Jacks girlfriend, sweet girl half his fucking age, who by the grace of god actually gets on with the Pitt crew like a house on fire. One day Jack comes into work and for some reason people keep cracking up when they look at him. He has no clue what’s going on. So he finally asks Shen.
“Do you have tik tok?”
Jack, dumbfounded, shakes his head. “Oh. Okay. So. On tik tok, you can see what your friends like and repost. And a lot of us are friends with Y/N.”
And Jacks still lost. “She post me doing something stupid?”
“Nah man. But she reposts a lot of shit like this.”
Jack stares at the phone as Shen scrolls. “It’s like a trend right now. There’s a lot of them. But it’s really fucking funny, especially because, well, we all know exactly who she’s talking about.”
“Right…” Jack cocked his head, scrolling Shen’s phone. “I mean, the good news is your girl is fucking crazy about you.”
꒰ Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ꒱
Damian didn’t usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that day—on that perfect day—he had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriend’s entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didn’t startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detail—Jason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmly—much calmer than you actually felt—and turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. “…You are not Todd.”
You blinked once.
“No…” you answered slowly. “And you are definitely not Jay either.”
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. “You started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening too—”
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shock—maybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruder’s sheer audacity?
“Just what I needed,” Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shrugged—after all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasn’t worried!
“That’s mine—Damian, you should be at home. Your home.” Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. “Get off my couch. And stop eating my food.”
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jason’s eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
“You look… fuller. Softer,” the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
“Have you reduced your training frequency,” he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, “or simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?”
“Did you just call me fat?”
“…No,” he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. “Did I? I merely commented on your body fat—“
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“…Whatever,” he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. “You no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.”
“…That would be because he finally eats real food now,” you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriend’s health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
“Stop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.” Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. “You’ve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I don’t care. Pick one.”
Damian’s attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
“You prepare the food?” he asked.
You nodded once. “Most of it.” You smiled. “Do you want to try the dessert?”
“…Dessert?” he repeated.
“I made chocolate cake,” you added casually. “With ganache.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed again. “…Homemade?” he asked.
“Yes.”
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
“Not one more question,” Jason muttered. “Eat in silence.”
You’re in bed, the late-winter light spilling across your apartment in soft gray strips, your phone buzzing on the nightstand like it knows something you don’t yet. You answer half-asleep, your voice thick.
“Hey,” Dana says, already tired. “I’m sorry to bug you on your day off.”
Your stomach tightens. Dana doesn’t call for nothing.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting up.
There’s a pause on the other end. Not long, but heavy. The kind that tells you the answer before the words come.
“It was a rough one,” she says. “Robby lost three. Two back-to-back, one near the end of shift. And the pittlings…” She exhales. “They weren’t malicious. Just green. But it added to it.”
You close your eyes.
“Is he okay?” you ask.
Dana doesn’t answer right away, and that tells you everything.
“He finished the shift,” she says carefully. “Barely. He didn’t yell. Didn’t shut down. Just… went quiet. That scares me more, honestly.”
You’re already out of bed, already pulling on sweats.
“I thought he’d come to you,” Dana adds. “He said he was heading home.”
“Okay,” you say softly. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Just—” Dana hesitates. “He loves you. Even when he doesn’t say it right.”
“I know,” you reply. And you do.
When the call ends, you stand in the middle of your apartment, heart aching with the familiar helplessness that comes when the person you love is hurting somewhere you can’t see.
You decide to make the space ready anyway.
******
You clean without really thinking about it.
The kind of cleaning that isn’t about mess, but about control. You wash the mug in the sink even though it’s already clean. You straighten the throw blanket on the couch three times. You light the candle he likes, the cedarwood one, because it makes the room smell like something steady.
You cook too. Nothing complicated. Something warm. Grounding. Soup simmering on the stove, bread warming in the oven. Food that says you’re safe here without needing to speak.
You check the time. Then again.
An hour passes. Then another.
Your phone stays quiet.
By the time the sun starts to dip, the worry sharpens into something restless. You text him once - You okay? - and then immediately regret it, knowing he might not be.
When there’s still nothing, you make a decision.
You grab your keys, throw on your jacket, and head for his place.
******
His apartment is dark except for the bathroom light.
You unlock the door softly, heart pounding, listening. The shower is running, steady, too steady. Steam curls under the bathroom door like a breath being held too long.
You set your bag down and wait. You give him time. Count the seconds. Count your breaths.
But something in your chest pulls tight, instinct louder than patience.
You knock once. No answer.
“Robby?” you call gently.
Still nothing.
You push the door open.
Steam fills the room, fogging your vision, the air thick and warm. He’s sitting on the floor of the shower, back against the tile, water pouring over him like he’s trying to disappear into it.
And he’s crying.
Not silent tears. Not restrained. This is raw, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands, grief and exhaustion spilling out of him in a way you’ve only seen once before.
You don’t speak.
You step in fully, shoes forgotten, clothes soaking instantly. You kneel in front of him and pull his hands away from his face, guiding his forehead into your shoulder.
He clutches you like a lifeline.
“I couldn’t - ” His voice breaks. “Fuck. I couldn’t save them.”
You wrap yourself around him, firm and steady, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other pressing between his shoulder blades.
“I know,” you murmur. “I know.”
You don’t tell him it wasn’t his fault, not yet. Right now, he doesn’t need logic. He needs presence.
You let the water run. You let him cry. You let him breathe against your neck until the sobs slow into uneven breaths, until the weight of the day finally starts to loosen its grip.
When he goes still, you kiss his temple.
“Stay here a minute,” you whisper. “I’ll be right back.”
******
You step out, dripping, and pull on one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. They’re too big, soft from wear, and they smell like him. It feels right.
When he comes out of the bathroom later, hair damp, eyes red, wrapped in a shirt and sweats, like he’s forgotten how to exist without armor, you guide him gently to the couch.
“Sit,” you say quietly.
You bring him a bowl of soup you found in his fridge from when you cooked a few days ago, set it in his hands, then sit beside him, legs tucked under you. You don’t crowd him. Just close enough.
He eats slowly. Automatically.
You rub slow circles into his back. Your thumb traces the line of his spine through the fabric of his shirt. Every touch says I’m here. I’m not leaving.
“I hate this part,” he finally says. “When it follows me home.”
“I know,” you reply. “But you don’t have to carry it alone.”
He swallows hard.
“They looked at me,” he says. “Like I was supposed to have one more answer.”
Your hand stills.
“And you gave them everything you had,” you say firmly. “That matters.”
He exhales, leaning into you at last, his head dropping to your shoulder. You press a kiss into his hair.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
******
“I’m selfish,” he says suddenly, voice low. “For loving you like this. For letting you come here and pick up the pieces.”
You pull back just enough to look at him.
“Why?” you ask.
“Because no one’s ever done this for me,” he admits. “Not without needing something back. Not without strings.”
You cup his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes.
“I’m not here because I need you to be okay,” you say. “I’m here because I want to be.”
He laughs weakly. “You say that now.”
“You take care of me on my bad days,” you remind him. “You sit with me. You don’t fix, you stay.”
He lets out a breath, shaking his head.
“I do,” he admits.
“And I love you,” you say softly. “So I get to choose this too.”
He looks at you then and something in his chest seems to loosen, just a little.
“I love you,” he says back, quieter. Surprised. Grateful.
You lean in, foreheads touching, the world narrowing to this small, steady moment.
And for the first time all day, he feels like he can breathe.
the motorcycle on this season of the pitt is like chekhov’s gun except every hour chekhov is showing up with two or three more guns and now you’re starting to get worried. because obviously they’re going to go off but what kind of looney tunes ass bullshit requires that many guns. chekhov’s gun has become chekhov’s militia. and there’s still like 7 hours of your shift left.
Multi-Chapter | Explicit | Soulmate AU | Dr. Robby x Fem!Reader
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Summary: You had always wondered what it would be like to meet your soulmate...Yet, of all the scenarios you had dreamt up over the years, meeting your soulmate in the ER as your lifeblood poured out onto the floor was not one of them.
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Tags: Age Gap (20+ years), Brief mentions of near-death experience/shooting trauma, Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Soulmates
Bad Luck Charm [7] (Dr. Jack Abbot x Neighbor!Reader)
Series Summary: Jack knows his newest neighbor will be trouble from the moment she moves in. He just didn’t expect he would be sucked into her chaotic life by sheer bad luck.
Chapter Summary: Jack gets a little worried, when he doesn’t hear from you or sees you around anymore.
Word Count: 3.4k
Tags/Warnings: neighbor!reader, f!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, age gap (reader doesn’t have a specific age, but the age gap will be thematized at some point), no use of Y/N, no use of any specific physical descriptions for reader, reader has the worst luck ever, reader needs therapy, reader is a people pleaser, slow burn, reader is sick (coughing, sneezing and allusions to a stomach bug mentioned), blood mentioned (nose bleed), Jack is worried, mild language
(More tags and warnings will follow in the next parts)
A/N:Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate each and every one of you. I love reading your thoughts in the comments or reblogs! I’m tweaking the looks of the fic soon, so don’t be confused, when things look a little different. I’m also planning on creating a masterlist and maybe some media posts that give a bit more intel on reader’s mind. I have quite a few ideas overall, so maybe if I can’t include everything in a chapter, I will write some small drabbles or blurbs so I don’t have to scrap them all together. Let me know, what you think. Enjoy!
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Jack has your schedule down.
Not because he is nosy or even interested in it. And he is taking a leap and guessing it’s not intentionally fabricated by you either.
But Jack Abbot listens. And apart from the police scanner or in very few cases the TV, nothing else echoes through his apartment normally. So, it’s only natural, that he hears you, no matter how much care you put into being silent.
He knows you do, because usually when a loud noise sounds from upstairs, it’s followed by you cursing and silence for the next hours. He imagines you, putting yourself in timeout for disturbing the neighbors and Jack has come to the conclusion, that you are living in the absolute chaos called your apartment exactly because of that.
He tries to not feel bad about it, but it’s quite hard, when he is reminded of the way he had admonished you for being loud as a ‘Welcome to the neighborhood gift’. Great way to make new tenants feel at home.
He wishes, he would’ve just held out those first few days of your move in, then both of you could be living in peace by now. You, with your place tidy and actually livable; him without a weighed down conscience telling him, he is a prick.
And yet, it has become harder to concentrate on his guilt, when all he does now, is strain his ears for even the tiniest bit of a commotion from upstairs. Because, uncharacteristically, it doesn’t come anymore.
There is no ringing of an alarm in the morning, no hurried footsteps echoing, when you must be focused on being on time rather than not making as little sound as possible. Jack doesn’t hear the clinking of your keys, when he usually imagines you throwing them carelessly into a bowl whenever you return from an exhausting day out of the house and forget your aversion to alert your neighbors. And worst of all, he has not even heard the newest annoyance your apartment has provided–the squeaking your front door does, every time it’s opened and closed.
It could mean nothing. Maybe you oiled the hinges after getting another complaint thrown at you. But that's just one of many things that haven't happened as usual.
It’s so eerily silent in fact, that he wonders if you might’ve actually moved out without him noticing. Perhaps you've had enough of this house and its residents. It’s not really that farfetched. It could’ve been a quick and clandestine thing on your end–disappear with your still-packed belongings at a time when Jack was working a double shift at the PTMC.
He knows, it shouldn’t concern him at all. You are his neighbor, nothing more, nothing less. And it’s none of his business, what you do. But a tiny voice inside his mind keeps insisting, that it is, simply because he is someone directly affected by your living habits.
It was one thing to get used to your walking around and muttering through the ceiling, but it isn’t all Jack has come to associate with you.
Since the two of you last talked and cleared up all the misunderstandings, Jack has seen your face more often. Only ever in passing and at most for a minute, but you no longer hide from him. Instead, he frequently has you greet him with words fitting the time of day you come across each other and you always shoot him a neighborly smile, sometimes accompanied by a tentative, quick wave.
It has happened so many times by now, that Jack unconsciously learned your schedule apart from your rummaging around upstairs. He knows when you leave for work, because it coincides with when he normally comes back from his night shift. He is aware of when you typically go grocery shopping, because he has run into you carrying copious amounts of bags in a single trip more than once by now. And he learned the best place to come across you randomly, is in the afternoon, when you come back from–presumably–a stroll outside, checking your mailbox.
You had slowly but surely become a routine for Jack or at the very least someone he was looking for, when being in the building.
So, it’s kind of justified that he is a bit worried, when you suddenly don’t show up anymore, right?
And hearing absolutely nothing from upstairs?
It doesn’t sit right with him.
Of course, the only reason for it being, that in case you actually moved out, someone else will eventually move in again and that comes with another period of constant disturbance. Someone new could potentially be even worse than you, not heeding the warnings from the neighbors and just playing loud music day in, day out.
Jack can’t have that.
Not when he finally got used to you.
He wishes you would give him a reason to check up on you, without it coming off weird. After all, not hearing footsteps after desperately listening for them, doesn’t sound like a very sane explanation to him and he unfortunately has already given you your cupcake tray back a while ago by placing it in front of your door with a note attached. One, that hopefully has not led to more misunderstandings on your end. (He made sure by investing an embarrassing amount of time into overthinking his word choices while writing it.)
So, what to do now?
Jack isn’t sure. He should probably just surrender and accept one harmless, non-concerning option, of why things have changed. There are plenty. Maybe you too are working nights all of a sudden and your schedules simply don’t align in any way anymore, or you are on vacation, out of town.
If only the bad ideas wouldn’t dominate…
Jack finds himself once more lingering longer than necessary at the mailboxes, his eyes automatically scanning yours to see if there is mail overflowing. It isn’t. Could be a sign, that you recently cleared it out. Or you just don’t get that much mail…
He looks through the entrance hall, finds no one, then opts for fiddling with his keys. He takes extra-long, cranes his neck to look outside the front entrance, sees nobody. Reluctantly he opens the compartment, gets his mail out and decides for the first time ever, to sort through it right away, instead of taking it upstairs.
At first Jack just flicks through the letters, not even paying any attention to what he is seeing. He is more focused on listening for someone opening the door to the staircase or the elevator indicating its arrival on the ground floor.
He is ready to give up seeing you for another day, when his eyes actually register something out of the ordinary.
One of his letters has clearly been ripped open, the paper crinkled and stained. That’s not what captures his attention though. It’s the little post-it note stuck to it.
He frowns as he picks it up and holds it farther away so he can read it clearly without his glasses.
Mix-up with mail.
Accidentally opened it.
DID NOT READ IT.
Had a nosebleed.
SORRY!!!!!!!
- your upstairs neighbor :(
Jack stares at it for a bit longer, wondering if he really had been heard by some higher being. To him it seems, like you not only gave him a sign of life, but a valid reason, to talk again.
He quickly opens the already destroyed envelope, skipping over the contents of the letter, but being more distracted by the obvious splotches of dried blood that decorate the paper.
That must have been one hell of a nose bleed.
Jack doesn’t waste any more time and presses the button to your floor as soon as he is standing in the elevator. He taps his finger against the metal railing, urging the mechanisms to work faster.
He isn’t even sure why he is so impatient.
Given his recent… investigation, it doesn’t seem like you will be leaving anytime soon. And Jack doesn’t really qualify for missing your interactions, because mutual greetings in the hallways and lift don’t really count as lifechanging exchanges, do they?
Jack ignores the notion and exits on your floor. The memory of the last times he had walked to your door and knocked don’t even have a chance to catch up to him with the speed he has, when steering towards his goal.
The quick rap against wood is loud and clear and then Jack stands. And waits.
Waits so long, that he almost stares a hole into the door. He knocks again, a bit harder. No immediate footsteps are heard, but Jack isn’t going to give up.
Not this time. Not when his brain immediately provides a picture of you lying motionless on your floor.
It’s the emergency doctor in him speaking. He knows it and tries to push the image away. There is absolutely no reason to assume the worst. Right?
Well, technically there is always a reason to assume the worst but Jack tries to not do that this time.
And he is saved from coming up with a way of kicking down the door, when he finally hears what he has been missing for the last weeks. Footsteps.
Jack straightens up, then thinks better of it and slouches a bit, attempting to imitate a relaxed demeanor. He quickly lowers his head, looking at–but not seeing–the letters in his hands in an effort to not seem too eager.
When the door finally opens, he raises his gaze, ready to be greeted by your smile.
It doesn’t happen and the reality of what he is seeing, has any nervous enthusiasm dissipating from his body.
“You look like shit.”
While being the truth, Jack wants to kick himself in the ass the second the words are uttered. His charm must have been lost years ago, because since when does someone say things like that to a practical stranger?
“Yeah, I’m aware.” You croak out, voice rough and yet breathy, as if it’s a massive effort to speak. By the looks of it, it must be, because the next second, you are raising a pillow to your face and cough into it, your entire body curving in on itself.
You kind of give up midway, wincing, as if in pain. Your next words sounding even worse.
“Sorry… uh… what’s up?” Your eyes are bloodshot, when you blink at him. Jack isn’t sure what to say for a moment, so he just starts to wave around his hand, trying and failing to express that he would love nothing more than to find out more about your state and how he can help.
But because he apparently is an idiot, of course he uses the hand holding his mail. You notice the bloody letter and sticky note right on top and your exhausted eyes widen.
“Fuck!” It’s not much more than a whisper and as such you continue.
“Right, about that. I wasn’t trying to be nosy! I just ripped that letter open without looking at the recipient and when I read the first line, I noticed that it wasn’t meant for me but then my nose started bleeding and it got all over. It’s not some crazy important letter, right? I mean, I obviously don’t know, because I didn’t read it.”
You raise the pillow again, turning away, almost hiding behind the door, to complete another coughing fit.
“I… No, it’s alright. Are you okay?” Jack takes an uncertain step towards you, but you smile weakly and wave him off.
“Eh. I just got all the germs in me or something. I’ve… uh, couped myself up in my… uhm…. well, in my bathroom actually. I figured it’s the one place that lets the least noise escape. And to be honest, the tub makes for a decent bed… you know, at least it’s really close to the toilet. Am I too loud again?”
You look crest fallen at the thought of Jack paying you another noise complaint visit and he is quick to shake his head.
“No, absolutely not. I mean, I haven’t heard a peep from you for a while now. I was- Actually, do you need anything? Medicine, food, anything at all?”
A little stunned at his question, you shake your head, mouth hanging open a bit. Jack notices again, how pitiful you look. Your face doesn’t have its usual color, your posture screams pain and exhaustion and he can take a lucky guess when the last time you changed clothes was.
He never once expected you to be up here, sick and suffering. Had he known… but how would he? Not once he heard a cough or sneeze when being the actual nosy neighbor this time. With your latest admission of camping out in the bathroom and your demonstration of a pretty effective cough-silencer, he isn’t all that surprised anymore.
But still very much mortified. At your state and your creative entrepreneurship for keeping the noise to a minimum.
It dawns on Jack, that you mustn’t have left your bathroom all that much for the last two or three weeks, if his memory of absent sounds serves him right. And you have been sick, scraping by in there all this time by yourself?
“I’m fine. I’m good at expecting the worst so the second I got sick, I got like… all the medicine there is and bought up pretty much the entire stock of cup noodles the mini mart had.”
You smile a bit, lips obviously chapped. Then, you grimace and a second later your head slams forward when a sneeze is ripping through you. You don’t make a sound, apart from groaning silently afterwards.
“Actually, if you have an upset stomach, you shouldn’t be eating too many cup noodles. They are high in sodium, so they potentially make things worse. And it’s really not healthy to suppress a sneeze.” Jack can't help but educate you because it's the closest thing he can do to taking care of you.
And no matter how much something inside him screams to just fuck it and do the actual thing, he doesn’t want to overstep.
“Oh… well, I guess it’s good then, that I can barely keep anything inside of me.”
You grin jokingly. Jack doesn’t think it’s funny, but he also doesn’t want to seem like some grumpy, old know-it-all, so he forces the corner of his mouth up.
“Uh… you said, you’re not mad about the mix-up with the mail, right? So, what brings you here then?”
You try a weird ‘forcing my cough into non-existence by trying to swallow it’ technique by the looks of it and Jack watches you quickly realize it did not work, stuffing your face right back into that pillow.
He lets you cough it out, because your question has him realizing something for himself. He just denied he was here for the letter, which is unfortunately the only other real reason he would be able to claim, if he doesn’t downright want to admit he had been worried about you.
But Jack can’t just take it back and suddenly act mad at you bleeding on his documents. He doesn’t want you to feel worse and definitely doesn’t want to risk you feeling like you need to run from him again.
There is no more time to come up with an idea, because the pillow is hanging at your side once again and you look at him expectantly.
Jack takes a deep breath in, as if he will reveal the cause for his visit. He needs another second though, so he just exhales afterwards, before finally stammering, “I… I am here because, I- Oh, yeah, I need some sugar.”
He longs to close his eyes to disappear from the ridiculousness of the situation, but at the same time he wants to catalogue your reaction. The way you pause for a moment, as if not sure you heard him correctly, then shake your head like you need to wake up from a dream.
Fair to say, you seem to be as perplexed as Jack himself.
“Uh… okay, yeah, I can give you… some sugar.” You look at him, as if he is some weirdo and you can’t be faulted for that. Why would he need to come upstairs to ask for a damn ingredient? As if nobody else on his floor has any.
With tightly pressed lips, he watches as you turn and slowly make your way to the kitchen. He loses track a few seconds later, because the box towers seemingly have doubled in height and obscure his sight.
Jack sighs, runs his hand across his forehead and presses the tips of his fingers into the insides of his eyes. Way to fucking go!
Now he not only forced you to converse with him while sick, he is also going to rob you of sugar. Fantastic.
You return shortly after, a bag of sugar secured in your grip.
“I hope this doesn’t carry any of my germs with it. I mean, it was safe and sound in the cabinet… and we are talking face to face right now… shit. I should’ve worn a mask or something. Sorry. Here.”
Jack takes the sugar he definitely doesn’t need.
“Thanks. I’ve been exposed to much worse at work, so this is no big deal.”
You nod in acknowledgment and Jack stares at you for a few more seconds, before recognizing that neither of you is going to keep talking.
You clearly need to go back to resting and he has his proof of life. He should feel reassured and happy now. He is, however, neither. Still, he is not about to offer to nurse you back to health, so there really is nothing more to do here.
“Well, thanks again. I’ll be going now. Get well soon.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks.” You smile, leaning hard against the door. Jack takes longer than normal to start moving, but once he has taken a step and you call an urgent “Mister Abbot” he is swiveling back at the speed of light.
“It’s Jack.” He says it so quickly, that you seem a little startled. Then you let out a short laugh.
“Yeah, uh, I know. Uhm…” You seem to battle with yourself again, before saying your piece.
“I hope this wasn’t your idea of collecting the IOU. Some sugar is not really equal to… all the help you lend me so far. Wait no, that sounds like there will be more times you need to help me. I mean, obviously you never need to… you are never obligated to help me at all. But you did already and I’m thankful and a bag of sugar is not exchangeable with that. So…” You quickly close your eyes and smile in a tortured way, as if you need to remind yourself to get a grip.
“So, what I’m saying is, the dept is not yet repaid… just in case you thought so.”
You give him another smile, before raising your pillow to your face again. The door closes, Jack only able to hear muffled coughing from behind it.
And he just stands there. A little amazed, baffled, bewildered.
When another knock sounds, only a couple hours or so after your neighbor–Jack– left, you want nothing more than to ignore it. But the thought of it being him again, asking for a bag of flour or a spare egg, has you sluggishly wandering to the door again.
A debt is a debt and you just declared it to still be open. It’s your own fault.
Putting on a strong face, you open the door back up.
And are met with… nobody there?
You take another step into the hall, glancing in both directions, finding no soul and beginning to think someone did a quick knock-and-run. But then your foot collides with something and you look down.
A bag is placed on the floor. Curious, you squat down, holding onto the door frame to not lose balance and begin rummaging through the mysterious gift.
There are different kinds of containers placed inside, all warm to the touch and at the very top is a little note. You snatch it and take a closer look.
Try this instead of cup noodles. You might actually keep things down.
Take care.
- Jack :)
Funeral For A Friend (Love Lies Bleeding) - M. Robinavitch x F!Reader
The Pitt Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Requests: Open!
synopsis: Robby tells you about his decision to take a sabbatical, and it goes over as well as anyone can expect. Robby wants to leave the fighting behind, but you decide to hold on to it, bringing it to the Pitt. Before Robby gets the chance to apologize, you're attacked in the ED. Robby is faced with a choice; to beg you to stay or to walk away. based on this request!
word count: 6.7k
warnings: violence against healthcare workers, detailed description of injuries, inaccurate medical terminology (I got my medical degree from Shondaland University), cursing, mentions of PittFest, mentions of the pandemic, miscarriage due to trauma, mentions of smut, depression, anxiety, suicidal tendencies.
note: I'm back in my angsty hour :) I hope you all like this! This is probably the first fic in a long time that I actually have pride in posting, which has been few and far between for me in recent times. Thank you @glitterquadricorn for the request! And I hope you don't mind the slight changes I made. My requests are open!!! And I'm thinking of maybe doing a little blurb/prompts list event in the near future :)
“A sabbatical? For three months?”
“Yes.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You asked, your eyebrows raised in that way that Robby knew you were looking for a fight. He’d seen that look one too many times across the ED when a patient talked to you in a certain way or a resident questioned your authority. You were challenging him, wanting to piss him off.
That’s how it has been lately for the two of you. Ever since the events of PittFest, it seemed the only thing you and Robby had been doing was fighting. Something had happened to Robby that day, you saw it clearly in his brown eyes that weren’t as soft and caring as they once were. You saw it in the way he acted, like he could care less about the decision he made. It was almost as if he was being reckless on purpose. You knew he was spending more and more time on the roof after shifts, getting closer to the edge each time.
“No matter what you say, it’s not going to change my mind.” Robby said, rinsing off his razor. It wasn’t even 6AM yet, and he hadn’t had his coffee. The two of you were getting ready for work, and you were dreading it. It was the first snow storm of the year and you could already tell it was going to be a long day full of fall victims, car accidents, and probably mild hypothermia.
“Nothing ever changes your mind, Robby, cause you refuse to have conversations!” You seethed from the other room, pulling your scrub top on. “How the fuck are we supposed to be a partnership if you don’t talk!”
“Because all we do when we ‘talk’ is fight! And I'm tired of it!” Ronny yelled. You hated when he yelled, he wasn’t ever the type to raise his voice but when he did, it rumbled through you and made your heart stop. It was times like these that you felt your age gap, feeling like you were being scolded by a parent.
“Well maybe we don’t talk anymore.” It was childish, sure, but it was the only thing you could think in the heat of the moment.
“Fine.” Robby said, continuing to trim up his beard. It took everything in you not to scoff, as you grabbed your jacket and went down stairs to start breakfast. Robby sighed, placing both hands on the counter. He hated being in this place with you, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. It seemed as though every decision he made, it just made things worse between you.
The choice to go on a sabbatical wasn’t made lightly. There were a lot of factors that influenced his choice, one being the time away from you and the second being time away from the Pitt. PTMC was as much of his home as the place he had with you is. He loved being there, even though sometimes it felt like those four walls didn’t love him being there. But the past four months had been the hardest in his life. He hit a new low, breaking down in the Pedes room for a medical student, of all people, finding him during one of the worst mass casualty incidents he’s seen in a very long time. You had tried to get him to talk to you, to tell him what had happened after you called time of death on Leah, but every time you were given the same blanket statement of “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Robby finished shaving, got dressed and made his way downstairs, where you had begrudgingly made him breakfast and filled his travel mug with coffee.
“Should I be worried you spit in it?” Robby joked as he sat down at the island.
You glared daggers at him. “Last I recall, you like it when I spit on things.” Robby chuckled, a slight blush coating his cheeks. That was the other thing that had changed in the last four months. Besides all the fighting you were doing, you two had been fucking like horny teenagers. Anywhere and everywhere you could get your hands on one another, you were doing it. In the car, on the couch, over the kitchen counter, in the shower. At first, it was a welcomed change, having gone stagnant in your intimate relationship due to work and shift differences. But it slowly started to reject Robby’s advances. He was using sex to avoid talking about things.
You watched him quietly as he chewed on his toast. “Were you going to ask me to go?”
“No,” Robby said without putting much effort into thinking about the answer.
“And why not?” You asked.
Robby sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s not that I don’t want you to-“
“Really? Cause it sure sounds like you don’t.”
“Can I finish talking?” Robby asked. You rolled your eyes. “The timeline wouldn’t line up right for you and I need to get out sooner than later.”
“Right,” You nodded, giving him a tightly lipped smile. “Get out sooner than later.” You repeated his words. “Because being with me is so awful!”
“That’s not what I meant,” Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to take you with, he really did. But the hospital couldn’t afford to lose two of their attending for three months at the same time. Plus, Robby just really needed the time to reset. He needed the time to truly recoup and think.
“Whatever, I’m going to be late.” You put your plate in the sink, rinsing it. You grabbed your lunch box from the fridge, rolling your eyes at the fact that you had also packed Robby’s lunch box (involuntarily). Robby watched as you moved across the room, gathering your things. You stopped at the door, a small pout on your lips before it turned into a scowl. “My shoes.” You spat.
“What’s that, honey?” Robby asked, a sickly sweet tone in his voice. “Did you ask me a question?”
You clenched your jaw so hard you were surprised your teeth weren’t cracking. “Where. Are. My. Shoes?”
Robby tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “Which ones?”
“Michael Carter Robinavitch, I don’t have time for your fuck ass games. Where are my shoes!? My pink ones!”
“Oh! Those ones!” Robby smiled like he finally figured out the answer to the puzzle. “In my truck. Ya know? It’s snowing, so why don’t we drive-“
“Oh? You don’t want to take your precious motorcycle?” It was now Robby’s turn to clench his jaw, as you smiled sweetly at him. You reached in front of him, taking the thermos of coffee right from him. “See you at work, darling.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, sweet cheeks.”
— — —
Just like you had suspected, the Pitt was full of people trying to escape the winter storm. The snow was only a light dusting for now. It was as if a feather light white blanket had been laid over Pittsburgh. The first moments of the first snow fall of the year were always so precious and beautiful. But the moment people started to venture out was when shit hit the fan. Chairs was already full of people waiting and Dana had alerted the ED about a multi-car pileup on one of the main commuter roads.
“Alright,” Robby said, gathering everyone’s attention. You stood in the back, leaning against a wall, your foot up on the wall (something you knew drove Robby insane. . . foot marks on his emergency department walls). “As we know today is the first major snowfall of the year. . .”
You tried your best to refrain from rolling your eyes as Robby launched into his seasonal speech about the weather, about taking of each other and checking in back home, about being mindful about why patients are coming in, and about how if the weather turns you might need to shelter in place, and that the charge nurses will create a schedule for sleeping and assign on-call rooms.
“Remember, some patients might be coming in because they’re homeless-“ Robby continued on.
You yawned, and Jesse turned to give you a look. Out of all the nurses (besides Dana, of course) Jesse was your favorite. He was your go-to when traumas came rolling in and he preferred working with you over any attending or resident (though he’d never admit that out loud).
“Bossman’s speech making you tired?” Jesse asked.
You nodded your head. “Bossman couldn’t keep his hands to himself last night and kept me up all night.” Jesse’s eyebrows scrunched in disgust and Cassie scoffed.
“You’re complaining about getting laid?” Cassie McKay was your second go-to person in the Pitt. You loved working with her, she was quirky and smart and liked to wear her armored heart on her sleeve. She was also one of the only people not scared to call you (or anyone) out on their bullshit. “Oh girl to be you.”
“You can have him,” You shrug. Jesse and Cassie shared a look. They both knew that you and Robby were deeply in love with each other. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the two of you were in it for the long haul. Sure sometimes you guys disagreed, all couples did, but you never said things like this. Cassie could sense something was wrong, and gave you one of her infamous ‘I know you’re hiding something looks’.
You sighed, picking at your nails. “He’s going on a sabbatical.”
“What?!” Cassie said loudly, causing all the heads to turn back to you. You blushed fiercely, as Cassie raised her hand and apologize. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”
“As I was saying before the interruption,” Robby glared at you.
Cassie waited a beat before whispering, “A sabbatical? When? How long? Where are you going?”
Before you could answer, the sound of sirens cut through the bay and Dana’s voice that the first pile-up victims were arriving. You jumped into action, Cassie and Jesse following behind as you grabbed a gown and some gloves.
“July, don’t know how long, don’t know where,” You said moving towards the ambulance bay, “And I’m not going.” You stop in the doorway, a blast of cold hitting you as the doors slide open. Jesse stopped behind you, grabbing the ties of your yellow gown.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” Cassie asked as the ambulances pulled into the bay.
“McKay!” Robby’s voice yelled over the sounds, “With me.” You rolled your eyes for the upteenth time, knowing he was taking Cassie from you in a petty move.
You shrugged, walking to the first ambulance. “Wasn’t invited!” You opened up the back of the ambulance, seeing an older man laying on the stretcher, a cut on his forehead. He was awake and alert which was good. The paramedics gave you the run down as you walked into the ED, Dana already directing traffic and sending you to a trauma room.
“What do we got?” Robby asked, walking into your trauma room and it took all your willpower to not kick him out.
“Male, 45 years old, Mr. Preston, head lac, positive LOC on the scene,” You answered, shining your penlight in his eyes, “Mild pupillary asymmetry, need a head CT and page Neuro.”
“Should’ve just stayed home. I knew me and snow don’t mix,” Mr. Preston jokes.
You give him a soft smile, “You’re in good hands, Mr. Preston. You got a pretty nasty head wound, but we’ll fix ya up.” Mr. Preston nods in response. “150 of fet for the pain, Jesse.” The nurse nods, following your order. “Let me know when he’s headed up to CT.”
As you step out of the trauma room, Robby follows. You roll your eyes again, and you swear if you roll them again, they might fall out of your head. You stopped at the nurses station, Dana standing off to the side documenting things.
“Still mad?” Robby asked, leaning against the desk.
“Still going on a motorcycle for three months?” Robby clenched his jaw. “Then there’s your answer. Dana,” You called out sweetly to the charge nurse, who wasn’t holding back her smirk as she looked at you. “I paged neuro to trauma one for Mr. Preston. Can you let me know when they’re on their way.”
“Of course, hon,” Dana smiles, taking the tablet from you. You walk off without another word, going to check on another patient. Dana looked at Robby, who watched you walk away, “What did you do now? Scuff her shoes?”
“Those ugly things?” Robby asked. “Does she think the dress code is a suggestion? Neutral color shoes.”
“Those are neutral.”
“If you’re color blind.”
Dana barked out a laugh. “Whatever you did, go apologize. You’re too old to be sleeping on the couch.”
— — —
“Mr. Preston, how are we?” You ask as you walk into the trauma bay. “We’re still waiting on the CT, but we gotta run some more tests.”
“Test away, doc,” Mr. Preston says, gesturing to himself. You smile, walking over to him and putting your stethoscope in your ears. “You from here?”
You nod listening to his heart and lungs. “Born and raised. Even loved it enough to stick around and go to school here.”
“Really?” Mr. Preston smiled. “Been trying to get my girls to stay here for college but they want to spread their wings.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” You smile, “Grip my fingers please,” You held your hands out and he did as commanded. “Good. How old are your daughters?”
“Twins, and seventeen. Juniors in high school.”
“Ah! Getting close to that time! College debt!”
“Hell yeah! Best time of. . . a pare-“
“Mr. Preston?” You ask, waving your hand a bit in front of him as he slumped, his eyes starting to cross. “Mr. Preston?” Then his body started to shake. “He’s seizing. Jesse, help me turn him.” You supported his neck as Jesse helped roll his body to its side. Your eyes lock on the clock, watching the time tick by.
“It’s taking too long to ride out. 10 of lorazepam.” You call out. Jesse moves from his spot, quickly finding the medication, drawing it and delivering it to Mr. Preston. His body came to a gentle stop, his body relaxing.
“Okay,” You nod and gently rolls him to his back. “Oh, he’s going to need a new gown and fresh sheets.” You nod towards the mess he involuntarily made.
“I’ll get an orderly,” Jesse said, “Or Whitaker.”
You chuckled a bit, “He’s been through enough torture.” You nod towards the young med student as he walked by covered in vomit. . . again.
“I’ll go find someone,” Jesse said, “You good in here?”
You nod, looking at Mr. Preston’s calm body, “I’ll be fine.” Jesse nodded as he left the room. You let out a slow breath, sitting on the rolling stool next to the bed, logging into the computer and logging the medication you ordered. Your back was to Mr. Preston, as he began to stir out of hs postictal state. You heard a groan, and you turned to see him starting to stand from the bed.
“Oh hey, Mr. Preston,” You said, locking the computer and moving towards him. “You need to lay back down, okay?” Mr. Preston shoved your hands away as you tried to guide him back in the bed. “You shouldn’t be up right now. Just lay back-“ Mr. Preston grabs your arms, throwing you against the wall, your head hitting the cabinet, making your vision swim. “Hey, you need to-“ His grab on you never faltered as he slammed you against the wall again. Tears filled your eyes as you looked at him, a far away look in his eye as he attacked you again. You closed your eyes and prayed it would be all over soon.
— — —
As the snowfall picked up, so did the patient traffic in the Pitt. Jesse felt like he could hardly keep track of a single thing as more and more victims from the car pile-up started to come in. He’d been pulled away by Whitaker calling a code blue, jumping in immediately to help the poor med student out. After many rounds of compressions and shocks to the poor patient’s heart, Dr. Robby finally called time of death. Jesse hung his head in silent reflection, before leaving the room and calling up the morgue to come and get the body.
“Jesse,” Dana said, “Lab is ready for your patient in trauma one.”
Jesse nodded, grabbing a wheelchair and heading towards the trauma bay. He grabbed some hand sanitizer as the door slid open, “Alright Mr. Preston-“ He froze, seeing the room in disarray, monitors strewn all over, metal tools across the floor, blood staining the ground. His eyes searched the room, trying to figure out what the hell had happened, when he saw a figure on the ground, unmoving. Jesse cursed, running over to the person, turning them gently.
“Holy- I need help in here!” Jesse yelled out, “C’mon, Y/N.” He gently turned you onto your back, rubbing your sternum, making a groan slip out from your cracked pale lips. “Don’t move, Y/N, we got you now.” You closed your eyes as tears began to fall and something shy of relief filled your body. Finally, someone was here. Finally, the attack had stopped. Jesse’s hands felt warm and foreign all at the same time, as he held your neck in place.
“What’s going-“ Cassie said, running in the room, Victoria quick on her heels. She also froze, taking in the sight of the room. “Oh my god.” Cassie ran over to you, grabbing her penlight, “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know,” Jesse said, “I just came in to take Mr. Preston to labs.”
“Where the fuck is he?” Cassie cursed. “Victoria, get a gurney, a c-collar and clear a trauma room.” Victoria nodded, running to complete her task. “Where’s Robby?” Cassie asked and Jesse just shook his head. “Right, right,” She nodded, doing a quick assessment of you. Tears clouded her vision as she looked down at you, your body covered in blood, your elbow bent at an awkward angle, your face with obvious deformities that weren’t there an hour ago. How could this have happened in the middle of the day? Cassie was right next door running a trauma with Robby and Victoria, how did she not hear one of her longest friends in the whole department fighting for her life.
“Trauma’s open!” Victoria announced, coming in with a gurney. She handed Cassie the c-collar in her hand. A pained whimper left your body as the cold, hard plastic was secured around your neck, preventing you from moving. You felt more hands on your body, and a sudden burst of warmth as they moved you from the ground, onto a backboard, and on the gurney.
“Stay with us, Y/N,” Cassie said softly, her hand squeezing yours. You looked over at her the best you can, blinking twice, the universal sign for ‘yes’. Cassie gave you a tearful smile, “We got you. You’re safe now.” You blinked again, and looked back up at the ceiling, your vision starting to go black from the pain.
— — —
Whitaker was pacing outside the trauma room, trying to gain the courage to walk in there. He was given strict instructions from Dana on what to do and what to say, but for the life of him he couldn’t find the courage to actually carry out his task. He was about to ask someone else to do it, when the doors to the trauma room opened, and another nurse went running in. Whitaker took a deep breath, opening the door to the patient’s room.
“Dr. Robby?” Whitaker asked softly.
“What, Whitaker? In the middle of something,” Dr. Robby said, not taking his eyes off of Samira’s hands, watching as she carefully extracted a piece of glass.
“It’s Dr. L/N.” Whitaker said. Samira’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at the med student. But one look at him, and her heart was racing in her chest. Something was wrong.
“What does she need?” Robby asked, still not bothering to look up, slightly annoyed that your argument had gone to the petty level of sending med students to talk to him. He knew you could hold a grudge, but he was hoping that you’d remain somewhat civil at work.
“I don’t-“
“Is it important?” Robby huffed, looking up, his face falling a bit as he took in Whittaker’s distressed expression. “What’s going-“
“Just come with me, please.” Whitaker begged.
Samira looked over her shoulder at Whitaker and back at Robby. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, whatever,” Robby said, taking off his gown and gloves. He grabbed some hand sanitizer as he left the room and followed Whitaker across the trauma bay. Through the glass door, he could see both R4 residents and most of the nurses moving around a patient. “Alright,” Robby clapped his hands together, “What do we have. . .” His voice trailed off as he looked down at the patient's shoes.
Bright pink. Annoyingly bright pink.
The bright pink shoes Robby always makes fun of you for getting because they get so dirty in a weeks time from working in the Pitt. And you, for some reason, refuse to buy any other shoe, having had multiple pairs of those stupid, annoyingly bright pink shoes.
“Took you long enough, Robinavitch,” Langdon spat, pushing past him, taking your shoes off and throwing them on the ground to test your reflexes. Robby wanted to yell at him for it, knowing how much you loved those stupid bright pink shoes. “Plantar reflex intact.”
“Trauma panel. Let’s send blood for a cross match,” Cassie ordered. “Pulse ox down to 88.” Cassie looked up at Robby, waiting for his next direction or question. But his brown eyes were locked on you, your broken body laying on a backboard in front of him. “Need a wide bore IV-“
“Her veins collapsed,” Jesse shook his head, “I can’t get in.”
Cassie again looked up at Robby. “She needs a central line,” Cassie prompted, and Robby looked up at her, still not saying anything, a far away look in his eye. It was as if Robby wasn’t really there, having a total out of body experience. “Frank?”
“I got it,” Langdon answered, as a nurse produced the kit right away.
“Doing a neuro check,” Cassie moved so she was slightly leaning over you, “Y/N, can you follow my finger?” You did your best to follow Cassie’s instructions, but your head was pounding and the bright light above you was making it hard to keep your eyes open. “Pupils are slow, I’m seeing obvious petechia and battle signs behind her ears. Plus the nasal fracture and what’s more than likely an occipital fracture.”
“You guys just can’t get-“ Garcia paused as she pushed the door open, taking in the sight in front of her. Her eyes gazed on Robby, who was standing there at your feet, looking completely lost. “Order a head, neck and spinal, page neuro.” Yolanda said. Cassie looked up at her. “What do her lungs sound like?”
“Belly is soft,” Frank answered, “Bruising on the left chest, and decreased breath sounds on the left. Palpable crepitus. Waiting for x-ray to get here. Ordered an E-FAST.” Yolanda nodded his head.
“Get some films for this,” Yolanda grimaced at the obvious deformity in your elbow, the done almost sticking out. “Call ortho on the way up.”
“E-FAST is here,” Jesse announced.
“Good, get a look and she’s coming with me.” Yolanda reached for the transducer but Robby grabbed it first, “Robinavitch”.
Robby put the gel in your stomach, and moved the transducer around, his brown eyes scanning the screen. His breath caught in his throat.
“Is she-“ Langdon spoke up.
“McKay, what does the E-FAST show?” Yolanda instructed.
“Blood in the uterus. . . she’s pregnant?” Cassie looked over her shoulder, but Robby’s eyes were staring down at you. She leaned back over you, “Y/N, did you know you’re pregnant? Y/N?” Your eyes were frantically looking around the room, as if you were trying to focus on something but couldn’t. You could see Cassie’s mouth moving, asking you something over and over, and you did your best to try and speak, to try and shake your head. You couldn’t even get your hands to move to try and gesture to her.
Cassie studied you for a moment, as if she could read your mind, finding out what you were trying to communicate, “I don’t think she can hear us.” She looked over you at Langdon.
Langdon looked in your ears and you winced a bit as he put the scope in your ear. He cursed, “Blood in the ear canal, looks like a tear in the ear drum.” He handed the scope back to Jesse, “Page ENT-“
“Pressure is 90 over 60,” Jesse called out.
Yolanda grabbed the transducer from Robby, elbowing him out of the way as he looked at you stoically. His mind was still trying to comprehend what he was seeing. The room was moving too quickly for him to try and keep up. She ran it over where your broken ribs are. “30% pneumo, needs a chest tube. Size 6 and a half gloves. Prep and drape her.”
“Her jaw looks to be dislocated-“
“There’s free fluid in the-“
“Her pulse ox is still dropping-“
“I need to pop her jaw open-“
“Should we prep for a trach-“
“Not if I can get her jaw open-“
“Pulse ox down to 75-“
Robby felt like the room was starting to spin as staff moved around, calling out different orders and performing different tasks. He couldn’t focus on anything except for the beeping of the monitor across the room, it was almost mocking him, as the numbers dipped lower and lower. Robby closed his eyes tightly, trying to shake off the memories flashing in his mind.
PittFest. Leah. Jake. Dr. Adamson. The pandemic.
You.
The stupid fight over his sabbatical.
Robby couldn’t breathe. It felt like a noose had been tied around his neck, and someone was pulling it tighter and tighter as your oxygen level dropped and your heart flatlined.
“She’s crashing!”
Seemingly out of nowhere, Jack stepped into Robby’s line of sight. He reeled back a bit, somewhat startled by Jack’s presence but also relieved. There was an attending in the room, someone who could make a sound decision since Robby couldn’t even feel his toes and felt like he was seconds from passing out.
“You need to leave,” Jack said, his voice not leaving any room for argument. Robby nodded, stepping out of the room, but not going too far. Jack looked over Robby’s shoulder, nodding at someone before he turned around, and started working on you.
“C’mon Michael,” Dana said, placing a gentle hand on Robby’s arm. Robby blinked a couple of times, looking away from your body, as Jack started doing compressions on your chest. “You don’t need to see this.”
“We had an argument,” Robby said. He could faintly hear Jack calling for the paddles to shock your heart. He winced as your body contracted at the electricity flowing through you. “About my sabbatical. She thinks I’m running away. That I'm leaving her.” Jack continued his compressions, calling for another round of defibrillation. Robby looked down at Dana, “She can’t die thinking I’m leaving her.”
All Dana could do is nod, and gently guide Robby away from the trauma room.
— — —
It felt like a whole day had passed. Robby sat in his office, staring at the wall in front of him. A wall that was decorated in pictures of himself, his awards, articles, and pictures of you. You had decided to do the decorating, telling Robby that just because he hated his office, didn’t mean it had to look like a dungeon. You had bought mixed matched picture frames from the thrift store, dug through his cabinet drawers to find his diplomas from undergrad through medical school. You even framed his very first white coat, something he didn’t even know where he put. The office had your touch all over it, and Robby used to find solace in the place. Now, it felt like the four walls were making a mockery of him.
“Robby,” Jack called out to him from the doorway of the office. Robby stood up right away as Jack walked in, immediately going to hug him.
“Thank you for being here.”
“I would’ve been sooner but the roads are closed due to the snow,” Jack said. Robby sat back in his desk chair as Jack sat across from him. It was silent for a moment as Robby stared at the ground. “She’s in the ICU.” Robby nodded. “She had a splenic bleed, Garcia went ahead and removed it. The chest tube fixed the pneumo but we’re still keeping an eye on it. She dislocated her elbow and fractured her hand, more than likely from fighting back. Ortho fixed both, as well as her eye socket-“
“He broke her eye socket?” Robby asked softly.
Jack nodded, “Ortho put a plate in, unfortunately, it’ll leave a scar. But her nose wasn’t broken, just severely bruised.” Jack thought about his next words carefully. “Her jaw was broken. It’s currently wired shut. Her vocal cords were damaged. So she can’t speak. And she can’t hear either. Both ear drums were ruptured. And we aren’t sure how far or well she can see due to the eye trauma. . . she’s also got a brain bleed.”
“Jesus Christ,” Robby sighed, running his hands down his face. “How bad?”
“Her heart stopping on the way to surgery didn’t help it,” Jack said honestly. “Malik removed a part of her skull to allow swelling.” Robby shook his head. He hated being a doctor in times like this because he knew what this all meant. He knew what the outcome was more than likely going to be. “Did you know that she was pregnant?”
Robby shook his head, staring down at his hands. You and him had talked about kids, of course, but didn’t ever put a rush on it. He knew it was a possibility that you could get pregnant, you weren’t on birth control nor was he using a condom. You weren’t actively trying but not actively preventing.
“How far along?” Robby asked softly.
“Based on blood tests, about six weeks. She wouldn’t have known either,” Jack said and somehow that was a bit of relief for Robby. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain that to you, on top of having to explain everything else that happened to you. “You can see her now, if you’d like.”
“Is she-“
“She’s on a trach. Ortho didn’t want to run the risk of her jaw being open for too long.” Jack was silent for a moment, “She’s a fighter, brother. She’ll pull through this.”
Robby nodded and stood, Jack did as well. He hugged his friend again, before leaving the office and heading up to the ICU. He checked in with the nurse, who directed him to the room that you were in.
Robby hated the ICU. The last time he’d been up there was the early days of the pandemic, when everyone thought it was just going to be a two week thing. He had helped transfer a patient up here who was presenting with the same symptoms as the last 20 he’d seen. He remembered the ICU filled to the absolute brim with patients. Some of them being hooked up on vents in the hallway, the rooms doubled up and tripled up in some. The haunting sounds of code blue alarms and staff yelling for another ventilator.
Robby closed his eyes, trying to push past the memories of the pandemic and ground himself to here and now. Now, the ICU was quiet, patients in their own rooms, the staff spread evenly among everyone. Robby easily found your room, pushing the door open gently. You looked even worse than you did when you were in the ED. The blood had been somewhere cleaned off of you, but your face was all stitched up, the side of your head shaved and bandaged from where they had to remove your skull, a tube coming out of your throat to help you breath, your arm wrapped in a cast to hold your elbow in place. Robby could see the bruises in your hands from here, a clear sign you did in fact fight back as Jack said.
“Oh sweetheart,” Robby said softly as he approached. He ran a knuckle down the side of your face, careful to not apply too much pressure around your swollen jaw. He could also see a hand mark on your throat. The bastard strangled you on top of everything else.
“My sweet girl,” Robby sat down in a chair next to your bed, as the tears began to fall down his face. Your hand was still warm, and he swore that you had gripped his hand. He ran a hand over your hair, blood still matted in parts of it, He placed your limp hand on his cheek, hoping that maybe you could feel the warmth of his skin. “It’s all up to you, okay. If you. . .” Robby shook his head, “If you need to go, then you go. Don’t worry about me,” He smiled at you tearfully. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be waiting here for whatever you decide. But if you. do go. . . wait for me, okay?” Robby leaned over and kissed your forehead. “I don’t want to be left behind anymore.”
Over the next couple of days, Robby had basically camped out in your room. He’d gone home that first night briefly, packing a bag with the essentials, a change of clothes, body wash, tooth brush, deodorant, your favorite lotion, and blanket, before hurrying back to your side. He slept, when and if he did at all, in the uncomfortable recliner next to your bed. One of the nurses offered to bring him a cot, but he didn’t want to take up any more space in the room. Every morning during rounds, Robby listened to every word the resident or attending said about your condition. He was fully aware during every med check and every test that was run on you. The staff learned very quickly that the simple “she’s stable” wasn’t going to work for Dr. Robinavitch.
Jack and Dana stopped by every day, Dana in the morning before her shift and Jack at night. They almost did their own sort of rounds, giving a report on not only your status but Robby’s as well. Dana would bring him a change of clothes and breakfast, and Jack would order him dinner and sit by your side while Robby showered. When Robby was alone with you, he’d talk to you, hold your hand and tell you stories as if you could respond to him.
What he would give to be able to hear your laugh again.
It was the beginning of day five, when things slowly started to change. Your CBCs were up, your body’s temperature slowly starting to rise along with your blood pressure and heart rate. Robby watched intently, as the doctors ran tests on you, trying to figure out what was going on. The doctors tried to assure Robby that everything was fine and they were handling it, but Robby knew better. He knew something was wrong.
“She’s circling the drain!” Robby argued. “She’s going septic!”
“Sir, we are-“ The doctor was cut off by a loud alarm. In an instant the room flooded with nurses and staff, and Robby was shoved out of the room as they ran a code on you. He felt helpless as he stood in the hallway.
Dana ran up to him, “What the hell happened!” She was breathless as she looked at the scene in front of her. “Oh.”
“She’s septic,” Robby answered, before turning on his heel and going towards the waiting room. He sat down in a chair, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Robby leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands grabbed the Star of David on his gold necklace. He whispered a prayer, over and over again. It wasn’t the first time he prayed since you got hurt, but it was definitely the most he’s prayed in a long, long time. He wasn’t even sure if God knew who he was anymore or if he even liked him. Robby had spent a lot of days cursing at the sky, blaming God for things.
“Your wife?” A man asked next to him. Robby startled a bit, looking up at the man. He was older, wrinkles set deep in his skin, his hair damn near white. He had a sad look in his eyes, and he was all by himself. Robby could sense the irony, of course, the only two lonesome people in this room found themselves right next to each other.
“No,” Robby shook his head, “Not yet, anyway. I didn’t get the chance to ask her.” Robby thought back to that ring he had stashed away in his sock drawer. He’d been waiting for the right moment, he wanted it to be perfect. You deserved perfection.
The old man smiled at him, reaching into his chest pocket and pulling a picture of a young woman out. “My Carmen was here once. Car accident on the Spillway bridge.” Robby was at a loss for words as he looked at the picture. The woman was a splitting image of you. Same hair color, same eye color, same half smile and dimples on your cheeks. She even had that tiny nick in her eyebrow that you had gotten from when you were a child. She was absolutely beautiful.
“What happened?” Robby asked softly.
“She waited for me.” The man said. Robby looked back down at the picture and then back at the man confused, only to find him gone. Robby looked around the whole waiting room, but found himself alone. He glanced back down at the picture, but this time the frame was of you and him, smiling at each other during one of our trips to the mountains.
— — —
“Dr. Robinavitch.”
Robby woke up with a start. He didn’t know he’d fallen asleep and it took him a moment to get his bearings. He was in the waiting room of the ICU, and he was still living in the nightmare that he thought he was in. Robby swiped a hand down his face, looking at the doctor. The doctor didn’t even need to say anything, and Robby felt his heart stop. The doctor spoke softly to Robby, explaining everything even though they both knew that Robby understood everything he was saying.
Robby’s legs felt like they were led as he walked down the hallway. He took a deep breath before opening the door and going to the side of the bed. He sat down and grabbed your hand.
Robby closed his eyes letting tears fall down his cheeks. He gently touched your forehead, which was now bandage free. Your body was stiff, and felt an odd temperature, you weren’t cold but you weren’t your normal temperature. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, whispering in your ear. He sat back down in his chair and just held your hand, looking at your face. Jack and Dana came in slowly, not wanting to disrupt and disturb Robby.
Jack came in first, but didn’t stay long. It was too hard to stand there and watch his friend mourn and cry. It brought back too many memories that he had shoved away from losing friends overseas to losing his wife. Jack squeezed Robby’s shoulder, before leaving the room. Dana came in next, hugging Robby before walking over to your side. She grabbed your hand, saying a short prayer. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she looked at your scarred face. She shook her head, kissing your forehead before leaving the room.
“It can’t be healthy,” Jack said quietly as Dana closed the door behind her. She turned and looked in at Robby.
“How long do we let this go on for?” Dana asked.
Jack shrugged. “I guess that’s up to him. How long does he want to torture himself?"
"We can't let him stay here that long," Dana whispered. "She can't. . ."
"He'll move eventually," Jack sighed, "I just hope it's not too the roof. Cause I'm not sure if I can pull him back this time."
Note: hehehe open ending cause idk how to end a fic for the life of me. But please keep sending in requests!!! BRING ME THE ANGST PLEASE:)))
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader (+ daughter!)
Warning/s: none? A spider?
Word count: less than 900 words!
Summary: a two year old’s fearless curiosity! ft. a jumping spider
A/n: it is once again 2 am and my google history is full of questionable things… (jack abbot full name? shout synonym, how big is lucas the spider, what do 2 year olds call their dad? yada yada). i have other ideas for other insects/animals baby girl will encounter in the wild and how jack, reader and baby will react but we’ll see where my brain takes me! Also it’s been a long long time since I last wrote anything and i haven’t felt so stupid since that one minor elective in college that ruined my mental health LMAO so this is me easing into it plz be nice and hope u like it love u bye!
There was a multitude of emotions that Jack Abbot has gone through in his life; grief and trauma when he lost his leg during the war, pride when he became an attending physician, butterflies in his stomach when he met you, contentment when he finally married you, and gratefulness when you both welcomed your baby girl.
He’s felt it all, really!
But nothing quite compared to the heart attack you gave him when he heard you screaming bloody murder in the bathroom at 3:17 PM on his day off.
His instincts kicked in, adrenaline running through his veins as he dropped the little onesie he was folding on the couch and sprinted upstairs. As an emergency medicine doctor, every possible scenario was running through his mind and of course each one he already had a plan for. What could have happened in the 5 minutes you were in the bathroom, potty training your two year old?!
“What?! What happened?!” He exclaimed, ready to fight whatever was in the bathroom with his bare hands. He found you in the corner of the bath tub, frozen and clutching a giggling baby girl to your chest, pointing at a spot near the doorframe.
He turned his head, squinting at the tiny black spot crawling slowly towards the door. “Dada ‘pider!!” The toddler shrieked excitedly, pointing at it and clapping her hands.
Jack let out an exhale, bending slightly and putting his hands on his knees. “Honey…” he said, shaking his head slowly, trying to catch his breath.
“Jack, there’s a spider!” you whisper-yelled, as if the spider would think it was your time to go and jump a few meters straight towards you if you were a little louder. “‘Pider dada!” The little one echoed, still with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face.
Jack laughed, “yeah baby, that’s right! Want to come see?”
“Yes peas!” She wiggled out of your embrace, putting her arms up so her dada can help her out of the tub.
He picked her up, winking at you, still frozen in the corner and offering you his hand. “Come on, honey.”
You take his hand, standing up and groaning quietly at the click! your knee made. “Don’t laugh at me, Jack Abbot.” You huffed, still keeping an eye on the spider.
“I’m not!” He snorted, laughing when you playfully swatted at his arm.
“Mama scared?” The toddler asked, looking at you curiously with the same hazel eyes you fell in love with years ago. “No, baby, mama was just surprised,” booping her nose with your finger just to see her giggle (and distract her from spilling to dada what mama was like when she was “not scared, just surprised”).
Jack snorted again, leading you both towards the horrifying, terrifying, monstrous 2 cm (yes, you read that right) jumping spider on his bathroom wall.
You tensed up when he lifted his free hand up toward the wall, the spider immediately jumping on his finger.
“This is a jumping spider, he’s just very curious and wants to know what you’re doing. You want to try putting him on your finger?” Jack could see the gears turning in her head and realized it wouldn’t take a lot of convincing to encourage the curiosity of his daughter, “he doesn’t bite unless you’re mean, so you have to be veeery gentle.”
The two year old on his arm was quiet, lifting her hand up next to her dada’s, confidently trusting in what he said. She gasped when the spider jumped over to her finger too, whispering in awe, “cute ‘pider…”
She shifted her attention to you, and you flinched when she moved her hand closer to you so you could take a look, “Mama see!”
You knew Jack was holding back his laughter as you awkwardly smiled at your daughter. She was waiting, expecting you to lift your hand up and take the damn spider too.
Thankfully, Jack interfered and took you out of your misery softly speaking, “I think the cute spider is looking for his mama. They live outside in the backyard. What do you think, mama?”
You let out a breath of relief, agreeing, and grateful he interrupted before your little girl decided herself that you should take the spider too.
Hours later, with the spider gone somewhere in the backyard and the little girl passed out in her bed after an afternoon full of jumping spider facts and Lucas the Spider videos, you and your husband are in the living room, snuggling and watching a show on Netflix a friend recommended to you.
“She gets that from you, you know?” you said suddenly, looking up at him.
“Hm? What do you mean?” He replied, absentmindedly rubbing your back and looking back at you.
“Her fearless curiosity… she gets that from you.” You clarified, smiling now because you know he still gets shy with compliments even after years of being together.
He starts shaking his head, bashful. “No, no. I will literally not accept any objections from you. She’s brave because she sees it from you.”
“Yeah? Well she gets her confidence from you, honey.” He kissed your temple, resting his head onto yours and letting yourselves have this moment.
“Next thing you know she’ll be asking for a pet tarantu-“
can someone pls write a dennis whitaker who is SO down bad for you. like he’s pathetic and not even in a sexual way just a yearning way.
A Dennis that likes you so bad and so obviously to everyone but you (you have an inking) that the entire pitt crew is almost to the point of shoving you in a room together and locking the door until he confesses. They never have enough rooms as is, so they just tease him and share knowing looks with eachother whenever they see the two of you so much as interact.
One time you compliment his ‘southern charm’ and leave your hand on his arm just a little too long but then have to run off to see a patient. and Dennis for a full minute just. stands there. frozen. in front of the oval desk looking at Dana with the biggest, most helpless eyes in the entire fucking world because did she see that? surely that was something right?
and Dana gives him a warm, knowing smile and right as she’s about to calm him down Trinity looks up from behind the computer and just- “Oh my god huckleberry, this is getting pathetiiiicccccc.”
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