your elbow on the desk, your chin lays in your palm. your eyes slowly begin to open and close at a slow rhythm. another yawn comes to the surface as you fold your arms on the desk, head laying down on top of them. you try to stare up at the plants, keep your focus on them, however, your eyes slowly begin to close for the night.

  your breathing and heartbeat comes to a steady flow, body entering a state of deep sleep. one that rocky instantly notices, the sound of your pen scratching against the paper bringing his attention to you. banging his carapace against his xenonite ball, rocky urges for ryland to wake up, “grace! grace! something happened with y/n! wake up!”

  the ball bangs into ryland’s cot, waking him up as he falls off the bed. “what? rocky, what is going on?” he scrambles to his feet, hand holding his head where he fell to the floor.

  “something happened!” he rolls out of the room, convinced that ryland will follow him out and to the greenhouse room.

  ryland runs across the hail mary’s flooring, the cool feeling sending goosebumps up his legs. the light was flooding out into the hallway, rocky reaching the room before ryland could even get halfway there. rocky paces in the xenonite ball, waiting for ryland to arrive and bring you to safety. 

  as ryland runs up to the room, he peers in to see you laying down against the desk. his heartbeat peaks, legs carrying him over to where you’re laying. the closer he gets, though, he can see your back still rising and falling, your breath ruffling the page you’ve been writing on. taking in a deep breath, ryland turns around to look at rocky. 

  “save y/n!” rocky scrambles around, only stopped by ryland’s hands shooting out, head shaking. 

  “shhh, they’re sleeping rocky,” he brings a finger to his lips, trying to speak softly so as not to wake you up.

  rocky finally stops pacing the hallway, his attention fully on ryland now. “y/n said sleep later,” rocky defends his worry, the loud translator echoing through the hall. 

  ryland shushes him again, shaking his head. biting the inside of his cheek, ryland ushers for rocky to follow him down the hallway, hoping his translator will be quiet enough. “sometimes humans fall asleep even if we don’t want to, because our body needs it. which is why as you say i get ‘stupid’ when i don’t sleep,” he brings one of his hands up to his face, covering a yawn.

  “grace stupid when not sleep.”

  “you’ve made that clear, rock. just head back to the cots, i’ll make sure y/n is still asleep,” ryland taps the xenonite ball, the two of them heading off in opposite directions.

  making his way to the greenhouse room, ryland peers through the opening, your body still laying against the desk. his gaze searches the room, spotting a quilt in the corner, folded up from when he last used it. quietly walking into the room, he unfolds the blanket and drapes it across your body. 

  your lips are slightly parted, hair flopped over to the side compared to how it normally lays. there’s a gentleness to your composure, fully blissful sleep. leaning down, he kisses your temple, his free hand pulling up the quilt so it covers your neck. “good night,” ryland whispers as he leaves the room, hand tapping the archway. 

[emgrth]

I had this idea,

Imagine a reader who was on the Hail Mary with Ryland Grace. They love their life on Erid, listening to the waves of the artificial beach as they fall asleep. Getting to teach the class of little pebbles with Grace every day. Spending time with Rocky and Adrian.

But the Reader is someone who misses the rain on Earth. The beach is lovely, and it’s amazing the Eridians managed to build the biodome at all! But they crave the way the rain smells after it falls, the sounds of it on the roof of their house, watching the ripples it creates in the water.

Ryland notices how they miss it. The longing for everything on Earth is real, but the rain was something that comforted them. So, he goes to Rocky and the biodome engineering team and explains to them the concept of Earth precipitation (assuming it’s different on Erid or they didn’t know before).

The reader is walking around their little house, brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. Ryland offhandedly says “forecast says rain tomorrow,” with a smile. The reader rolls their eyes, thinking it’s a lame little joke he made.

But as they gently wake from their sleep to the sound of a pitter-patter on their roof. Their eyes slowly flutter open and they yawn, nose scrunched. They turn in bed and look out the window. Grace is already up, looking out of the window with a smile on his face. He turns to them as they walk over and watches their reaction expectantly.

They’re OVERJOYED to see it pouring from the artificial sky somehow, the sound of the raindrops on the ocean and the sand is music to their ears. The biodome team made rain, all for them.

They are loved and wanted so much by Grace, Rocky, all of the Eridians, that they’d make the sky fall to see them smile.

[appletreat]

    “you’re stupid, you’re stupid and you don’t listen and- god you could’ve killed yourself,” you pace the room, glancing back at ryland.

  tears well up in the corner of your eyes again, your hands falling back to your side as you stare down at him. tubes snake out of different parts of his body and up into the ceiling. his lips are slightly parted where a tube is inserted to help him breathe, small drops of blood dried by his mouth. ryland’s body looks frail, damaged by a stupid mistake.

  you both thought it would’ve been fine. it was simply fixing a part of the hail mary’s outer walls, something you’ve both had to do before on the journey. and yet he stayed out there longer than he should’ve, he said it was going to be alright, that the debris floating wasn’t going past enough to do any damage. only to wind up here, eyes closed peacefully, reminding you of how yáo and ilyukhina looked laying in their own cots.

  armando quickly reaches a chair out for you, setting it down on the ground so that you can sit down. biting your lip, your chin quivers as you look down at him. leaning forward, you leave a solemn kiss on his forehead, hand grabbing ahold of his. sitting down, you keep your fingers wrapped around his, foot tapping rapidly against the ground.

  “will grace survive?” rocky’s translator works in harmony with his voice, reminding you to his presence in the room. 

  looking up from ryland, your shoulders raise, dropping quickly as if to say you have no idea. “rocky, i hope so. armando is working over time to make sure he stays stabilized.. but my god i don’t really know,” your free hand reaches up to wipe away the tears, armando holding out a tissue for whenever you’d like it.

  “y/n leaking like grace leaks,” rocky rolls the xenonite ball as close as he can without hitting you or the cot. 

  forcing a smile, you look back at rocky, unsure if he can even tell you’re smiling back at him. “yeah.. yeah, humans tend to leak, cry, when they’re sad or even happy,” you wipe away a few more fallen tears, your chin still wet from where they rolled down. 

  “humans are funny. y/n leak when grace wakes up too,” rocky moves back and forth in his ball, carapace staring up at you.

  you nod, thumb caressing the back of ryland’s hand. staring back at ryland, you can feel your tears come to a stop, the remaining droplets falling to the ground. “yeah rocky, i’ll probably leak when he wakes up.”

[appletreat]

hellooo! can you write ryland grace x gn!reader whos a librarian? his class visits the school library every two weeks and hes always giddy that day cause it means he can see his crush... c:

yes i absolutely can!! i loved writing your idea, very big fan of librarian!reader x ryland. like they just felt like such a good match! anyways, click here for the fic!

[appletreat]

the dewey decimal system ryland grace x gn!reader (fluff) synopsis: ryland looks forward to visiting you in the library again m.list / wc: 944

    ryland stops at his classroom’s door, looking back at his class lined up. the line is more wavy than it usually is, the excitement of their next library visit bubbling in each student (and their adoring teacher). when given the opportunity, ryland was more than happy to make the library an exciting place for his students, a place to have fun learning.

  “okay, if we’re all chill heading to the library, we can hang out there for an extra fifteen minutes before lunch, if not, we’ll have to come back here and work on a worksheet. which i know none of us are amped to do or grade,” ryland rests his hands on his hips, staring out at all of his students. 

  there were a few shaking heads mixed with adamant pleas against the threat. tilting his head, he brings a finger to his lips, slowly walking backwards out of the room. twisting around, he starts towards the library, only hearing little whispers from a few of his students. the school isn’t large compared to the nearby districts, but it was still a decent walk, everyone weaving through the many hallways.

  as they approach the library, ryland stops by the doorway, back pressed against the open door as the students eagerly file in. they’re all quick to disperse, finding their favorite books or looking for new ones to pick up. pushing the doorstop out of the way, ryland closes the door behind him. most weeks he tries to make sure the library is closed off for his classroom, giving the students an opportunity to fully express themselves and ask questions. 

  walking into the library, it becomes clear that it is a labor of love. the shelves are near perfectly filed, walls are lined with posters and pop culture pieces. the doorway to a small connected computer lab is decorated with a tech aesthetic in mind. as his eyes search the room, ryland is quick to find you in your typical spot.

  you’re sitting behind a computer, the check-out table is covered in your trinkets and literature based items. your set up in the library is partly why his classroom is as chock full of science puns and decorations, the maximalist style working nicely for you. looking up from your computer, you meet his gaze before quickly looking back down at the screen with a smile on your lips.

  walking past the congregating students, he presses his knuckle to your desk, leg lightly leaning against the wood. “how are you doing, y/n?” ryland sports a wrinkle-free suit, a tie sports what you can tell to be molecular structures. 

  for a second, he wonders how he was so relaxed talking to you, his usually giddy self smoothing out (contrasted slightly by his clammy hands). “we got some book donations yesterday so i’ve just been trying to shelve them whenever it’s been slow,” you shrug your shoulders, fingers fidgeting with a pen, “and how have you been?”

  your gaze bores into his eyes, his brain short circuiting as you tilt your head slightly. there’s the smallest smile on your lips as you raise your eyebrows. “i’ve- i’ve been good. the class has been good, eager to come back to the library. if you need help with shelving them.. i am your guy,” ryland stands up straight, glancing at the full cart next to your desk.

  “that would be great ryland, thank you. but uh, you sure your students don’t need anything? they seem to be staring a little bit,” you point towards a small group gathering, biting your lip to keep you from laughing.

  turning around, ryland watches as his students point between an old print of twilight and the two of you. a few of them pretend to fawn, the back of their hands glued to their foreheads. his eyes widen at his students as his hands quickly give them a stopping motion. taking in a deep breath, he turns back around to look at you, trying to remain calm.

  “they’re, oh wow they’re insufferable,” he scratches the back of his neck, hand pointing towards the cart, “so, would you like some help?”

  your wide smile breaks through as the blood rushes to his cheeks. setting your pen down, you push your chair back, standing up as well. “yes, yeah that would be great ryland. maybe let’s just not start with the young adult section, they seem to be really engrossed in it,” you give him a quick wink, hands wrapping around the cart’s handle.

  ryland’s heart beats faster at the silent greeting, hands growing even more clammy. he walks beside you as you start in the science fiction section, mentioning different titles that he read as a student or has shared with his own students. he can feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest as he bumps his shoulder against yours. “it’s interesting learning about the dewey decimal system, you’re very well informed.”

  “thank you, it’s not every day that you find someone who is as passionate about their profession,” you place one of the books onto the shelf, hand accidentally brushing up against ryland’s.

  “sorry-“

  “it’s okay, it’s nice having you here.”

  “it’s nice to be here, maybe we can see each other outside of these biweekly library visits,” ryland mentions as you start pushing the cart again, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  stopping, you look back at him, giving him a little nod. “that would be lovely ryland. for now though, can you shelve this next one? i think you might actually be getting a hang of this.”

  “i’m a quick learner when i have a good reason to be.”

[kyri45]

Meet humanity last hope! :D (we're so fucked)(prev)

[appletreat]

hello :D i just wanted to say you write ryland SO. WELL. like, genuinely the most accurate portrayal ever. and you should also write more hurt/comfort aboard the hail mary OKAY TY BYE!!

THANK YOU!! <33 writing characters accurately has always been something i’ve been worried about achieving so i’m very happy my writing fits the vibes lol. once i get through these requests i will absolutely write some more hurt/comfort, it’s in my veins!!

[stiffyck]

not immune to the coltland au propaganda

[thefriendlypigeon]

❤️💙💛GRACEFUL💛💙❤️

⭐[my social media links]

[appletreat]

anon that requested part 2! i’m sorry if it seemed like i was asking for a lot btw, i have all these ideas but no writing talent and went kinda crazy

it’s totally alright!! i always love a little request <3 i can’t wait to write it

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it’s the anon who requested the ryland grace fic, i just wanted to clarify/make sure that i wanted it to be super fluffy, nothing smutty, maybe kisses and stuff but no smut pls thanks again

hi anon!! i hope i did your fic some justice (click here to read it) <3 i might even write a part two because it was very fun to write…

[appletreat]

mixing heartbeats ryland grace x gn!reader (fluff) synopsis: you calm ryland down with your heartbeat m.list / wc: 1k

   “okay, follow my finger,” you hold up your index finger, moving it left and right and then up and down. your finger moves quickly, but slow enough that he should be able to keep up with it.

  ryland’s eyes follow close behind, only flickering to your face a couple of times. lowering your hand, you reach for a small flashlight, reaching it up to his eyes. “look straight ahead, right at rocky. i’ll just flash this in your eyes real quick, coming in from different directions to make sure your eyes are dilating equally,” you lean a little closer to him, flashing the light into his left eye. 

  tears quickly populate in his eyes as the bright lights quickly enters and leaves his pupils. “is grace okay, question? is grace dying, question?” the translator for rocky echoes throughout the ship, the sound of his carapace knocking against the xenonite followed quickly thereafter.

  “grace- ryland will be okay, i am just checking for a concussion. it’s.. well it’s a medical condition that humans can get if their brains rattle around too much,” you turn back to look at rocky, clicking the flashlight off as you set it onto a small makeshift table, “after our latest brush with death, i’d like to make sure he’s not concussed.”

  you had done a few tests already, making sure his balance and cognitive abilities were still up to par. however, the darkness of the room and the light tests were where you felt you could get the best assessment. even if he didn’t have a concussion, testing the pupils and breathing would help make sure he could make it to erid. 

  turning back to look at ryland, he’s noticeably looking a little anxious. from what he can remember, his last encounter with the team’s main doctor wasn’t pleasant (considering the whole ‘sending into space unwillingly thing’). and most patients you had on earth were adverse to doctors, so it was something you became attuned to. “are my eyes dilating correctly?” he tries to straighten his back some, only to hunch over slightly. 

  “yeah.. yeah your eyes are dilating correctly. uh, rocky, would you mind heading out for the duration of this check up? in human culture it’s common to give a doctor and patient privacy,” you tilt your head back slightly so you can see him in the corner of your eye. 

  “human culture is absurd.”

  “someone’s learned a new word,” you look back at ryland, raising an eyebrow at his sheepish smile.

  “but if important in human culture, rocky will leave. let rocky know when human culture is finished, statement.” he shakes his carapace, almost mimicking the way humans shake their heads. he quickly skitters off towards the main control room, maybe working on the next steps for the tau amoeba. 

  “he could’ve stayed in here, i would’ve been fine with it.”

  ryland shifts in his spot, runs running up and down his thighs as he lets out a deep breath. gaze flickering anywhere but your own now, he slides his shoes across the flooring, creating a rhythmic motion. “sorry, i figured it’d be better to have him out of the room so he’s not freaking you out with his questions,” you lean over to grab a stethoscope, bringing the ear pieces up to your ears.

  resting it against his top, you lean towards him, listening for a steady heartbeat. it’s quicker than a typical resting heartbeat, his bouncing leg not helping. “ryland, i’m going to try an exercise to calm your heart a little bit. i know medical doctors are a sore subject for you, so i want to make this as easy as possible. can you give me your hand?” reaching out your hand, you wait for ryland to reach out his.

  once he does, you extend his index and middle finger, placing them on your wrist. “do you feel my heartbeat?”

  “yeah… you’re definitely pumping blood right now.” he closes his eyes for a moment, listening as you start to direct him. 

  smiling to yourself, you nod. “okay, so take a few deep breathes with me and we should be able to regulate your heartbeat a little,” you take in a deep breath, followed quickly thereafter by ryland.

  you get him to try it a few more times as you place the stethoscope against his chest again. his heartbeat has slowed to a typical speed, no arrhythmia that you can hear. his hand stays fixed on yours, finally calming down at the feeling of your heartbeat. glancing up, not even a foot away from him, you can see how tau ceti is illuminating him. light fixated on his stubble and his blue eyes. 

  suddenly everything feels so close. his soft hand against your wrist, the small callouses rubbing against the back of your palm. his knees touching your thighs as he tries to sit patiently. your own heartbeat begins to quicken, hands and face feeling warm from the contact. taking in a deep breath, you move the stethoscope to another spot, goosebumps crawling up your arms.

  tilting his head, ryland watches you evade eye contact, heartbeat only growing faster. “do you need someone to help regulate your heartbeat?” he questions, knee pressing a little harder against your thigh.

  looking up to meet his gaze, you can see the small smile on his face, his eyes fixed on you over his glasses. shaking your head, you pull the stethoscope from his chest, quickly pulling them out of your ears to set them back down on the table. “what are you talking about?” you question back, freeing your hand from his grasp.

  “you just seemed a little flustered there,” he shrugs his shoulders, hands clasping in front of him.

  “and you seem to be doing alright, no major injuries, so i will go find rocky,” your eyes widen as you holding back a smile. standing up quickly, you walk backwards out of the room, knocking into the wall on your way out. 

  smiling back at you, ryland watches as you walk away, happy that you seem to feel the same as he does. 

[epicmilly]

my friends are fed up with me lol

[appletreat]

me realizing i forgot to open asks on this blog for requests

[ramqiu]

the upgraded xenonite suit was invented shortly after

inspired by this tweet

[abbotly]

taste back

Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: it’s embarrassing enough being seen for food poisoning in your place of work before the attending on shift decides to make you his priority for the night.

Warnings: food poisoning mentions and all that involves, lightly researched medical things, mentions of alcohol, he wears his camo pants in this bc I say he does

Author’s note: Ahh this is my first fic in forever and my first fic for the Pitt at alllll 🥹 inspired by my own unfortunate bout last weekend and my undying love for Jack (it wouldn’t have been so miserable if I had him to take care of me, I’m sure of it). Happy night shift to my fellow Hatosy hoes <3

——

As a doctor, you really should’ve known better.

That’s the thought repeating in your head as you slouch, back pressed against the wall in front of your toilet, contemplating dragging a pillow and a quilt into your bathroom for the night.

Your watch tells you it’s just past 1am now, meaning you’d only had a few hours of blissful, much-needed sleep before you’d woken with nausea, half of your stomach in your throat and the other tied up in knots.

Only as you sit on your flowered bath mat, squinting in the fluorescent light of your bathroom, contemplating another round of your head in the toilet, do you realize that your meal prep had maybe been a bit too far gone.

You’re no stranger to food poisoning — having and treating — and you know you could knock this out with Pepto, fluids and a BRAT diet in 36 hours flat.

But you don’t have 36 hours. You’re back at the Pitt in — you check your watch — five and a half hours.

You dig your phone out of your bedsheets once you’ve decided it’s safe to stand up and stagger back to your bedroom, pulling up your text thread with Mateo while you brush your teeth.

If I come in rn can someone see me for food poisoning

You weren’t holding your breath for an immediate reply, knowing how it can get on night shift, especially after the mess you left them all with at handoff. You had almost felt guilty as you left.

Almost.

But you’re pleasantly surprised when he responds immediately.

NOOOO!!!

Ya come on in, we’re super dead

(✊🪵)

—

You’d texted Mateo like he’d told you to after you checked in at Chairs, the night shift receptionist letting you know he’d tell them there was a VIP out here waiting. But you’d waved him off, albeit queasily, taking comfort in the relative emptiness of the waiting room at this time of night, hoping it won’t be too long without the fast pass.

“Now why am I seeing one of our R2s out here in Chairs?”

You open your eyes, realizing they’d closed as you tipped your head back against the wall for a moment.

Dr. Jack Abbot came through the ED’s main entrance at one point, back from a phone call or a break if you had to guess.

He looks at the receptionist like ‘what gives?’ but it’s all in jest, his smile far too sunny for the darkness of the hour as he turns his attention to you.

That the hottest doctor on either shift at the Pitt might be seeing you in the worst state of your life had never occurred to you on your way over here tonight, but you realize that might’ve been hard to do in between the deep breathing out of the open window and several almost pull-overs you had to do.

Because as Dr. Abbot, in all of his camo-panted glory, makes his way over to you, you’re struck by the fact that even in your weakened state, he’s still absolutely undeniable.

Maybe even more so.

“Dr. Abbot,” you greet.

“What’s going on?” he says, slowing his pace as he nears. You sit up straighter as he immediately begins assessing, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze in your haphazard outfit. You must look as bad as you feel, because you clock the moment his face falls.

You wince, hating every second of this, but realizing you want this over with so quickly that you can no longer care. “Food poisoning. Pretty sure.”

“Yikes, doc,” he says softly, crossing his arms. “Did you tell anyone you were coming in?”

“I texted Mateo.”

“I’m sure he just got pulled into something. Come on,” he nods toward the doors, then looks you over. “You good to come back?”

You mull it over, glancing at the bathroom in Chairs. Abbot follows your gaze, then nods again. He pats your shoulder as he makes his own way to the doors.

“Take your time and then come on back. I’ll order some Zofran.”

—

“So stupid. I didn’t even think how old it was,” you sigh to Mateo, finally seated on an examination bed while he does your vitals.

Mateo nods toward your crossed legs, which you unwind so he can get an accurate blood pressure reading.

He slips the cuff off your arm with a sympathetic smile, and you pull your sleeve back down. “Hey, at least you got the day off now. Can start that zombie show I was telling you about.”

You shake your head. “Not likely. You’ll see me at handoff.”

Mateo scoffs, looking at the clock on the wall. “In four hours? You gonna sleep here?”

You just give him a look, but you thought about it on your way here.

“Alright,” he says, finishing up your chart. “You good? Barf bag? I’ll be back with your Tylenol.”

You shake your head, lying back with your feet propped up on the bed. “Nothing left. I hope.”

“Noted. Someone will be by soonish,” he says. Then a knock on the wall beside your bed comes, and Mateo smirks at you as he opens the curtain. “Or right now.”

Dr. Abbot’s back, nodding his head at Mateo to make way in front of the monitor so he can swipe in.

“How’re we doing in here, Dr. Y/l/n? Zofran kicked in?”

You give a meager thumbs up. “Hoping it will soon.”

“Vitals are good,” Mateo says to him. “She is running a fever, though — I was about to run for some acetaminophen.”

“I brought some just in case. I’ve got her from here,” Jack says, his voice softer, directed to Mateo. “You can go check on your other patients, yeah?”

“For sure. Feel better, Y/n,” Mateo says, and you hear the curtain close again.

You lift your arm off of your eyes, blinking under more fluorescent lighting, squinting slightly as Jack makes his way over, a cup of water and a portion of Tylenol in either hand. “Think you’ll keep it down?”

You push up slightly, taking the cup of tablets, throwing them back and trading it for the cup of water, deciding the risk is worth the mitigation of the chills and aches that have begun to set in.

He takes both cups from you, and you lie back again immediately while he throws them out. “We’re gonna find out.”

“That’s the spirit,” he laughs, and you feel your own lips quirk. “I like it. Alright, I know you just wanted your Zofran, but can I bother you for an abdominal exam?”

You look down at the thick sweatshirt you fell asleep in, realizing you’re wearing absolutely nothing beneath it. “Um.”

Jack’s paused near the gloves. “Walsh is wrapped up, but I’ll ask Ellis to come in.”

“No, no,” you say. You’re a doctor, one who’s on shift in a few hours, and you can handle an attending seeing your midsection. And touching it. “You’re fine.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

He nods, satisfied only after your outright consent, and snaps a pair of gloves on — size large, you hate that you can’t help but notice.

You lift your sweatshirt up once he’s at your bedside before you can think too much about it, and he clears his throat.

“Let me know if anything’s tender.”

You feel the warmth of Jack’s hands through his gloves as he works his way through the quadrants with precision, pressing gently into your stomach.

With his focus trained on the exam and your own mind needing a distraction, you notice things — how his freckled arms flex periodically against the sleeves of his scrub top, the collar of the heather gray crewneck he’s wearing today preventing any good look at his chest, the way he has his badge reel clipped to his pants instead of his breast pocket.

The band you know to be graphite that he still wears on his left hand, the imprint visible through the glove.

It’s such an easy exam. Just to rule anything out. You’ve done them hundreds of times — he’s probably in the thousands.

“A med student could’ve done this,” you say, casting your eyes away from where they’d been fixated on the pale underside of his further arm, the muscle jumping as he pressed down. “You don’t have to be here.”

“We’re mid-rotation. They aren’t exactly fighting over food poisoning on the board at this point, even if it’s their favorite resident,” he says, like it means nothing. “We’re slow. Why wouldn’t I take care of one of our own?”

He holds your gaze in case you have an answer, and you don’t.

But Jack bails you out. “Do you know what it was?”

“Dinner,” you answer. “Meal prep from Monday.”

“C’mon, Monday? You know better,” he says, his tone teasing. “What time did you eat?”

“Right after shift, like eight?” you try to remember. But it’s hard to once his hands move to the lower quadrants of your abdomen, and his gloved fingertips skim the waistline of your sleep shorts. “I can’t even remember.”

“Yeah, you kinda sleepwalked out of here,” he comments, with no fanfare.

You watch his side profile, wondering at what point Jack Abbot started noticing you at handoff the way you’ve always noticed him.

He looks up. “Nothing’s tender? No pain?”

“No,” you breathe, realizing that the warmth of his hands, however brief, pressing into your stomach over and over again has created about the most relief you’ve had since you woke up.

“Good,” he says, his thumbs tucking under the bottom of your sweatshirt and pulling it back down for you. He tugs it snugly over the waistband of your shorts, covering you more than you were even when you initially laid back, his thumbs brushing your sides. “Any other symptoms?”

You shake your head, then pause. “Not gonna run me through the list?”

He smiles, and it occurs to you that it’s slightly weird to see him in the in-between, the throes of night shift.

Not bright-eyed, a breath of fresh air greeting you after a hard day at 7pm. Or on the flip side, a more somber sight to see first thing in the morning, his shadow grown in and his hair tousled. He’s settled, but not exhausted. It’s comforting.

“We could get real comfortable if you’d like, Dr. Y/l/n. But I trust that you know the symptoms I’d be worried about and would tell me if you had them.”

Your eyes meet, your heart stuttering slightly at his praise. You’d worked hard and earned everything you’d achieved, but it was no secret that the ED could feel thankless, and receiving affirmation from a doctor you admire was always a lift.

“I’ll let it slide, Dr. Abbot,” you say. “Diagnosis and treatment plan?”

“Well your fever’s definitely higher than I’d like for food poisoning,” he says, snapping his gloves into the trash. He puts his hands on his hips, cocking his head to the side. He looks thoughtful, “But I’m guessing everything is mostly out of your system at this point. Or hopefully… nearly there.”

You don’t swing your shifts very often, and you’ve only picked up a handful of swaps to night shift since coming to the Pitt as an intern last year.

Which means you really only cross paths with Jack at handoffs, Robby’s barbecues and street team. You detest that one of your few, extended, non-patient-related (yourself excluded) conversations with the man is about your vomiting schedule.

But you’ve watched and learned quality patient care from Dr. Abbot countless times, as he stayed over, showed up early, came in on his off days or during his SWAT shifts — to be the receiver of it is another feeling entirely.

“You know the drill. Rest, lots of fluids. The blandest food possible once you think you can stomach it. Rice, bananas, toast — nothing fun on it. Do you have any of that on hand?”

“Uh,” you wonder aloud, squinting at the mental image of your pantry. Neglected and bare, conditions conducive to the reason you landed in here tonight.

He takes your silence for what it is.

“DoorDash it then, will ya?” he asks, exasperated. “Some electrolytes, too. And Sprite. I don’t think we’re supposed to recommend that, but that’s my old favorite.”

“Alright moneybags,” you laugh, finally sitting up. “I’ll just pay some insanely high delivery fee on Sprite, then, since you say so.”

“I’ll pay for it,” he murmurs, not even looking up over the monitor while he taps your notes in. “Bill me at our next handoff. And I didn’t hear you telling Mateo you think you’re working today, right?”

Your brain has fallen a step behind in this conversation, your feet ceasing their dangling over the side of the bed as you sit frozen.

“Dr. Y/l/n?” he asks, still at the monitor.

“Well, I was — with the Zofran and everything I figured I’d be okay. That’s why I came in tonight instead of just riding it out, so I’d be good for work today,” you explain, rubbing your forehead. Your argument feels weak even to your own ears, but you feel a commitment to the Pitt, especially presently being here.

“You’re no good to anyone who comes in here while you’re sleep-deprived, dehydrated and running a fever,” Jack says, his eyes scanning your face. “You’re actually the opposite. You know that.”

The warmth you felt at his praise only moments ago evaporates at his chastisement, even if you know he’s right.

“Hey. You know that,” he says again. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Take a day. Two if you need it. I’ll stay over and help Robby and the day shift get settled,” he says. “You leave him to me.”

It’s a joke if there ever was one, and he seems pleased when you laugh at the idea of Robby giving you a hard time over a few sick days.

You concede. “At least it’s quieter in here now. Which — I’m shocked, by the way.”

“Why? ‘Cause you guys left us such a mess?” Jack quips, logging out of the computer, sliding the curtain open and waiting for you.

“Honestly, yeah. We did,” you say, grabbing your belt bag off of the chair by the bed.

“Well, that’s what we do on nights. Clean up the mess you all leave behind,” he says, reaching for the strap of your bag, draping it over your head and letting you slip an arm through it and letting it rest on your shoulder. “You should try it sometime.”

In another world, where your Zofran and Tylenol had done their jobs already, and you weren’t completely disarmed by the comfort you felt from having the night shift attending put his hands all over you and then offer to pay for your remedies like it would be foolish of him not to, you might find the wherewithal to engage — to flirt back.

Because even your exhausted brain can put together the fact that Jack Abbot is flirting with you. In your sleep shorts, and your problematic sweatshirt. With your four hours of sleep. While you talked about your vomiting habits.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” you say. “I like my normal sleep schedule too much.”

His head cocks in that way you’ve noticed it does, his grin twitching.

“And yet here you are.”

—

“She lives.”

Two days later, you grace the Pitt with your presence once again, feeling your cheeks warm as Mateo tucks his tablet under his arm to slowly applaud your entrance.

“You say that like you didn’t text me for an update a million times,” you answer, rolling your eyes as he falls into step beside you on your walk to the board.

“My attending was all over me about it,” he says quietly.

You’re feeling good to be back at work, done wasting away in bed and ready to jump back in, but your brain is groggy — slow to catch up to what he’s implying.

When you do, you turn to him, and he’s grinning, looking like he’s bursting at the seams.

“Oh?” you try.

“Did you know that man had never used DoorDash in his life until a few days ago? I had to help him,” Mateo says, leaning closer, his voice dropping a few decibels. “It was… adorable.”

You knew when leaving the ED the other night you’d never be taking Jack up on his offer.

You didn’t realize he knew it too, however, until the delivery driver had shown up at your door later that morning holding three grocery bags bursting with food and drinks, shaking your hand and thanking you profusely for the generous tip you gave on the app.

You briefly thought you might need to walk back into the Pitt and tell them your food poisoning was definitely an infection that was presenting as hallucinations as you stood in your doorway, arms suddenly full of groceries.

You wondered for only a minute who your angel was, but the six-pack of Sprite had been a dead giveaway.

“I was wondering how he’d gotten my address,” you said. “Doesn’t seem like the type to skim it off my file.”

Mateo cocks his head, and his grin is becoming a bit too much for you at 6:45 in the morning.

“He was this close,” he says, pinching two fingers together. “Seriously.”

You shake your head, tossing your braid over your shoulder as you make your way to the locker rooms. “I should go drop my stuff.”

“Mhm,” he says. “You do that. You’re so busy. Here 15 minutes early and everything.”

“Bye Teo,” you say with finality, beelining it to the lockers before anyone else who’d witnessed you a few nights ago stopped you to chat.

A few night shift nurses ask you how you’ve been feeling near the lockers while you put your stuff away and slip your fleece jacket on, affixing your badge reel and checking the whisps falling out of your braid are doing so in just the way you want, but you’re lucky you don’t cross paths with anyone else that had witnessed your plight.

Until you emerge moments later to find Jack Abbot, arms crossed and waiting against the wall across the lockers, a respectable distance away, but no doubt with his eyes trained on the door.

He smiles, post-shift tired. “Thought I saw my favorite patient.”

Feeling well enough to play ball, finally, and frankly having milled over the next time you’d see Jack in your head through two straight days of rom-coms, you take the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.

“I thought I saw my favorite attending, too, but Robby must not be in yet.”

Thoroughly pleased when his mouth drops open slightly, you aren’t surprised when he trails behind you while you walk to your preferred charting station.

“I was gonna ask how you’re feeling, but it seems there might be a cognitive exam in order,” he says in reply, leaning comfortably over the desk as you sit down, sliding your badge through the scanner. You watch the line of his shoulders as he stretches tiredly.

“Better,” you say sincerely, unable to shake the mental picture. Jack asking Mateo for help with DoorDash in the lulls of night shift, using whatever extra time he could find to schedule something thoughtful for you to wake up to. “You didn’t have to send all of that.”

He shrugs. “Wanted to. Figured you were gonna crash as soon as you got home, and going to the store when you’re sick is the worst.”

You shake your head, your smile stubborn. “Way too much Sprite.”

His lips pull up to one side. “But it helped, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes, asking him how night shift was and enjoying the way he prattles on while you settle back in.

“Did you wanna do your handoff now?” you ask, standing up again, grabbing the tablet off the charger by on your station.

“Oh, I already handed over to Santos,” he says, still making no move to leave your station, when you figured that had been the entire reason he was here. Or at least part of it.

Some of it.

“Oh,” you say. Sweeping your eyes around the ED — it’s still relatively early and things seem, for now, to be on the rarer, quieter side.

You lean against your desk, looking at him expectantly.

“How have you been though?” he asks. “Really. That wasn’t a tiny fever.”

“Good,” you say, sensing his worry. “I promise. It broke later that day. Everything… else subsided by yesterday morning, thank god. All the stuff you sent really, really helped. So thank you.”

“I’m glad. You gotta be more careful,” he says, tapping his fingers on the desk. “You know. Brush up on your food safety education.”

You sigh, wincing. “I know, it was stupid. Just exhausted and wasn’t thinking.”

He nods, considering. “Next time you’re too tired, let me know.”

You come around, leaning against the desk next to him. You think you see Mateo paused at the front door out of the corner of your eye, but you can’t be sure, because you’re too focused on the furrow in Jack’s brow as he looks down at you.

“What are you gonna do, send me dinner this time?”

“No. I’m gonna make you dinner,” he suggests, like it’s casual. But his eyes flit across your face quickly, assessing. “At my place.”

Your lips quirk up.

“Again,” he adds, nodding, but not fast enough to hide that his cheeks are tinged pink. Christ, he’s nervous. Your stomach kicks, in the best way this time, realizing that you are making Jack Abbot nervous. “Educational purposes.”

You hum, nodding your head, too. “And this is a teaching hospital.”

“It is,” he nods. “So, what do you say?”

For all of his confidence, the way he commands a trauma bay in a crisis, runs a new pool of med students like a combat unit, wrangles an unruly pod of frat boys here to watch a buddy’s stomach get pumped, you feel another thrill zip down your spine at his sought reassurances.

He wants to hear you say it. Just like with your exam.

Jack needs a yes.

“That sounds great,” you finally say.

“Yeah?” he asks, his grin growing.

You can’t help it, yours matching, “Yeah.”

He smiles wider, hiking his backpack up higher on his shoulders, and you swear it’s like his chest puffs out just a touch.

“Alright. You gonna give me your number now, or do I have to beg Mateo for that, too?”

—

A week later — only exactly as long as it took for schedules to align and your stomach to settle (Jack’s insistence, not yours) — you’re sat at his kitchen island, watching him chop vegetables with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder.

His home is cozy, a German shepherd named Ruby curled up underneath your feet.

He hasn’t told you what’s he’s making yet, but you can piece together it doesn’t contain anything that had triggered you last week, which you find sweet.

Jack watches you get up, glancing at your water glass to see if it needs refilled, whatever story he’d been telling about Shen and an ortho consult from Park gone awry dying on his lips, his knife pausing, but his lips quirking up as you circle the island nearer to him.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Wanna open a bottle?”

“No. Well — yes,” you say, your hand closing softly over his, the knife resting on the cutting board immediately, his body making space for you between himself and the island while he wipes off his hands. “Just not yet.”

“No?” Jack says, eyes glinting.

This close, you look up at him, your hand flattening to his chest, right over his heart. He’d put on a blue button-down for you, the material soft beneath your touch. He’s still so warm.

“Hi,” you say lamely, your confidence run out.

“You feelin’ me up, doc?”

Your hand slides from his chest down to his stomach, pressing lightly with the pads of your fingers. “You had your turn.”

Jack’s smile is knowing, like he could tell you were squirming on that exam table for more reasons than one but didn’t know for sure until now. Any embarrassment you might feel is assuaged by the fact that you can tell the exchange had had a similar effect on him, confirmed by his next statement.

“I’m gonna need a few more.”

“We’ll see,” you answer, tilting your head with mischief.

“Here I thought I was being a gentleman, waiting until after dinner,” he all but whispers.

“For wine?” you tease.

“You…” he laughs. His hands find your face, and as he leans in, you know you’ll look back one day and think that it was all worth it.

Maybe it’s nerves, your heart stuttering at how strongly you already feel — but you don’t know why you say it, practically whispering against his lips, he’s so close at this point. “I can’t believe the first time you hit on me was when I was literally in the middle of food poisoning.”

But he shakes his head.

“First time you noticed,” he corrects.

His lips meet yours briefly, and he pulls back, his eyes searching for your reaction to that, and he smiles.

Then he kisses your cheek, your nose, your forehead, the top of your head.

It’s like you’re frozen — but so, so warm in his arms.

Jack leans back, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, eyes locked to yours so there’s no mistake, and murmurs, “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”