Black Rose Guzzi

[blackroseguzzi]

MaStErLiSt

Warren Lipka Fanfiction: 

Whoosah baby Part 1     Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Colin Zabel x OFC Fanfiction

Jesus, etc. Part 1  Part 2  - on hold

Fate part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Core memory (Fate one shot)

Kai Anderson Fanfiction

Honey Kisses   

Otherworldly Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Jealousy 

Stars Aligned for us.

Show me

Pink blazers & world domination

Pre-Cult Kai Anderson Fanfiction

The Girl Next Door Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

JACK MULHERN

GRIZZ

Love Is The Poetry Of The Senses PART1 PART2 PART3 GRIZZPROMPT

DON HUME

The Luckiest Man Alive PART1 PART2 PART3 PART4 PROMPT5 PART6

THE PITT - JACK ABBOTT

STARSHINE - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine Part 7

Part 7 is here!!!!!!!!!!!

Summary: After helping her late partner Nick’s widow, Tonya, through a difficult afternoon, Olivia experiences a tiny but life-changing breakthrough when her injured hand finally moves while she’s holding Nick’s baby son, Matteo. She rushes to the Pitt to share the news with Jack, and the moment leads to feelings they both have been hiding for too long-only for the night to take a devastating turn when Olivia comes face to face with the man changed her life forever.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, grieving, mentions of shitty parents, medical inaccuracies, talks of wounds.

TAGS: aoi-targaryen onlyheretowastetime spooky-librarian-ghost imaginecrushes amnatreal generation-zero

The next few days went better than Olivia had expected.

Maybe it was finally saying some of the ugly things out loud. Maybe it was the fact that the guilt over Nick wasn’t sitting on her chest quite as heavily now that Jack had helped her carry some of it. Or maybe it was just that, for the first time since the accident, she didn’t feel quite so alone with the terrifying possibility that her dominant hand might never come back the way she needed it to.

Whatever it was, she could breathe a little easier.

It was Tuesday when Nick’s wife, Tonya had called to tell Olivia about the funeral.

Olivia knew before Tonya even got through the details that the woman was barely holding it together. Her voice kept catching on every other sentence, and somewhere in the background Matteo was crying in that helpless, worn-out baby cry that made everything feel sadder.

By the time the call ended, Olivia was already moving. She peeled off her stained Police Academy sweatshirt and changed into something that made her look less like a ghost haunting her own apartment. She even had the strength to face the mirror in her bathroom and put on some concealer. She tried not to have a mental breakdown at the site of her still scared and healing facial trauma. Then she took the subway downtown and walked the last two blocks to Nick’s house, sweat caused from the late afternoon sun left some chafing where her sling lay over her shoulder,  and her heart felt heavier with every step.

When Tonya opened the door, Olivia felt the grief in that house like a physical pull.

Tonya didn’t even try to speak. She just burst into tears and threw herself at Olivia, clinging to her in a careful, awkward one-armed hug. Her eyes were swollen, her face blotchy and drawn with exhaustion.Olivia held onto her as best she could and murmured, “Hey, hey. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. But Tonya needed something steady to lean against, and Olivia could do steady. Once Tonya finally pulled back, she ushered Olivia inside. She took in the state of Nick’s wife, instantly realizing she had made the right choice in coming over. 

“You need to rest,” Olivia said. “Seriously. I’ll answer calls, I’ll clean up, I’ll do whatever needs doing.”

“You don’t have to,” Tonya sniffled.

“I know,” Olivia cut in softly. “I want to.”

And she did.

It felt good, in a strange aching kind of way, to be useful. To give Nick’s grieving widow even ten minutes where the world didn’t demand something else from her. To let her stop performing survival for a little while.

Nick had family. Big family. Loud family. Italian family. Family who had never liked that he became a cop.

Olivia found herself wondering, not for the first time, where the hell they all were now.

Because Tonya should not have been doing this alone. No one should have to be alone.

That was something Jack had said to her more than once, in more ways than one. Back when she’d been too angry to really hear it. Lately, she was beginning to understand exactly what he meant.

So Olivia cleaned. She washed bottles one-handed, clumsy but determined. She took out the trash. She wiped down the counters. She watered the drooping roses and the endless parade of sympathy flowers cluttering every surface.

Honestly, whoever decided flowers were the appropriate gift for grief deserved to get hit over the head with the vase too.

Yeah, here, have another living thing in your house that’s about to die. Idiots.

When she came back into the living room, Tonya was on the couch staring blankly at eight-month-old Matteo like she barely recognized the shape of her own life anymore. Olivia leaned in the kitchen doorway and cleared her throat.

Tonya looked up. A small smile touched her mouth, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“You didn’t have to do all that, Liv,” she said quietly.

Olivia shrugged. “I did, actually. Otherwise I was gonna become one with my sofa.”

That earned the faintest huff of a laugh.

Then Tonya looked down at Matteo again and said, voice fraying at the edges, “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

Olivia’s expression softened. “Yeah,” she said after a second. “I can say the same to you.”

Tonya looked at her.

Olivia moved from the doorway and sat down beside her on the couch. Matteo, blissfully too young to understand any of this, looked up at Olivia with a wide gummy grin that made her chest ache.

“My scars are just easier to see,” Olivia said. “That doesn’t make yours any less fresh. Or any less like they’re actively trying to kill you.”

Tonya’s mouth trembled. “You know his mom hasn’t even come to see us,” she said after a moment, voice hollow. “She says she’s too upset. His sisters are both across the country for work, so they won’t be here until the funeral. My parents are dead, and somehow I still feel like they’re with me more than his family is.”

Olivia’s jaw tightened. “I’m so sorry.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this by myself.”

“You shouldn’t, and you don’t have to.” Olivia said firmly.

Tonya looked at her then, really looked at her, and whispered, “I should’ve called you sooner.”

Olivia shook her head immediately. “No. I should have called sooner.”

Tonya’s eyes sharpened a little, like she needed Olivia to understand that this was not on her.

“You came,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

Matteo, clearly deciding the grown-up sadness had gone on long enough, crawled his way between them and flopped half into Olivia’s lap. The television was playing some absurd kids’ show full of dancing smiling fruit, and he stared at it with the absolute seriousness only babies could muster.

Olivia felt something in her chest squeeze painfully.

She rested her right hand against his back and patted him gently a few times before just leaving it there, grounding herself against the wave of emotion that threatened to knock her sideways.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Olivia said quietly. “I’ve got him.”

Tonya hesitated.

Olivia didn’t look at her. She knew the look that had crossed Tonya’s face. Nick used to give her the same one when she did something he respected, something he was grateful for. She couldn’t handle that look from his wife right now.

She hadn’t come here for gratitude.

She had come so Tonya would know she wasn’t alone.

After a long moment, Tonya nodded and disappeared down the hall. A minute later Olivia heard the shower start up, soft and steady behind the bedroom wall.

The apartment quieted. Matteo shifted, rolled onto his back, and looked up at Olivia with sleepy, curious eyes. He grabbed at the string on her sweatshirt first, then his attention drifted to her hand half hanging out from the sling.

Olivia froze.

For one horrible second she thought he was going to grab at it, bend her fingers the wrong way, send every damaged nerve in her arm into open revolt.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Olivia followed his gaze down to her arm resting in that annoying sling. Then back to his face.

Something in her chest started pounding.

Slowly, carefully, she tried to make her hand do something. Anything.

At first, nothing.

Then—

Her pointer finger twitched.

Olivia’s breath caught so hard it hurt.

Matteo made a little gurgling noise and looked between her face and her hand like he knew they had just witnessed something important.

Olivia went perfectly still, then tried again.

This time her finger jerked a little more, unmistakable.

A sound left her that was half laugh, half sob.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

Tears blurred her vision instantly. Matteo, thrilled by either her emotion or the movement or both, reached out his chubby little hand. Olivia sucked in a shaky breath and tried again, concentrating so hard it made her head pound.

Her finger twitched forward and brushed his palm.

Matteo grabbed on.

That did it.

A tear spilled down Olivia’s cheek, then another, and suddenly she was full on crying-quietly, helplessly, overwhelmed by the tiny miracle of contact. Matteo just settled back against the couch like this was the most natural thing in the world, his little hand wrapped around her finger while dancing fruit bounced cheerfully across the screen.

He kept holding on until his eyes drifted shut.

Olivia sat there wiping the tears sliding silently down her face, staring at their joined hands like she was afraid the second she blinked the moment would disappear.

It didn’t.

And the second Tonya came back into the room, hair damp and face scrubbed raw but cleaner somehow. Tonya’s lips formed a gentle smile when she saw her son passed out on Olivia’s lap.

“Thank you for being here today.” She spoke softly. Olivia gently shifted as Tonya scooped up her son. 

“Please, no more thanking me for anything. Nick was like a brother to me. Family does this shit for each other, okay?” Olivia watched a tear slide down Tonya’s cheek when she nodded. 

“Take care of yourself Liv,” Tonya’s voice rang out as Olivia made her way to the door. She threw a thumbs up but couldn’t bring herself to turn around, tears now streaming down her face from both pain of loosing Nick, but that she had just shared such a special moment between herself and his son.  

After leaving Tonya’s house, Olivia took the subway straight to the Pitt.

The whole ride there, she kept flexing her right hand in her lap like she might catch the movement again if she was quick enough. Most of the time it still gave her nothing but that same heavy, stubborn resistance she had grown to hate. But she’d seen it. She knew what had happened on Tonya’s couch. Her finger had moved.

It was tiny.

It was everything.

By the time she walked in through the ambulance bay entrance, the ER was deep in night shift rhythm. Fewer people in chairs, and annoyingly bright lights, but it was still loud in its own exhausted way. A monitor chirped somewhere down the hall. Someone in a room near triage was swearing creatively. A tech rolled past with linens piled so high they nearly blocked his face.

At the nurses desk, Lena was reading something on her screen and chewing on the end of a pen like it had personally offended her. She glanced up as Olivia approached and immediately gave her a look.

“Well, if it ain't The Blue Canary in the coal mine!".”

Olivia snorted. “Hi, Lena. Nice to see you too.”

Lena leaned back in her chair. “"Did you get lost on the way to the donut shop officer, or did you just miss the sound of beeping monitors?"”

Foster smirked “Oh you know, I’m just here to see if you’ve actually healed anyone today, or if you’re still just ‘practicing' like the sign says.”

That got a genuine laugh from Lena, loud enough that a few heads turned in their direction. 

“Well Foster, I know you’re not here for the break room coffee, so what’s dragged you in tonight?”

Olivia leaned over the counter, and spoke softer than she intended to, “Can you page Jack for me?”

Lena’s brows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Oh, wow. Straight to business.”

“Lena.”

She smirked. “You want me to tell Jack that a pretty cop with a crush is here whispering his name like she was ordering contraband?”

Olivia stared at her. “First of all, rude. Second of all, I did not whisper.”

Lena tilted her head. “You went full confidential informant.” That dragged a reluctant snort out of Olivia. Lena grinned, clearly delighted with herself. “So that’s a yes on the crush?”

Olivia rolls her eyes and tries to hide the smile forming on her lips. “You’re pretty bold for cross examining a cop while wearing a badge reel that says….” Olivia leans in more and squints to read the small writing and then giggles to herself before finishing “Living that scrub life.” 

Lena laughed again, the sound echoing around the dull and tense air that always seemed to sit in the ER. She reached for the phone, then softened just a little beneath all the teasing. “Is everything okay? You know how he gets.”

That caught Olivia off guard.

She nodded, and this time the smile that slipped out was real, even if her face turned a pink color at the thought of Jack’s protective side. “Yeah,” Olivia responded quietly. “Actually… yeah everything is great.”

Lena hit the page button, still smirking. “Dr. Abbot to the charge desk, please. Dr. Abbot to the charge desk.” Then she dramatically set the phone down, looked back at Olivia, and said sweetly, “There. Your emotionally repressed bat signal is in the sky.”

A few minute later,  Jack appeared from the far hall. The second he saw Olivia, his whole face changed. It wasn’t huge. If you didn’t know him, maybe you’d miss it. But Olivia knew him. She saw the way the fatigue in his eyes eased. The way his mouth softened. The way something almost boyish and relieved slipped through before he tucked it away.

Lena noticed too, which was unfortunate.

“Oh, this is disgusting,” she giggled to herself.

Olivia shot her a look just as Jack reached them.

“Hey Liv, everything okay?” he asked, and then, more quietly when he took in her expression, “What happened?”

Olivia suddenly felt shy, which was horrible and irritating and not at all what she had planned on feeling, but seeing him in his work place, in those black scrubs with his stethespope hanging from around his neck something overtook her emotionally. “Can you… slip away for a few seconds?”

He looked at her for half a beat, then nodded immediately. “Yeah. Of course.”

Lena made a little shooing motion without turning away from her computer. “Fine, go be weird somewhere else before I pull out some popcorn to pair with this entertainment.”

Olivia pointed at her. “You’re the worst.”

“You know me, just living this scrub life!”  Lena said cheerfully. Olivia couldn’t help but giggle lightly at the nurses banter. Jack looked between the two women in awkward confusion before he  led Olivia down the side hall toward the stairwell, one of the few places in the hospital where they could stand still for thirty second. The heavy door swung shut behind them, muting the noise of the ER into a low, distant hum.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Jack studied her face, a slight furrow between his brows. “You’re smiling.”

Olivia looked down, the smile growing instead of fading. “I know. It’s alarming. We should probably get a neuro consult.”

Jack did that thing with his mouth that Olivia loved, where his lips curled into a half smiled. “I’ll call it in.”

Olivia laughed quietly, but then her voice dipped. “Might want plastics while you’re at it.” She touched the healing skin near her jaw. “I’m still a little… rough around the edges.”

Jack’s gaze stayed steady on hers.

Jack’s face changed, some of the teasing fading. “You know I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like those bruises are all anyone sees.”

She looked at him then, vulnerable despite herself. “They’re hard to miss.”

“Not for me,” Jack said quietly. He was leaning lightly against the railing, watching her with that open, careful warmth he only ever let her see when the rest of the world wasn’t looking.

He gave the smallest shy shrug. “I like your smile, with and without the bruises.”

The words landed gently, but they still hit her right in the chest. Olivia let out a short, embarrassed laugh and looked away. “That’s not fair.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that before I’ve even told you why I’m here.”

His mouth tipped into a small smile as he crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “Then tell me.”

Olivia took a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.“My fingers moved.”

Jack went still.

She swallowed, suddenly laughing a little because the whole thing still felt unreal. “At Tonya’s. Matteo, Nick’s son, was laying on me and I just looked down and my pointer finger twitched. Then I tried again and it did it again.” Her eyes burned unexpectedly, but this time the tears felt different. “It was tiny, Jack. So tiny. But it moved.”

He stared at her for half a second, like he needed to hear it one more time just to believe it.

Then he let out this soft, stunned breath that nearly undid her.

“Liv.”

She nodded, smiling harder now, helplessly. “I know.”

His eyes had gone bright in that way he’d hate being called out on. “That’s incredible.”

Olivia shook her head, laughing wetly now as she swiped under one eye. “I sound ridiculous, showing up here in the middle of your shift because one finger twitched.”

“No,” Jack said quietly. “You sound like someone who wanted to share good news with the person who’d understand what it means.”

Her throat tightened.

Because yes. That was exactly what this was.

“I just…” She looked down at her arm in the sling and then back up at him. “I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Jack’s expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at. He stepped closer, not crowding her, just closing the space enough that she could feel his warmth in the cool stairwell air.

“I’m really glad you came,” he said, his hand landing on the bicep of her uninjured arm. 

Olivia looked at him, at the gentleness in his face, at the relief and pride and something deeper that neither of them had been very good at naming out loud.

“I knew you’d get it,” she whispered.

“I do get it.” His gaze dipped briefly to her mouth and then returned to her eyes. “And for the record, I love this version of you.”

She arched a brow, trying for lightness because otherwise she might cry. “The version with partial finger function?”

“The one smiling at me like that.”

Olivia huffed out a breath that could have passed for a laugh.

Jack lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, his knuckles skimming her cheek so softly it made her chest ache. He looked at her for another long second and said, almost like he was telling her something delicate and true he didn’t want mishandled, “God, you’re really beautiful when you’re happy, Starshine.”

Olivia moved before she could think herself out of it. She touched his chest first, just for balance, and then lifted her face towards his and she kissed him.

Jack made this tiny startled sound against her mouth, like he hadn’t expected her to be the one to close the distance and he kissed her back like he was trying to memorize the feeling of it. Slow. Careful. Tender enough to make her knees feel weak. He kissed her like he was trying not to scare her with how much it meant, like he understood this wasn’t just a kiss. It was trust. It was relief. It was her showing up here smiling for the first time in a long time and handing that moment to him.

One hand around her waist, the other at her cheek. His fingers skimmed her jaw, feather-light over her healing skin, and Olivia felt something inside her loosen all at once.

When they finally broke apart, it was only by inches. Jack’s forehead rested lightly against hers, both of them breathing a little harder now.

“Well,” he murmured.

Olivia closed her eyes for a second, smiling despite the heat in her face. “Don’t.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You were absolutely going to say something smug.”

“Maybe one tiny smug thing.”

She opened her eyes and found him looking at her like she had just handed him something precious. “You should probably get back to work before they send a search party.”

Jack smiled softly. “Honey, after a kiss like that, it feels unreasonable to expect me to pivot back to charting.”

Olivia shakes her head, a smirk playing on her lips. She leans in again, and this time Jack moves first. He inhaled sharply against her mouth as Olivia kissed him back slowly, letting herself have this perfect feeling for one more second. One more breath. One more press of his mouth against hers that felt like comfort and want and relief all tangled together.

“We keep doing this,” he said quietly, voice rough around the edges, “and I’m never making it back to work.”

Olivia let out a soft laugh, her lips brushing his when she spoke. “That sounds like a you problem, Abbot.”

His smile deepened.

Then he kissed her once more in that quick, sweet, almost boyish way, like he couldn’t help himself. Then he finally pulled back enough to look at her.

“Come on,” he said, still smiling. “I’m walking you out before Lena pages us both.”

Jack walked Olivia back toward the ER, close enough that their shoulders brushed once, twice. Olivia felt light now, almost giddy again, carrying the warmth of his mouth and the look on his face and the relief of finally having an all good day.

They were almost to the desk when movement in the waiting area snagged her attention.

A young guy in a backward cap crossed in front of the chairs toward the exit hallway, one side of his face bruised, a discharge paper folded in his hand.

Olivia stopped dead. Everything inside her dropped. Her blood went cold so fast it made her dizzy.

No.

Jack slowed beside her. “What?”

But Olivia couldn’t answer. She was staring at the angle of that guys face. The careless set of his shoulders. The age of him. The awful ordinary-ness of the piece of shit she was seeing in front of her.

There he was. The one who had thrown the M-80 through the cruiser window. The dickhead who had blown up her whole life in one roaring second. She heard his degrading voice in her head screaming ‘fucking the police,’ when she had too much time to think.

Jack’s eyes followed hers toward the waiting area. Because he had no idea what she was seeing, his voice stayed light, almost teasing. “You’re giving that guy the full cop glare.”

Olivia’s throat tightened so hard it hurt.

Jack glanced at the kid again. “Bar fight patients from earlier. A couple of idiots came in busted up and drunk.” He looked back at her, still oblivious to the panic rising in her face. “I purposely didn’t call the cops on those kids tonight. He seems like a good guy. Didn’t mean any harm.”

Didn’t mean any harm. The words slammed into her so hard she physically rocked back half a step. 

Jack saw her expression change then. Really saw it. The warmth drained out of his face and concern took its place immediately. “Liv?”

Her pulse was thundering now. She couldn’t breathe right. The waiting room lights felt too bright, the sounds around her too sharp, too far away and too close all at once.

Jack turned fully toward her, hands on her shoulders and searching her face for some kind of sign for why she was acting this way. “Olivia, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head once.

Not an answer. Just instinct.

“Hey.” His voice dropped, gentler now. “Talk to me.”

But she was already stepping backward, away from him, away from his touch, away from that face and those words that man had said as he threw that firecracker at her in hopes it would kill her.

“I have to go, right now.” Olivia’s voice sounded thin and wrong even to herself.

Jack blinked. “What?”

“I have to go.”

“Liv—”

She turned and rushed for the ambulance bay doors.

Behind her, she heard Jack call her name, sharp with confusion now, and then his footsteps following for a few paces before he stopped short—caught between the instinct to chase her and the fact that he had no idea what had just shattered her.

Ten minutes ago she had been smiling in a stairwell, kissing him like she couldn’t help it.

Now she was out the door and into the night, panicked and breathless, the sweetness of the moment still on her mouth and ruin suddenly standing under fluorescent lights behind her.

[blackroseguzzi]

I promise I’ll update a few of my stories soon! 😅

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine Part 6

Summary: Jack has been checking in on Foster for the last two weeks since she arrived home from the hospital. He comes over one morning and finds her in bed, discouraged, angry, filled with grief and ready to push him away completely. Jack abbot doesn't scare easily, and he Lets Olivia know he's not planning on going anywhere.

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of trauma, and depression, bed rot, scares, vulnerability.

TAGLIST: aoi-targaryen onlyheretowastetime spooky-librarian-ghost imaginecrushes amnatreal generation-zero

Side Note- I beg you to listen to Cigarettes After Sex- Nothing's gonna Hurt You Baby while reading this chapter. I wrote this while it played on repeat.

ENJOY!

Jack let himself into Olivia’s apartment quietly, like he didn’t want her to know he was coming.

The small place was dim even though it was midafternoon. The curtains were half drawn, the air heavy with that stillness that settles in when someone hasn’t opened a window in days. A faint  smell of a vanilla candle lingered. On the island in the kitchen lay an array of assortments. topical creams, heat packs, whatever the hell physical therapy had told her to slather on to “help.” At least it was evidence she’d made it to therapy that day. 

He set the takeout bag on the counter then listened for Olivia.

No TV. No music. No movement. There was just the soft uneven sound of someone breathing like they’d spent the last hour holding themselves together.

“Liv?” Jack called out, keeping his voice low as he stepped down the hall. No answer. He reached her bedroom doorway and stopped.

Olivia was on top of her bed. Her sling lay across her chest, the strap digging slightly into her neck, while her other arm lay sprawled out on the bed as she stared at the ceiling. The gash across her nose still red and angry as it moved through the healing process- almost mimicking the feelings that currently sat inside Olivia. Jack could see the tightness in her jaw, the way her face was set like armor even in rest.

The sight hit him in the chest—harder than he expected.

He leaned against the doorframe for a beat, collecting himself, then stepped inside.

“Hey, how was PT?” he asked softly.

Olivia’s response was a sound somewhere between a scoff and a growl. “Don’t.”

Jack moved closer anyway, stopping at the side of the bed. “Get up.”

Olivia’s head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed at him. “Excuse me?”

Jack didn’t flinch. He kept his tone calm and firm, but not cruel. “I said…get up.” He crossed his arms as he stared down at her. “C’mon Starshine.”

The nickname only made her more annoyed.

“I had a horrible time at PT if you have to know,” she snapped, voice ragged around the edges. “They like to pull my arm around like it’s a hinge that just needs WD-40 and positive prayers. Again, they kept telling me time will tell. Time will tell what? Whether I can hold a fucking pen again? Whether I can drive myself places again?” Her voice broke, and she shoved it back down with a sharp inhale. “I’m not doing anything else for the rest of the fucking day, Abbot. I want to bed rot.” She stares back at the ceiling and drives her hand up to her face and pushes at her eyeballs like she’s stopping herself from letting the tears fall. 

Jack’s jaw tightened, but he stayed still. “Okay,” he said evenly. “How about you can rot later. Right now you need to getting up.”

Olivia struggles, but shifts herself so she’s now sitting up in bed and when her eyes land on Jack- she looks furious. “Stop. Stop acting like you get to tell me what to do.”

“Somebody has to,” Jack said, more quiet than anything. “Staying in bed all day with your thoughts? How is that helping anything?

Olivia shrugged, but immediately winced, one shoulder hitching as nerve pain flared. The pain made her eyes go glassy, and that only fueled her rage because it felt like her body was humiliating her on top of everything else.

“Get out,” she said through clenched teeth. “I mean it. Leave.”

Jack didn’t move.

Olivia’s voice rose. “Abbot. Please. Just leave.”

He exhaled slowly, the way he did when he was forcing himself to be steady. He didn’t want to push her, but he knew better than anyone that he had to. “No.”

She scoffed at his response. “No?”

“No,” he repeated, calm and infuriatingly sure.

She shakes her head and gets up out of bed. She shoved at his chest with her good hand, not hard enough to hurt him, just hard enough to try to make a point. “I don’t need you here. I don’t need you checking in like… Like I’m,” Her good arm flies out in annoyance trying to find the right words, “Pathetic or something.”

“Stop. Just stop being so damn stubborn,” Jack drags a hand down his face in frustration. He reached out to grab her hand that was balling into a fist at the rage inside of her. 

Olivia yanked her hand back. “You’re not your husband,” she shouted. “You’re not my boyfriend. You’re certainly not my dad. So you don’t have to come check on me just because we share some traumatic explosive injury to a limb.” The words echoed in the dim room, sharp as thrown glass.

Jack blinked once. The muscle in his jaw twitched but he didn’t lash back. He just took it—let it hit him, let it pass through him, let it land where it was really meant to land: at the universe. At the pain. At the unfairness.

When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher. “You’re right.”

Olivia’s breath caught because she hadn’t expected him to say that.

“I’m not going anywhere, Foster” Jack said simply.

Olivia laughed, ugly and broken. “Why?”

Jack’s gaze stayed on her scarred but still beautiful face, and remained teady. “You’re right about you not being my wife or girlfriend or my daughter,” he said. “But I can still be someone that cares about you.”

Olivia shook her head like she couldn’t stand that answer. “Stop.”

Jack’s eyes hardened with truth. “No. I know what this feels like, and I wish you would just let me in.”

Olivia stilled.

Jack swallowed, his throat working like it was about to pull something personal up from deep. “When I lost my leg, I wanted to burn the world down. I wanted to disappear. I wanted everyone to stop looking at me like I was brave, and stop feeding me lines from self help books. I just needed someone to say-this fucking sucks, I get it.” He feels a shiver run up his spine remembering the dark hole he was once in. “I needed someone to help me feel less alone in the way I was feeling.”

Olivia’s gaze flicked away, her expression tightening.

Jack continued anyway, voice controlled. “The difference is mine was cut off. Final. No guessing. No ‘time will tell.’” His eyes held hers again. “Your arm is still there, Liv. And I’m not saying that to minimize what you’re going through, because not knowing what the outcome will be is terrible. I get that sweetie, I do.” Jack’s face softens as Olivias shoulders loosen. “But there is still a chance. Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s not the way you want. There’s still a chance at a full recovery.”

Olivia’s eyes filled instantly, furious at herself for it. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” Jack admitted. “But neither do you. And you’re not allowed to call it over from inside your bed on your worst day.”

Olivia’s breath started to shake. She pressed her fist into the blanket, nails digging into fabric like she could anchor herself there.

Jack softened, his voice gentler. “I didn’t come here to lecture you,” he said. “I came because I can feel you pulling away. I can feel you disappearing and giving up.”

Olivia swallowed hard, chin trembling. “I’m fine.”

Jack didn’t answer right away, and somehow that cracked something open in her even more. Olivia let out a laugh that sounded wrecked and wrong, and dragged her good hand over her face.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered, and then louder, angrier, “I’m not fine, Jack.” Her chest heaved. “Nick is dead.”

The room went still.

Olivia stared at the floor like she couldn’t bear to look at him when she said it. “He had a wife. A family. People waiting for him to come home.” Her voice broke hard on the last word. “And I’m the one who lived.”

Jack’s face shifted, but he stayed quiet, letting her say it.

“He should be here,” Olivia said, tears falling faster now. “Not me. He had more to lose. He had people who needed him.” She finally looked at Jack then, devastated and furious all over again. “You want to know what I think about lying in this bed all day? I think maybe it should’ve been me. I’m so pathetic I’m crying over my arm when someone’s father and someone’s husband is dead. I was supposed to be there to make sure something like this doesn’t happen.” Her voice snapped in half. She turned her face away, ashamed of the words even as they spilled out. “And I hate myself for even thinking it should have been me, but I do.”

Jack’s heart squeezes at the sight of her trying so hard to keep it together. 

“Come here,” he murmured in a voice low. Not a command, just an invitation.

Olivia shook her head once, being stubborn. “No.” Her face crumpled with frustration, and she sits back on the edge of the bed, tears falling down her cheeks.

Jack waited a beat. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll come to you.” He sat down next to her slowly, like he was approaching an injured animal. He didn’t reach for her right away. He just sat, close enough to be there, far enough to give her the choice.

Olivia’s breathing hitched. Another tear slid down her cheek. 

“You don’t have to put some masquerade on for me.” Jack doesn’t recognize the softness of his voice when it comes out. He continues anyway. “You are not worth less because you lived.” He reaches out and swipes a stay tear off her cheek with his thumb. ““If Nick were standing here right now, do you really think he’d want you carrying this around?”

Olivia squeezed her squeezed shit. She shook her head ever so softly.

“And you’re allowed to feel how you feel about the state of your arm. And I’m just here to let you know that whatever scenario plays out with it, I’m here to sit with you in those feelings…If you let me.” Jack lifts his hand again, gently. Placing his palm on the skin that had been cut and scratched and scared by violence and he let it rest there. Protectively. “

 Olivia reaches up and grabs his hand, and for a second Jack thinks she’s going to shove it away again. She doesn’t. Instead she holds his hand to her cheek and closes her eyes.

“I’m not good at letting people in.” Olivia feels Jack carefully grab her other cheek and bring her face up so that he could take a good look at her.

“Well, Starshine, I’m not the king of vulnerability either.” His heart does a little leap when he sees the side of her mouth twitch. “But I’d rather stumble through this with you than let you feel alone in it.”

Olivia slowly made her way closer to jack so that she could rest her head on his shoulder, both of them sitting in peaceful silence. Together.

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine Part 5

This may be my best work yet! Comment if you'd like to be tagged.

Summary : Jack Abbot rushes to Post-Op and finds Olivia Foster sobbing in agony after her nerve block wears off. He pushes pain management to move faster, then anchors Olivia with steady breaths and the soft nickname. He makes sure she knows he's not there for any other reason other than he really cares about her.

Next chapter will be a small time jump and the slow burn romance will pick up!

warning: CUTE, Medical practices that may not be totally accurate, Pain descriptions, swearing.

TAGLIST: generation-zero spooky-librarian-ghost onlyheretowastetime

Part 4 HERE

Jack steps into the elevator. The doors slide shut with a soft hush. Once the doors are closed jack is glad he’s cut off the chaos of downstairs and he’s now left alone with the hum of fluorescent lights and his own pulse.

He closes his eyes and lets his head tip back against the cool metal wall, just enough to feel the weight of the last forty-eight hours settle in his bones. The lack of sleep isn’t a fog anymore. It’s turned into a pressure behind his eyes and a dull throb at his temples. Coffee hasn’t fixed anything. It’s just made the anxiety faster.

The elevator dings. The doors open. Jack is moving before he’s fully ready, his body on autopilot as it travels towards Olivia’s room. 

Post-Op had that faint metallic smell that always clings to surgical floors. The hallway is quieter than the ER, but it’s not peaceful. It’s the kind of quiet that makes every sound sharper.

Jack is halfway to her room when he hears it. A raw, strangled cry that sounds forced through clenched teeth, 

“AHHHHHHH MY ARM,” Olivia sobs. “FUCK… ITS ON FIRE”

Jack stops so abruptly his shoes squeak. His stomach drops. Then his feet are moving again, he turns the corner and goes straight for her door.

Inside, the room is too bright for Olivia’s eyes which are still heeling from the blast debris. Jack’s eyes go to Foster first. She is twisted slightly to the side in the bed, her good hand clawing at the blanket like it’s the only thing anchoring her. Her injured arm is elevated, wrapped, immobilized. Nothing about the scene in front of him looks calm. She’s shaking, sweat on her forehead, face flushed and wet with tears. Jack notices how young and fragile she looks in that moment, and his heart feels like its being squeezed. 

Walsh is at the bedside with another nurse, hands moving, checking vitals, scanning lines, trying to speak over Olivia’s sobbing.

Jack doesn’t announce himself. He steps in and the whole room shifts—the oxygen in it rearranging around his presence.“Walsh,” he says sharply. “What’s going on?” His voice comes out rougher than he intends.

Walsh turns her head, face in that usual annoyed demeanor he usually likes to give her shit for, but now it just pissed him off. “Abbot. She was fine until about 20 minutes ago. As you can tell her pain’s spiking. Her block wore off and—”

“It wore off?” Jack steps closer, eyes on Olivia’s face. The word hits him like an insult.

Walsh looks up from the monitor she was typing on, startled at the harshness in his voice. Olivia’s eyes flicker toward him, wild and unfocused. She’s bites down on a corner of her blanket so hard her jaw is trembling. The same blanket Jack had bought while he was out grabbing her some things she’ll need post recovery. He thought she’d like it considering she was always complaining about how cold the hospital was. 

He moves towards Olivia, and places a warm hand onto her back. She lets out another broken cry. 

“Hey,” Jack says, leaning close enough that she can hear him through the noise of her own panic. “Foster. Look at me.” She doesn’t move, her panic and pain overtaking her. Tears streak down into her hairline. Her face is flushed, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle pulled taut with pain.

Jack’s gaze snaps to the nurse at the IV. “Get pain management in here. Now. Call the acute pain service-anesthesia, whoever’s on. I want them physically at bedside immediately.”

“We already paged-” Walsh starts.

“Well page again.” Jack cuts her off. “And tell them it’s uncontrolled post-op pain with rebound after regional. Tell them to move.”

Jack’s eyes anchor back to Olivia now. “Starshine,” he says,  his voice lower now as he tries to be steady and calming.

Olivia’s eyes finally flutter open at the nickname. Her eyes are glassy, but she locks into his gaze like its her only lifeline left. She tries to breathe slower.  “It hurts,” she chokes, voice breaking hard on the last word. “I can’t do this-”

“You can,” Jack says quickly. He pulls over a chair and leans in close to her. “Breathe with me, Liv. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I know it feels impossible.” 

Olivia tries, and a shaky breath leaves her body before the next wave of pain hits and she cries out, swearing under her breath before the fingers of her good hand find jack’s scrub top, scrunching up the fabric near his chest.

His thumb comes up to wipe a stray tear off her cheek. “I’ve got ya.” 

He see’s Walsh out of the corner of his eyes, adjusting her IV pump. “What did you give her?” he demanded, voice sharp again. “And when?”

“Last dose was—”

Jack cut in, anger spiking hot and immediate. “Why did you let her nerve block wear off before you gave her more medication?”

Walsh paused, just long enough for Jack to see the flash of irritation in her eyes. 

“Dr. Abbot,” she said evenly, “the block wears off when it wears off. You know it’s not a timer we can control.”

Jack scoffs, and he could feel the lack of sleep making him brittle. It’s turning every emotion into a sharp edge. At least he thinks its the lack of sleep that’s making that protective instinct kick into overdrive. “She should’ve been covered. That’s basic.” 

Walsh’s jaw sets, but her voice stays calm “We’re following protocol. She needed a neuro check and stable vitals before we could push more.”

“Protocol,” Jack’s words landed with heat. “She’s in agony. So lets hurry this up before our argument delays care…even more.”

“You’re not the only person in this room with a license,” Walsh shot back, still calm, which somehow made it worse. She reached for Olivia’s injured arm with careful hands. She remained professional and focused. “Olivia, I need you to look at me. Can you wiggle your fingers? Tell me if you can feel my touch.”

Olivia jerked at the touch, a cry tearing out of her. “Yes—FUCK, YES I FET THAT.” Olivia turns away like she can’t bare the thought of her own limb. 

Walsh nods, and turns to the nurse who was currently on the phone and looking rather timid in Jack’s presence. Jack swallows the urge to do more, say more, manage more. 

Instead, he puts all of it into Olivia. “You’re a champ, Starshine.”

Olivia sucks in a large breath before lowing it out slowly. “Don’t… start… motivational-speaking at me,” she whispers. Jack’s lip turns up for a moment before he watches the nurse finally give Olivia some medication through her IV before pain management comes to give her another blocker. One she should have already been given, Jack manages to keep that thought internally. 

“Thank you,” Olivia manages to say to the nurse. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She smiles down at Olivia, and then shoots a sympathetic glance over to Jack.

It was only six minutes before the door opens and the energy in the room shifts. Pain management comes in with that practiced and efficient calm that makes people stop hovering. Quick and brief explanation was deliveredand the provider checks Olivia’s vitals and asks her to rate the pain again.

Olivia can barely get the number out through clenched teeth. 

Jack stays by her side and his hand slides into hers without a second thought. His voice still the anchor in the room. “Almost Over. You got this.”

Olivia squeezes his hand like she’s trying to wring the pain out of her body and into his palm. “I’m…thinking that tourniquet you gave me… it wasn’t all that bad.”

“Hey, I worked hard to make that miserable for you, Foster.”

The new blocker goes in carefully. Olivia flinches, but immediately stills afterwards. There’s a moment where nothing changes and her face tightens like she’s bracing for disappointment.

And then, slowly, her shoulders drop and her eyes crack open, and her face fills with relief. “Oh thank god” she whispers. “It’s fucking working.”

Jack’s chest loosens in sympathy, a tightness he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, almost like a sigh.“Yeah?” .

“It’s…” She swallows, blinking as tears dry on her cheeks. “It’s not gone, but It’s not—” she exhales again, longer this time. “It’s not on fire anymore.”

Walsh checks the line, the monitor, the timing. “That’s what we want. We’ll keep ahead of it now.” 

Olivia thanks her, her voice filled with exhaustion. Her grip on Jack’s hand loosens for the first time. It became a moment of less clawing, more holding.

Jack leans in, voice warm and low. “You’re being a lot nicer than I would be if I were you.”

Olivia’s mouth twitches, like she wants to shoot off something sarcastic back, but she’s too tired. She shifts her head on the pillow and closes her eyes. “You don’t have to stay, Abbot” she mumbles and slowly pulls her hand from his light grasp.

Jack’s brows lift. “Excuse me?”

Olivia opens one eye and fixes him with the weakest version of her glare. “I’m sure you have a whole ER full of disasters to tend to.”

He gives her a look right back, equal parts fond and unimpressed. “You’re my only disaster.”

Olivia’s lips part in a silent wow, and then she huffs out a small laugh. “Jack,” she says, voice softening, “you really don’t have to do all this.” She glances over at her bandaged arm, then away, like she hates giving the vulnerability any air. “I’m not going to fall apart the second you leave. I’m fine being alone with this, I can handle it.”

“You’re not a burden.” he says, simple and firm.

Olivia’s gaze flicks to him. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you mean,” he replies, gentler now. “I’m not here because you don’t have family in Pittsburgh… I want to be here,” he states, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

Olivia watches him. Her eyes are sharper now that she isn’t drowning in pain.“Are you going to tell me you’d do this for anyone?”

Jack’s smirk is small and tired. “I would.”

“Mm-hmm.” She tips her head. “Liar.”

He lets out the quietest laugh, like she got him.

“I’m staying because I want to be there for you,” he says. “And I know damn well if the roles were reversed, you’d be glued to my bedside, barking at everyone and making sure nobody messed anything up.”

Olivia’s eyes brighten faintly with something like pride. “I’d go full blown German Shepard.”

“I know.” Jack smiles at her. “And I’d let you.”

Olivia’s lips curve. “That’s because you’re kind of obsessed with me.”

Jack gives her a long look. “You’re high on pain meds, Kid.”

“So?” she challenges, sleepy and smug. He huffs a breath, not denying it, not confirming it either. He just lets the moment sit between them.

Jack reaches down and grabs the small bag he’d brought her before he clocked into work that night. The bag was something he’d shoved together in a rush while she was getting her second surgery.  He sets it on the edge of the bed and starts pulling items out, one by one. 

Olivia squints. “What is that?”

“A peace offering,” Jack responds. Olivia watches him fish around. “Candy?”

“Ginger candies,” he corrects, dead serious. “Because you got nauseous yesterday.”

Olivia’s brows lift. “You probably already know this, but you’re a lifesaver.”

He pulls out lip balm next. Then a soft pair of socks. Then a long charger cord.

Olivia stares. “Did you… pack me a recovery kit?”

Jack shrugs like it’s no big deal, but his ears go faintly pink. “Hospital socks suck.”

“And I’m guessing Santa didn't bring me this fuzzy blanket in my favorite color, did he?”

“Ho Ho Ho,” Jack responds with that lazy grin, the one that makes Olivia worry will cause her monitor to go crazy with how fast her heart starts beating. Then Jack’s hand closes around something else at the bottom of the bag.

He lifts it out and Olivia’s eyes narrow immediately. “Oh my God,” she breathes, offended and amused all at once. “Is that an MP3 player?”

Jack glances at it like it’s perfectly normal. “Still works.”

Olivia’s mouth drops open. “Abbot. That thing belongs in a museum.”

He digs out a pair of wired headphones and holds them up. “These too.”

Olivia lets out a laugh that’s small, careful, but real. “How old are you?”

“Ancient,” he deadpans. “No judging me.”

“I’m not judging you,” she says, eyes shining. “just… trying to picture you discovering fire.”

Jack lets out a laugh and leans in, gently lifting the headphones.

Olivia stills, letting him do it—letting herself be cared for without fighting. He slides the padded cups over her ears carefully, mindful of her hair, mindful of how overstimulated pain can make everything feel too sharp.

She watches him, softening without meaning to. She had told him once that music helped her sleep. He knew she was having nightmares as she mourned her Partner, her friend. He knew she was having a hard time resting, and she couldn't put into words how much him bringing that mp3 player meant to her. “What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes glassy and her voice muffled under the headphones.

“Giving you something else to focus on,” he says softly.

He clicks the MP3 player on, scrolls with his thumb like he’s done it a thousand times, and then presses play.

Olivia’s eyes widen a fraction as the first notes come through. Her face relaxes even more, her mouth easing into a smile when she hears Stevie Nicks singing in her ears.

Oh, you used to be silver

Loveline, love affair

Well, you used to make me shiver

“Starshine?” she mouths, incredulous.

Jack’s smile is quiet. “Felt appropriate.”

Olivia’s eyelids grow heavy again, her breathing evening out as the music fills the space the pain was taking up. She shifts her head on the pillow, settling, the smallest sigh leaving her mouth like her body is finally giving itself permission to rest.

Jack watches her for another beat, like he’s memorizing the sight of her not suffering. Then he leans down, close enough that only she can hear.

“Go,” she murmurs. “Before you start… unpacking a VHS player.”

Jack lets out a quiet breath of a laugh, shakes his head “Try to sleep,” he says softly. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Olivia’s eyes stay closed, but the corner of her mouth lifts. She grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze before letting it go again.

He adjusts the blanket, checks that the call button is within reach, and lowers the lighting in her room, just the way Olivia likes it. 

The door clicks shut behind him. On his way back downstairs he passes Walsh, giving her a brief nod that says thank you without words.

And Olivia, finally able to breathe, lets the music carry her as she drifts off to sleep, Starshine in her ears and Jack’s steady presence still lingering in the room even after he’s gone.

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine Part 4

There is a second part to this chapter, because it came out way longer than I thought it would!

Summery: Jack Abbot has stayed with Olivia through some really tough moments after her injury. When he gets paged up to Post Op hours after Olivia's second surgery, he feels the anxiety wrap around him. He can't let Olivia endure anymore bad news. When Santos's smart ass mouth starts in on Olivia- Jack is protective and fierce in a way that reminds those who know him just how much Jack cares for Foster.

Warnigs: Mention of surgery, Mention of PTSD, Trinity Santos being a wise ass, Medical terms, Mention of Suicide.

Jack had already felt like he’d been working for an eternity when he picked up his third cup of coffee, only to taste that the bitter black liquid was cold on his tongue. He sets it back down at the nurses’ station and looks over at one of the new medical interns—a cocky little shit that Jack had just used 85% of his energy on by yelling about giving penicillin to a patient with a known anaphylactic allergy.

The intern locks eyes with Jack, and then his gaze darts down at the floor before grabbing a tablet and fast-walking right out of the nurses’ area and away from Jack’s brutal stare.

“Longest shift of my life,” Jack sighs as he slides his readers onto his face and leans over a monitor, typing with proficiency even if his mind felt slower than it normally had.

The night-shift charge nurse, Lena, sniffles a laugh. “Nothing you can’t handle, Captain Cortisol.”

Jack shoots her a look before a subtle smirk slides over his face.

Lena gives Jack a once-over. “Let me guess, you didn’t get much rest today?”

Jack doesn’t look away from the computer screen as he slowly shakes his head no. Lena’s face softens, and she places a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s lucky to have you sticking by for all the hard stuff,” Lena whispers. Jack is about to say something back when Trinity Santos, an unusual resident to be working at this hour, huffs a big sigh as she approaches Jack and Lena.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me patients during the night shift are way more foul than the ones during the day shift?”

Jack and Lena both look at her, confused, waiting for the younger girl to elaborate.

“I just got finished with a patient who threw urine on a nurse. I had a drunk man puke up a whole chicken dinner onto his bed, plus he had the worst diabetic foot ulcer I’ve ever seen.” She glances down at her Apple Watch. “And it’s only 2:34 in the morning.” The brunette resident slides her hand down her face and shivers, the reminder of the puke smell lingering in her senses.

“Remind me again why you’re here?” Jack clicks out of his charts and folds his arms, staring at Santos.

“Ellis needed coverage, and I needed more time to chart, so I figured I’d take the double shift.” She huffs a little sigh. “I’m realizing that was a bad decision I will try not to make again. I’ll stick with day shifts.”

Lena shakes her head, laughing. The phone rings, and she walks away to retrieve it.

Santos scans Jack in the way most residents do, trying to figure out what mood he was in. “Man, I thought I looked like shit. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“And you look like you don’t think before you speak,” Jack mumbles before pointing above him, where the patient board remained filled with unseen patients.

“Guess we’re all on the hospital-approved sleep plan: 20 minutes and a prayer.”

Santos doesn’t see the way Jack’s shoulders slump; she was far too busy with her eyes on the board, looking for her next patient.

Jack is about to walk away when Lena calls out his name.

“Abbot, Walsh just paged. She needs you up in Post-Op for Foster.”

Jack feels his chest tighten at the sound of her name. The poor woman must be going through hell.

It had been two days since he had to tell Olivia that her partner, Nick, was dead. He had waited until the Chief of Police had paid his respects and could give Olivia answers to what had happened. Jack had watched her try to be strong, but a nightmare that woke her suddenly from sleep broke that tough exterior instantly. She had cried, riddled with guilt and grief. She told Jack she was used to losing people. He understood what she had meant. He’d learned over the years quite a bit about Olivia. Her father had taken his life after struggling with PTSD, and her mother washed herself away with addiction to the point that Olivia hasn’t spoken to her in over five years. Nick was her family, someone who was there for her when nobody else seemed to care.

“Santos, watch my COPD patient in 12 while I’m gone.” Jack takes his readers off and places them back down onto the desk before picking up a tablet.

“Wait, isn’t Foster the badass cop who got blown up by that M80 a few nights ago?” Santos’s face lights up in that annoying way people do when they talk about how much they love when a movie is full of gore.

“Yes, Officer Foster,” Lena responds with a warning tone that Santos clearly doesn’t register.

“Yolanda told me her arm was GNARLEY. I mean, the way she described it, I would bet money on that limb only gaining back like 15% normal function.”

Jack feels the heat rising inside his chest. “Interesting hobby—betting on permanent disability.”

Santos shrugs, as if empathy doesn’t live within the walls of her own chest.

“On the bright side, she can finally live up to the term ‘unarmed officer.’”

Santos’s little joke lands with a bright, performative grin, like she’s tossing confetti into the air and expecting everyone to clap.

Jack hears it the way you hear a monitor alarm that’s been ignored too long: sharp, wrong, urgent. It isn’t the words alone, per se, but the tone. The giddy tilt in her voice, the way she savors the line like she’s proud of herself. Like a blown-up arm is a party trick. Like Olivia is just content for her stand-up comedy act.

Something hot spikes behind Jack’s eyes. The edges of his vision seem to tighten. He can feel his jaw lock so hard it aches with the kind of anger that’s clean and immediate. He’s had enough nights of blood and grief to know gallows humor when it’s survival. This isn’t that. This is cruelty dressed up as a punchline.

The tablet is in his hand one second and in her arms the next. He shoves it against her chest with just enough force to make the smirk vanish from her lips.

“Here,” he says, voice low and tight. Not loud—which, for Jack Abbott, was far worse than loud. “If you’ve got energy for jokes, you’ve got energy for work.”

Santos blinks, clutching the tablet like it might bite. Jack leans in just slightly, lip curling into a smirk that is controlled, precise, lethal.

“And you know what?” he adds, eyes hard. “I think you’re right about one thing.”

A beat. The air around them goes still.

“You should stick to day shift.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s a verdict.

He doesn’t wait for her to respond. He turns and walks past her toward the elevator to Post-Op.

Behind him, Santos just stands there, tablet hugged to her chest, cheeks flushing with embarrassment that quickly tries to rearrange itself into defensiveness.

She looks to Lena, suddenly brutally aware of the room she misread.

“…Was it too soon to make that joke?” she asks, like she’s asking about a movie spoiler.

Lena doesn’t roll her eyes, doesn’t sigh—she just fixes Santos with that flat, don’t-make-me-explain-this-twice look. “Santos,” she says, quieter now, but sharper for it. “Dr. Abbot and Officer Foster have been friends for years. Real friends. Not just ‘work friends.’ The kind that show up when it’s ugly.”

Santos swears under her breath.

“And Olivia Foster is a damn good cop,” Lena adds, chin lifting like she’s daring anyone to argue. “The kind you want showing up when it’s your family. The world needs more officers like her.”

Santos’s grip tightens around the tablet. Her bravado has drained out, leaving something more human in its place.

Lena softens just enough to make it sting less, not enough to let Santos off the hook. “So yeah, you wanna place bets? Here’s mine.” She taps the edge of the tablet with two fingers. “I bet Foster makes a full recovery.”

Santos follows Lena’s gaze down the hall to where Jack stands waiting for the elevator doors to open. He’s rigid, shoulders set, head down, and jaw working like he’s chewing down words he doesn’t want to say out loud.

Santos’s expression shifts. Sympathy flickers across her features. “I didn’t know,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

“I know you didn’t,” Lena says. Then, like she can’t resist adding one last part that feels like truth more than gossip, she lowers her voice even further. “And I bet Jack finally accepts it.”

Santos blinks. “What?”

Lena’s eyes stay on Jack’s back, on the way he’s holding himself like a man trying not to crack. “Whatever he’s got for Foster… it goes way deeper than friendship.”

Santos glances back at Lena, startled by the bluntness, then looks at Jack again—really looks. The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and Jack steps in without turning around.

Santos exhales, cheeks flushing with a mix of guilt and dawning understanding. “I really didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Lena cuts in, and this time the edge is gone. She leans in, just close enough that it feels like a secret instead of a lecture.

“And for what it’s worth,” Lena murmurs, “Foster would’ve loved that joke.”

Santos huffs a small, embarrassed breath, almost a laugh, almost a wince.

“But here’s the thing, Trinity. You don’t make that joke to the people who are scared for her,” Lena says quietly.

“Okay,” Santos says quietly. “Yeah. I get it.”

Lena’s gaze stays on her a second, evaluating. Then she nods once, satisfied enough.

“Good, now go earn the privilege of having a sense of humor in this place.”

[blackroseguzzi]

Part 4 of my Jack Abbot fic will be up either tonight or tomorrow morning!

[blackroseguzzi]

Heyyy! Hope all is well! Do you think you’ll be writing more Don?🙏🏻

Yes! Jack mulhern takes up 80% of my brain daily so I’ll be sure to feed us more Don stories soon!!

[blackroseguzzi]

Accurate representation of what it would look like if I ever got face to face with this man.

(Hope we get to be blessed with his presence tonight. It’s already been a long shift and it’s not even noon. I need my night hawk/dark angel/midnight cowboy)

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine Part 3

Summery: a little backstory of the night shift and patient that brought Olivia Foster and Jack Abbot together for the first time.

*This is a flashback chapter and probably the only full chapter of flashback that I’ll do. I’ll be sprinkling in the flashbacks throughout the rest of the storyline*

Warning: ptsd, blood, cop assumptions, medical talk of wounds, mention of violence.

Part 2 here

Enjoy💙❤️

The ER was already humming the way it always did when the city decided to unravel all at once. There were monitors chirping, gurneys squeaking, a paramedic snapping vitals into the air like numbers could hold everything together.

Jack Abbot came out of Trauma Two snapping gloves off his hands and his weight settling into that familiar ache in his residual limb as he crossed the threshold from the patients room.

That patient’s chart was already half memorized in his head: unknown age, male, homeless, found outside a convenience store in town mid-ptsd episode. He was shouting, swinging at air, punching the storefront window until it gave. He hadn’t attacked anyone else, but the broken glass had marked him as a danger and police were to be involved.

The man’s right hand had looked like it went through a blender when EMS rolled him in. Deep lacerations across knuckles and palm, embedded glass, and bleeding controlled in the field with pressure and dressing. His forearm and shirt soaked through with that dark, metallic red. His eyes had been wild—too bright, too far away. Every time someone moved too quickly, he flinched like he was back somewhere else. When he shouted about his platoon, Jack knew what was going on immediately.

Jack had done what he always did with men like that: he slowed down. Lowered his voice. Kept his hands visible. He’d asked permission before touching. He’d made the room smaller by making himself smaller, crouching at the edge of the bed rather than tower over it.

You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I’m going to help your hand.

Somewhere along the way, the man’s breathing had gone from ragged to shaky. His shoulders had dropped a fraction. The terror hadn’t disappeared—it never did—but the immediate threat of it had softened.

So now as Jack stepped out into the hallway he immediately clocked the female police officer approaching him as she pushes off from her stance at the nurses’ station. Jack knew what she was there for and he wasn’t very impressed. He was ready to go rounds to protect his patient just for a few more hours until he was stable.

The young cop had dark hair pulled back tight, posture straight in that way officers learned early: take up space, be unmovable. Her duty belt sat heavy on her hips. Jack hadn’t seen her before, probably a transfer or new hire trying to make sure all their paperwork was sent in fast and clean. A cop like that was a doctor’s worst nightmare.

Jack’s initial thought was automatic and bitter: Great. Here we go.

He watched her walk towards him, crossing his arms and staring her down with that clipped, efficient confidence he used like armor.

“Can I help you?” he asked, not bothering to soften it.

The officer’s eyes flicked to him, then to his badge. She nodded once like she recognized exactly who he was.

“I’m Officer Olivia Foster,” she said, voice steady. Professional. She held out her hand. Jack hesitated before wrapping his hand into her smaller one and shaking it quick.

“Doctor Abbot.” He drops his hand from hers quickly and folds his arms back over his chest. “What do I have the pleasure Officer?” His tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m here for the patient that was brought in maybe all of an hour ago. Went full King Kong and started punching the glass out of a store window in town.”

Jack didn’t like how the words landed. He didn’t like how she was implying interrogation, poking fun all while a post traumatic stress patient had the weight of law pressing down on him when he’d already been crushed by something nobody could see.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Jack said. His tone was sharp enough to cut.

The cops face shifted, her eyebrows clipping together in confusion. “Doctor Abbot I-“

“And he’s not in any condition to be questioned.” Jack continued.

Olivia blinked, but she didn’t bristle. She held his gaze like she’d had far worse thrown at her than an irritated doctor.

“I’m not—”

“He didn’t hurt anyone,” Jack continued, heat rising. He heard his own voice, heard how close it was to a lecture. “The last thing he needs is a uniformed officer standing over him making him think he’s about to be -”

A nurse behind the station gave Jack a small warning look—easy. Jack ignored it.

“Stop-“ Olivia’s voice was firm, loud, and authoritative. Her mouth was pressed into a line. Her hands shooting out in front of her as if to physically put jacks words to an end. Jack stared at her, not daring to lose eye contact.

“His name is Bernie Wilkins. 57 maybe 58.” Olivia lets her hands fall to her sides. “He’s a homeless veteran that comes to station every Friday. I bring him a donut and he sits with me while I have some coffee and we talk. Sometimes he tells me about his life, past and present. Sometimes he’s real quiet and just eats his donut.” Olivia’s eyes flick to the closed door behind Jack.

“He isn’t a menace to society. He was disoriented, and clearly in a psychosis from his ptsd.” Olivia sighed, matching jacks glare “ I came to get an update because I had an early call this morning and didn’t make our normal Friday meeting time.”

Jack’s face softened. He wasn’t expecting that, he wasn’t sure what to say. Guilt washed over him for a moment before returning back to his professionalism.

He should have apologized to her.

Jack cleared his throat. “He’s stable,” he said instead, giving her what she came for. “Hand lacerations. A lot of glass. We cleaned him out, stitched what we could. He’ll need follow-up, which… I know. I know.”

Olivia nodded like she already understood the impossible part: follow-up meant nothing if you didn’t have a phone, a home, a ride, a reason to believe the world would meet you halfway.

“I’ll bring him myself if you let me know when he’s gotta come back.”

Jack nodded, a silent thanks.

“Is he lucid?” Olivia asked.

“On and off,” Jack admitted. “He’s calmer.”

Olivia’s jaw clenched, just for a second. “Good,” she murmured. Her voice stayed gentle but firm. “I heard the call come in. I heard it was him. I got worried. I told my commanding officer I’d handle this.”

Jack swallowed. The image of Bernie’s blood pooling on the gurney flashed behind his eyes. The way Bernie had flinched when a tech reached for the blood pressure cuff. The way he’d whispered don’t make me go back, don’t make me go back like he wasn’t talking about the worst place imaginable. A place Jack dreamed about sometimes too.

“And the storefront?” Jack asked, still guarded.

Olivia exhaled through her nose. “I’ll handle that too. I already talked to the store owner. They’re mad, but they’re not pressing charges. They mostly want their window replaced and someone to tell them what to do next.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I told them I’d follow up. And I’ll talk to your social worker if you have someone available. I’d like to help see if we can connect Bernie to resources before he gets into this kind of trouble again.”

Jacks eyebrows rise at the thought of an officer actually aiding in helping a ptsd case patient the was officer foster was willing to help. “You’d do this? Try and coordinate with social work?”

Olivia looked at him like he’d just asked if she knew how to breathe. “He’s a person,” she said simply. “And I’m a cop…not a monster.”

The simplicity hit Jack like a punch.

Because he’d assumed.

He’d seen the uniform and filled in the rest: authority, punishment, indifference. He’d prepared himself to fight her to protect a man who didn’t need protection from her at all—he needed protection from the world that kept letting him fall through cracks.

Jack’s shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding loosening.

Olivia’s gaze flicked down, brief, and Jack followed it without thinking—caught the faint scuffs on her boots, the pale mark on her knuckle like she’d scraped it recently. The tiny details people missed if they weren’t looking.

“Well, thanks for the update. I guess I’ll leave the donut with you?” She smiles genuinely as she holds out the paper bag she’d dug out of her jacket pocket.

Jack realizes then just how pretty the officers smile was. Bright, youthful, and confident.

“He asked me last week to bring him a Boston crème, so be careful with the goods. Make sure he knows it’s from his favorite cop.”

Jack nods and carefully takes the small bag from her hand.

“And Doctor Abbot?” Olivia said just before turning around to leave.

Jack met her eyes, waiting.

“I get why you reacted the way you did,” she said. No accusation. Just truth. “A lot of people in my field might not handle situations like his well. And Bernie’s been hurt by that before.”

Jack’s throat tightened again. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” Olivia cut in, but her voice softened. “Just want you to know in case we meet again like this…I’m not here to check boxes—I’m here to check on people.”

Jack’s lips turn into a smirk and he nods slowly. “Thanks Officer Foster. I’ll be sure to call the station if I have any further information or questions.”

Olivia thanks him before moving towards the nurses desk again, probably looking for an available social worker.

Jack feels the heaviness of the donut bag in his hand, and he finds himself rooted where he was as he watches the younger cop talk with the charge nurse. She says something that gets a laugh from Lena and after receiving a location for her next destination she lifts a hand briefly in a half-wave at the whole nurses’ station like she’d been there a dozen times.

For a moment, the ER noise blurred into the background. The world narrowed down to the simple, humiliating realization that he’d been wrong and a stranger, warmer realization that he’d just watched someone do the exact kind of care he preached about, but out in the street where nobody gave you credit for it.

“Damn,” Jack muttered under his breath, he moved towards the charting station and lets the donut bag drop next to the computer.

A low chuckle came from his left.

Robby had been charting at the computer desk next to the nurses station, watching the entire exchange with the kind of quiet amusement that meant he’d seen straight through Jack from the start.

“How’d that go?” Robby asked.

Jack shot him a look. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Robby said, gathering himself from the char. His gaze followed Olivia’s retreating figure down the hall. “You looked like you were about to bite her head off.”

Jack exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, can’t blame me when normally things don’t go down like…like that.”

Robby’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

Jack’s voice came out rougher than he expected. “She—” He cut himself off, like saying it out loud would make the awe too obvious. “She brought him a donut and asked how he’s doing.”

Robby’s expression softened. A wide smile forming on his tired face. “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.”

Jack huffs a laugh, but his head kept replaying the interaction on and off the whole day. And somewhere deep inside himself he realized he wouldn’t hate running into Officer Foster again sometime soon.

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine Part 2:

Summary: Olivia Foster wakes up from surgery to find out the state of her injuries and to be surprised to see that she has a visitor who was very worried about his favorite cop.

Warnings: medical mentions of blood and surgical treatments for blast victims, mentions of hatred towards police, guns, violence towards officers, Jack being a cute little nurse, mentions of a death.

Thank you all for reading and showing your love for Part 1! I’m in love with writing Olivia and jacks dynamic.

Part 1 ❤️

————————————————————————

The first thing Olivia felt was the burning in her lungs- like she was using all her strength even though she wasn’t moving at all.

A beep kept time beside her head, muffled but there. Something cool touched her upper lip. Oxygen.

When her eyes cracked open like a stuck door, she could see a light shining into her pupils and she flinched, causing her to neck to scream in pain. Her skin rubbing together felt like a bad case of road rash.

“Olivia,” a calm female voice shot out. “I’m Dr. Garcia. I’m just checking your pupils.” The woman leaning over her had dark hair pulled in a tight bun, and even though her eyes were dark and stormy, she had a comforting look about her. “You’re okay.”

Olivia tried to swallow, but the pain of that action hit her like a thousand tiny needles sliding down her trachea.

A groan escaped her lips as the light flashed across her corneas. Her eyes watered, stingy and offended, and she tried to squint it off.

“Sorry,” Dr. Garcia gave her a sympathetic smile “ just making sure you’re waking up the way we want you to.”

The light clicks off. Finally.

That’s the exact moment Olivia’s brain acknowledged the other sensation her body was experiencing.

Her left arm—her left arm—was wrong. Heavy like someone had replaced it with wet concrete. She couldn’t feel her fingers either. Couldn’t feel anything past the elbow except pressure and a deep, sour ache that didn’t know how to be pain just yet.

Her heart jolted in her chest.

She turned her head, slow and panicky, ignoring that sandpaper feeling it created as she moved.

And before her eyes could land on her arm they clocked someone else in the room. There slouched in a chair like he’d been holding that exact position for hours was Jack Abbot. Black shirt and his camo cargo pants, his hair a mess like he’d raked his hand through it one too many times. His jaw was clenched tight, his posture all contained tension, but his eyes… his eyes were on her like she was the only patient in the building.

Jack’s face broke the second he realized she was actually seeing him.

“Well,” he said, voice rough but trying for light, “look who decided to stop being dramatic.”

Olivia clears her throat and winches. “Bite me, Abbot.”

Jacks lips tugged into a smirk. He leaned in closer to her. “Sounds like your mental clarity after anesthesia is just fine.”

Her eyes drifted toward her arm, panic creeping in.

“…Is it still there?”

Jack locks eyes with Olivia and nods immediately. “It’s still there, Foster.”

Doctor Garcia’s lips curved just a touch, like she’d walked into a familiar dynamic.

“I can’t I feel my hand.” Olivia whispered.

“I know,” Dr. Garcia stated , and there was no pity in it-only certainty. “You’ve got a nerve block on board right now. It’s supposed to make it feel heavy and numb. That’s by design. It’ll wear off, and when it does we’re going to stay ahead of your pain.”

Olivia closed her eyes both in exhaustion and relief.

She felt jack’s warm steady presence and a twist of guilt washed over her knowing that there was once a moment like this for him where relief was not a feeling he had been able to feel.

“You had an arterial bleed in the forearm. It was significant. We controlled it. Vascular was involved. We repaired what was damaged, cleaned the wound as much as we safely could tonight, and restored flow. Your hand is warm. Good color. We’re monitoring it closely.”

Garcia moves to the end of her bed and grabs a chart hanging on the end.

“But with blast injuries the swelling is aggressive, and pressure can build inside the forearm fast.” She kept her voice even. “To protect your muscles and nerves we performed a fasciotomy.”

Olivia stared at her like she was growing a second head.

Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, eyes on Olivia.

“In layman’s terms it means she cut opened the arm so the pressure wouldn’t kill your tissue,” Jack corrected gently.

Olivia went still, absorbing it. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, the first real edge of fear sharpening behind the medication haze.

Jack’s voice softened.

“It’s serious,” he said plainly. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. But it’s staged. Blast wounds declare themselves over time. Tonight was about stopping the bleeding, restoring flow, cleaning what they could, and preventing secondary damage from swelling.”

Doctor Garcia nodded at Jack. Thankful he was there to soften the blows, “We usually take blast wounds back to the OR in 24 to 48 hours for a second washout and to reassess what’s viable. We don’t close everything right away because closing too soon can trap swelling or infection.”

“Fuck,” Olivia felt panic set into her gut. “More surgery?” She shot Jack a worried look. As if he held all the answers.

He just gave her a quick blunt nod, his eyes never leaving hers like he was silently telling her she was safe. He wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to her from there on out.

Olivia didn’t hear much of whatever else Dr Garcia had said. She just stared up at the ceiling as her world felt like it was spinning. She was glad she hadn’t caught her reflection in a mirror because she was certain she looked like frankenstein’s bride. She had to close her eyes for a moment to calm herself.

She heard the door of her room click shut.

“Don’t go spiraling on me Foster.” Jack was still there. He moved slowly and deliberately. His hand lifted from the bedrail to her head. His hand moved in slow motions to smooth down her hair and then his hand stops but his thumb starts to stroke an uninjured part of her cheek.

“Didn’t think babysitting a patient was part of your job description.” Olivia said softly. She tried to swallow again and her face twists in pain.

Jack turns to the table next to her bed and grabs a Styrofoam cup filled with a paper straw poking out.

He moves the straw so it lines up with Olivia’s mouth and she pushes her head up weakly and takes a few small sips.

She locks eyes with his. They stay like that for beat until Olivia’s voice breaks the silence

“Thank you, Jack.”

“Sorry, we only supply the shitty paper straws.” Jack huffs and sets the cup back down on the side table. “Apparently they’re good for the environment.”

“I’m not talkin’ about the water.” Olivia looks down at her arm. “I’m talkin’ about you saving my life.”

“That actually is part of my job description.” His lips curl into that smirk Olivia spent far too many hours secretly thinking about.

“Yeah well don’t let it get to your head, Abbot.”

Jack leans back in the chair, arms crossed now. “I think I’m babysitting you because it’s been a long time.” His eyes cast down to the floor and he shakes his head and huffs a breath. “Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve been that scared of loosing someone I care a lot about.”

Olivia is too aware of how her heart feels like it’s beating out of her chest. Hearing those words from Jack’s mouth unlocked something inside Olivia that she had been trying to keep sealed like an iron fist.

“Ain’t getting rid of me that easily.” Olivia feels her eyes starting to water. It stings and she blinks them away, which only irritates her eyes more.

Before Jack or Olivia could say anything more there was a light knock on the door. Doctor Robby who Olivia had spoken to a handful of times cracked the door and leaned in, careful, respectful. His expression warmed when his eyes landed on Olivia.

“Officer Foster, I’m happy to see you awake and alive.”

A lazy smile spread across Olivia’s face, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “A change of pace from my usual sleepy and deceased demeanor, right Doc?”

Robby huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh on another day.

His gaze slid to Jack. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

Jack clears his throat “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon.” Olivia responds and winces as she tries to find comfort.

Jack gets up slow from his spot in the chair next to her bed and helps fix her pillow before he slips out with Robby.

Jack stepped into the hall, easing the door mostly closed behind him, leaving it cracked just enough that he could still hear her monitor if he needed to.

Robby was already walking a few steps away. He wanted to be far enough that Olivia wouldn’t catch any hushed words through the door, close enough that Jack could still make it back in one breath if she called.

When Jack met Robby’s face he knew. Just from that look that ER doctors wore when they were about to change someone’s life.

“Just say it.” Jack leaned back onto the wall, already bracing for impact.

Robby exhaled slowly, like he was organizing the timeline in his head before he spoke.

“It was a high cervical entry,” he said quietly. “Left side of the neck. Just above the clavicle line. Close range from what PD is telling us.”

“When he rolled through the doors, he was in full traumatic arrest,” he said. “No spontaneous breathing. No pulse. Massive vascular injury suspected.”

Jack’s voice came out rough. “Carotid?”

“Likely,” Robby said. “Possibly jugular involvement too. The trajectory suggested it passed through the major vascular bundle.”

Jack shut his eyes briefly. Feeling the sting of tears threatening as Robby continued.

“The damage was catastrophic, Jack. Blood loss was massive and fast. He never regained cardiac activity despite full resuscitation.”

Jack made fists at his side. Anger and frustration running through him. This shouldn’t have happened. None of the awful things that happened today should have gone down.

“We worked him for a long time,” Robby said, voice dropping. “Longer than we would for most, if I’m being honest…. and eventually…” Robby lowered his head in defeat. “There was no cardiac response. No neurologic signs. We called the code.”

Jack let the words sit in his chest.

Nick Dawson—steady, solid, exhausted new dad who casually asked Jack about his kids milestones like Jack was his kids pediatrician. This was the guy Olivia had trusted with her life- without a second thought.

Robby hesitated, then added carefully, “They’re calling both incidents ideologically motivated. Some radical group talking about targeting police. Whatever label they slap on it—this was deliberate.”

Jack’s jaw flexed hard. His mind tried to do the math and couldn’t. He dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching on stubble. “Jesus.”

Robby’s voice softened, just slightly. “I know.”

Jack looks back at the hospital door, where behind it, Olivia lay resting from a traumatic experience that would stay with her longer than her stitches would.

Jack had told Olivia that Nick was fine.

Now it sat in his gut like a stone.

[blackroseguzzi]

Starshine

Summery: A Fourth of July patrol erupts into chaos when a deliberate firework attack turns a celebration into a stampede. Officer Olivia Foster is critically injured after an M80 is thrown into her patrol car, and her life hangs in the balance. As SWAT medic and ER attending Jack Abbot reaches her first, he’s forced to make a brutal, life-saving call—testing both their history and their resolve as sirens close in.

Warning: Explosions, mentions of blood and other forms of violence, disorderly conduct, swearing, mentions of amputation, bodily harm/injury.

Notes: I am not a medical professional so I have no idea what I’m writing about no matter how much research I do! I hope this all makes sense. Enjoy!

There was nothing patriotic about the way the night had turned out. 

It was just pure chaos. 

At first, it had felt like every other Fourth of July firework celebration that Officer Olivia Foster had patrolled. There was music thumping from somewhere down the street, people laying out on blankets or huddled in a truck bed, kids waving sparklers like tiny swords. The air smelling like charcoal and sugar and  tinged with gunpowder, and the street glowed with red-white-and-blue flashes as fireworks burst open the sky.

Mayhem began with a crack that didn’t belong.

Not the bright, high burst. This was lower, uglier—like someone snapped a two-by-four in the street. A firework screamed sideways, skittered along asphalt, and vanished beneath a parked sedan.

A half-second later, the car jumped like it had been punched from underneath. Glass blew outward. The hood buckled. A fireball licked the underside of a street tree and turned the leaves to black confetti. People went from cheering to panicked in one collective inhale, the crowd folded in on itself as people screamed, bodies moving in mass quantities. The celebration became a stampede…And that was the combination that caused the perfect storm that .

Officer Nick Dawson, Olivia’s partner, had bolted towards what seemed to be the male who had thrown the low firework. The assailant had booked it so fast he ended up shoving an older female down onto the sidewalk as he tried to get away from the burning sedan. 

Olivia had requested aid over the cracking of her radio before running over to the woman who looked stunned. She was breathing fast and after doing a once over Olivia could see that she was bleeding from a scrapped elbow. 

“Easy does it,” Olivia calmly grabs the elder woman’s hand on her uninjured arm and carefully lifts her from the sidewalk. 

Olivia looked around at the scene in front of her. Sparks flying too low, a toddler crying in the distance, and a gut feeling that this was no accidental mishap, this was a planned event.

She tried to look through the crowd for any signs of her partner before she walked the elder woman to a nearby bench.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Foster. That looked like a hard fall. Can you tell me your name?” 

“Yes, Elaine Carter. I’m.. God I’m fine, just gave me a fright is all.” The woman clutched at her chest and her eyes widened as she looked around at the chaos unfolding around her. Olivia instinctively placed a hand on her holster out of habit and nodded at Elaine. 

“Good, I’m going to go back to my patrol car now so I can instruct where emergency services can come and assess you.” The elder woman started to protest but Olivia shook her head immediately. “Not gonna let you go until someone checks you out. Better to be safe Mrs. Carter.” 

The older woman sighed “I suppose you’re right, thank you Officer.”

Olivia did another scan over the crowd, her nerves on edge. She tells Elaine she’ll be right back and she turns to sprint towards her patrol car parked across the parking lot.

As she sprints she grabs her walkie, trying to figure out where Nick had gone off to. The worry in her chest growing, because something about this patriotic evening felt extremely unforgiving. 

“Dawson, what’s your location?” 

She got to her patrol car and hopped in the passengers side right as the police radio cracked with life. 

’10-50 on the 10th street bridge, officer needed to assist.’ And only seconds later ‘I have a 10-45. Vehicle is black, license plate RTV3470. Suspect is in Male in a dark gray hoodie. Headed Southbound from Brentwood Park.” 

“Shhhhhit.” Olivia ran a hand over her face as she realized that the large crowd of fleeing citizens had caused traffic jams, violations, and accidents.

“I need assistance at Brentwood, Officer is active on a pursuit, location unknown at the time. Possible 10-99” Olivia opened her door about to get out when she heard the voice.

“HEY BITCH FUCK THE POLICE.” Olivia turned quickly, the sound coming from the drivers side of the police cruiser. She sees something fly into the driver side window and then everything went black.

Her ears were ringing, that’s what she recalls first. Loud, painful, irritating to the point that she could feel the pressure through her soul. Olivia opens her eyes slowly. Her eyelids felt extremely heavy and she struggled to keep them open. All she could see was dark smoke like she was inside of a tornado. She was dizzy-nauseatingly so. And GOD, her eyes stung. It felt like bees had taken up stinging her corneas for sport. Over the ringing in her ears she could faintly hear the alarm on the police cruiser going off as if it was underwater. 

Olivia managed to turned her head just an inch so she could see her patrol car. When she say the vehicle beside her the realization washed over her that whatever had happened sent her flying out from her open cruiser door and onto the asphalt. The cruiser’s open door was spilling out smoke and from her location on the ground she could see flickering of what looked like fire from the front seat. 

Her body was stiff, but as her mental clarity became more clear so did the searing pain that now spread down her arms and chest like hot pins and needles.

She tries to move her left arm towards her chest where she hopes her walkie still resided but her limb wouldn’t listen to her brain. It just lay limp at her side. When Olivia’s head lulled to the side to examine herself now, she realized she was completely covered in red hot oozing blood. 

“FOSTER!” 

At the sound of her name, Olivia closed her burning eyes and thanked god. 

She feels the presence of someone at her side, and when she opens her eyes again, she see’s his face through the haze in her stinging eyeballs. Kneeling beside her now she makes out the features of Jack Abbot. 

“Hey. Foster - don’t try and move.” His voice cuts through the noise. Firm, Loud, and close. He throws his bag onto the ground next to him, opening it quickly. 

Olivia finally opens her mouth, it’s dry and her lips feel super glued together. She hadn’t realized she was coughing until Jack tilts her head up lightly staring at her through his safety goggles. His green eyes filled with something she’s never seen in them before-fear. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

Olivia takes in a deep breath. “What the hell-” Her voice comes out raspy. 

She coughs again and something wet hits her lips. She tastes the iron and clocks that it had to be blood. 

“Some asshole threw an M80 into your cruiser. You’re lucky you’re still breathing.” Jack says quickly. 

“Yeah, well—” Olivia swallows bile. “I’ve had worse dates.”

That gets a single sharp huff of laughter out of Jack. It’s half amusement, half disbelief. Then suddenly he’s all business again.

He pulls something out of his bag and Olivia wishes she hadn’t seen what that something was.

“Fuck, Is that...” She barely gets the words out between the fear and blinding pain. “Abbot, is that a fucking tourniquet?”

She pulls her head up to see the horrors of her arm. Her forearm was covered in bright red blood that was squirting out more with each second. What’s worse was whatever muscle was left on her bone now looked like uncooked hamburger meat. She felt like she was about to hurl when Jack’s voice cuts through her tunnel vision. 

“If I don’t do this, you’re going to bleed out in about… sixty seconds,” He positions the tourniquet on her arm. “And then I’ll have to explain to Pittsburgh’s finest that their favorite Officer died because she couldn’t tolerate a little forearm discomfort.” 

“Don’t. Jack…Please.” Olivia’s voice cracks at his name. 

He doesn’t listen, because the trained medical professional in him takes over. 

“This is gonna hurt,” he warns. “But it’s non-negotiable.” 

He tightens the tourniquet fast. Purposeful. 

Olivia screams, her throat burning. If she wasn’t in so much pain she would have taken her other arm and socked Jack right in the jaw. “FUUUUCK.” 

“I know, I know.” Jack packed gauze into the rest of her wound with surgical efficiency. “Had to be done Foster.”

Her whole body shook, teeth clenched, nails digging into the pavement with her good hand. 

“Stay With Me.” Jack starts assessing what’s left as he applies pressure- the tendons, tissue, the shape of bone. The bleeding slows down, but never stops. 

“Swear to God,” Olivia pants, “if you crank that any tighter—”

“—You’ll kick my ass?” Jack huffs. “How about later? I’ll even put it in my calendar.” 

She let out a broken, breathless laugh that turned into a sob.

The ambulance is close, the sirens sounding less like they were underwater. 

She can feel her heart slamming against her ribs, can feel the tourniquet biting like a vice. Pain radiates down to her fingertips; her hand is already starting to go numb and cold, and that terrifies her more than the blood did.

“Is it—” Her throat bobs. “Is it gone?” 

Jack’s eyes flick to hers just for a moment, then back at her arm. He knows exactly what she’s asking him.

“No,” he says firmly. “No, Liv. Youre not loosing your arm, I promise.” Olivia feels her chest loosen. 

“Plus, you think I’d let you outdo me like that, Starshine?” His voice was calm, low, and infuriatingly steady. Her chest tugged at the sound of her nickname. One graciously given to her by none other than Jack himself. A tear suddenly slipped down the side of her face and Olivia could see the way Jack’s throat worked, trying to swallow down those emotions that he always tried so hard to push down inside himself.

“Nick?” Olivia is suddenly jolted back by the thought of her partner. “Is he okay?” 

The ambulance is loud now, and Jack isn’t paying attention. He’s calling over his shoulder to the EMT’s. He’s talking in some kind of medical language that in any other situation would make Olivia’s knees weak. Usually hearing Jack talk in that way- Confident, methodical and practiced made Olivia’s cheeks burn. 

“JACK,” Olivia find the strength to use her right hand to grab an arm that’s holding the gauze on her open wound. His eyes snap to hers. “Is Nick okay?” 

Jack takes a real hard look at her, like he’s mesmerizing every detail of her face. 

“Yeah…yeah Foster he’s good.” He gives her a quick nod before she’s surrounded by EMTS and taken into an ambulance.

Hope you enjoyed this!  

[blackroseguzzi]

I’m playing around with the idea of doing a Jack Abbot x Female Police Officer story.

What do we we think? Would anyone be interested?

I’m thinking Jack and Officer(who will have a name or at least a nickname at some point) are married and that’s why he wears a wedding ring and she shows up at the Pitt with Jack when he is moonlighting as a medic for the bomb squad on the 4th of July.

Or that Jack meets her during the 4th of July weekend and maybe she gets hurt during a call at a parade or a large event and he’s the one to bring her into the Pitt.

Drop a comment on any other ideas to add for a Jack/female cop story!

[blackroseguzzi]

I need ideas for the next part to The Luckiest Man Alive. What memory do you want to see between Don and Eve?

[iszgumi]

born to be mrs. miller... forced to understand that he is a fictional character

[blackroseguzzi]

THE LUCKIEST MAN ALIVE

The part where Don goes to Evangeline's parents house to ask for her father for his blessing to ask Eve to marry him.

Don took the front steps two at a time and then forced himself to slow down, hat in hand. The Browns’ porch smelled like wood polish and cinnamon—Mrs. Brown must’ve been baking earlier—and a ribbon of late light fell across the braided rug. He knocked, wiped his palm against his trouser seam, and reminded himself he could settle an eight at thirty-eight strokes a minute; surely he could manage a conversation with one man he already respected.

The door opened to Mr. Brown in his shirtsleeves, spectacles low on his nose, a newspaper tucked under one arm.

“Evening, Don.” His smile reached his eyes. “Evangeline’s out with her mother, but you’re welcome to come in.”

“Actually, sir,” Don said, heartbeat thudding like the start horn, “it’s you I hoped to speak with.”

Mr. Brown’s brows lifted—knowing, pleased. He stepped back and waved Don toward the parlor. The room was warm and orderly: a clock ticking, framed school portraits of Eve and her older brothers,  the nicked surface of a well-used coffee table. Mr. Brown set the paper aside and sat, leaving the armchair opposite open like a small invitation.

Don didn’t sit right away. He stood square, squeezing his Baret in both sweaty hands. 

 “Mr. Brown… Walter,” he corrected, because the man had told him twice to call him by his first name and it felt like the day to be brave, “I’m.., Well...” 

Mr. Brown smirked in quiet knowledge of the fear that was seizing up the gentleman in front of him. “Don, take a seat before your legs give out.” The older gentleman chuckles as he leans in the armchair across from Don. 

Don nods quickly but his body won’t move unless these words escape his mouth. “ I’m here to ask your blessing …to marry Evangeline.”

There. Said. He sucked in a large breath of air. 

Words came easier after the hard one. “She is—she’s the best person I know. With her I feel… steady. She makes me want to be kinder than I was yesterday. I don’t talk much, but with her, I can. I will take care of her, and I’ll spend my whole life proving worthy of the way she looks at me. I’ll finish school, keep rowing while I can, work wherever I need to. I’ll love her the way you and Mrs. Brown have taught her love ought to be.”

He stopped, a little out of breath now, and it wasn’t until now that he sat because his legs thought that would be wise.

Mr. Brown’s answer was immediate, delighted, almost boyish. “Yes.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My word, son—yes. I couldn’t say yes fast enough.”

Relief hit Don like a clean catch, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise before he managed a smile that felt larger than his face knew what to do with.

Mr. Brown leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “We’ve watched you, you know. Not just on the water.” He tipped his chin toward the kitchen. “You clear plates without being asked. You listen when Eve talks about her classes. You fixed that wobbly chair and don’t mention it. You meet a room with gentleness first.” His voice warmed. “That girl of mine, she rescued a duckling once and kept it warm until it was able to swim off with its mother. She needed a man who understands that kind of heart. I believe that you do.”

Don’s throat went tight. “I love her sir” he said simply.

“I know.” Mr. Brown’s eyes shone. He stood and held out his hand. Don rose and met it. The handshake was firm, then turned, without either of them quite deciding, into a brief, awkward, perfect hug—two careful pats on the back, a shared breath, a step apart.

“Welcome to the family, Don,” Mr. Brown said. “And do me a kindness—Don’t forget to call me Walter before the wedding so it feels natural by then.”

“Yes, sir—Walter.” Don ducked, sheepish and happy at once. “Thank you.”

“Have you a ring in mind?” Walter asked, not nosy—curious the way fathers are when they want to help but don’t want to trample.

“I’m saving,” Don said. “I wanted it to be right.”

“That’s exactly right.” Walter crossed to the mantle, thumbed a little wooden keepsake—something he’d whittled long ago—and set it back. “Whatever you choose, it’ll be perfect because you chose it for her. And you’ll tell me when you ask? Rose will never forgive either of us if we don’t at least pretend she didn’t already guess.”

Don laughed. “I’ll tell you. I thought I might take her out on the water. There’s a spot where you can see all the stars in the sky.”

Walter’s smile softened. “Fits the two of you.” He clapped Don’s shoulder, “You’ll have hard days. All the best marriages do. Fight fair. Keep listening. Keep showing up—on time and with your heart open. And keep coming here for Sunday supper, or her mother will show up on your porch with a casserole.”

“We’ll be here,” Don said, meaning it.

The clock chimed the half hour. Walter walked him to the door. On the threshold he paused, suddenly, fiercely proud. “You’re a good man, Don Hume. Thank you for loving my girl the way she deserves.”

“Thank you for trusting me with her,” Don replied, and the words felt like a vow in his mouth.

They shook hands again—almost family now, not guests and host—and Don stepped back onto the porch with the world clearer than it had been an hour earlier. The evening smelled like cinnamon and cool air. He tucked his hat under his arm and headed down the steps, heart light and sure, already turning over the exact words he’d say to Evangeline on that boat in the calm water when he asked her to be his wife.

[blackroseguzzi]

Buried in Sin

part 3:

Summary: Funerals, Baz’s plan, and late night conversations with clarity.

Part 3:

Ruby spent the next hour drifting in the pool, watching as the crowd around Smurf’s house slowly thinned. She played mermaids with Lena, pretended she was a shark, then sat back and watched as Deran tossed the little girl high into the deep end, making sure she always broke the surface laughing.

From the corner of her eye, Ruby caught Craig stepping out of the house, rubbing at his nose like he had just used it to do exactly what they”d fought about earlier.

A heaviness settled in her chest, but she shoved it away the moment Lena shrieked, “AUNTI RUE, WATCH THIS!”

Through the glass doors, Ruby could see Baz and Pope in the kitchen with Smurf. J had already taken off to a girlfriend’s place, probably wanting distance after his mother’s death had been laid bare to her twin brother.

“Ruby, darling, come help me with dinner!” Smurf called from the slider, gloves coated in raw meatloaf. She smiled that smile that always left Ruby’s skin prickling.

“Yeah, one sec!” Ruby called back.

Lena’s face fell when Ruby moved to climb out, but Deran caught it. “Wanna play water gators, kid?” he offered. Lena squealed, already bracing for the underwater tugs.

Ruby slipped out, towel ready in Craig’s hand.

“So, we’re good now?” Craig asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

Ruby smiled, nodding before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and wrapping the towel around her frame. She slipped quietly inside, telling Smurf she’d change and be right back. From across the kitchen, she felt Pope’s stare burning into her. Cathy, standing at the sink, visibly relaxed at Ruby’s presence—like her being there diffused some of the tension.

Minutes later, Ruby returned in cutoff denim shorts and her old Billabong tank, a relic from high school. She picked up Cath’s knife, taking over the vegetable chopping while Cathy headed outside to watch Lena with her uncles.

“So, the kid seems alright,” Baz murmured to Pope, reserved, almost testing him.

“You don’t think he’s gonna blab?” Pope asked casually, sipping his beer.

Ruby’s knife paused mid-carrot. Their eyes met briefly before she turned back to her task.

Baz chuckled dryly. “Nah. He’s got nothing to spill.”

“He’s a good kid,” Smurf chimed in, matter-of-fact. “Craig even thinks so.”

Pope set his beer down harder than he meant to. His gaze shifted to Ruby, who refused to look up.

“Well,” Pope muttered, sarcasm curling his words, “if Craig thinks so, then what’s there to worry about?”

Ruby smirked, slicing celery as the conversation shifted. Pope pressed Baz about the next job, their voices tightening with the weight of old grudges.

“You can’t stay at your old place,” Baz snapped finally, when Pope suggested crashing there during parole checks.

“Why not?” Pope’s eyes narrowed.

“Because we turned it into an art studio,” Ruby cut in, tossing celery into the pot.

Pope leaned forward on the island, eyes locking on her with that signature intensity. “So you replaced all my shit with brushes and paint?”

She lifted her chin. “I mean you can stay there if you’d like, but only if you’re cool with sleeping on canvases and waking up to the smell of acrylic paints.” A quick smile crossed her lips before Craig burst in.

“I’m starving.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of Ruby’s head, eyes flicking to Pope in silent warning.

“It’s almost done, boys,” Smurf purred. “Go enjoy yourselves while we finish up.”

⸻

The next day was Julia’s funeral—lackluster, muted. Sparse flowers. Few words. J’s face a blank mask.

Ruby followed Craig and Deran back to the house afterward. Pope lingered behind with Baz, voices low, careful.

“I want in on the job,” Pope said firmly.

“You’ll get your cut,” Baz replied flatly.

“No.” Pope stopped him cold. “I don’t want a handout.”

“You’ve been out one day.”

“Then push it a week. But I’m in.”

Baz’s jaw tightened. “It won’t wait forever.”

“What is this, not a bank?” Pope pressed.

Baz shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes flicking around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear.

“No, we’ve been thinking outside the box.”

Pope narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Art replacements,” Baz said, voice low. “Stolen shit that takes longer for people to even realize it’s missing. Enough time to flip the real pieces and put cash in our pockets.”

A smug little smirk tugged at Baz’s mouth like he’d just invented the best goddamn thing anyone could have thought of.

Pope stared at him, unimpressed. “You’ve gotta be fucking joking.”

“I’m not fucking joking.” Baz shrugged, casual. “But you can sit this one—”

“The fuck I can. You’re putting Ruby right in the middle of this,” Pope snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“She’s a big girl, Pope. She knows what she’s doing,” Baz shot back with a chuckle, moving to step past him.

Pope’s arm came out hard, stopping him, hand pressing against his brother’s chest. His face was red, jaw tight.

“No. You fucking promised me you’d keep her clean while I was gone. You promised, Baz.” He shoved him back, not enough to start a fight, but enough to make his point crystal clear.

Baz’s hands lifted, mock surrender. “Hey, man. She wanted in just as bad as any of us. Don’t make this about you.” His tone sharpened. “She’s always going to be with Craig, Pope. You need to back the fuck off now. Respectfully.”

Pope’s face twisted, emotions rolling through him—anger first, then hurt, then right back to rage before settling on a tight, bitter frustration.

“Sixteen seconds,” he said suddenly, voice hard.

Baz frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sixteen seconds. That’s all it took for you to trip on that wastebasket. That guard went for his gun, and if it had been me who tripped? You’d have drawn down and let me run out the back. You would’ve done the time. Not me.” His tone dripped blame, years of it, festering.

Baz opened his mouth. “Yeah—“

“No. Don’t fucking ‘yeah’ me. If that had happened, I’d be out. I’d be free. Her and me, gone from this shithole.” Pope’s voice cracked, raw with something more than anger.

Baz’s chest tightened. He’d always known. The way Cathy hovered, protective when Ruby was around Pope. The way Pope’s face softened when he looked at her. The signs had been right in front of him. But so had Craig.

“Throw me a bone, man,” Pope pressed, his voice lowering, almost pleading. “Smurf doesn’t need to know.”

Baz exhaled, jaw clenched, shaking his head. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. We need a car first. One that can hold twelve large-scale paintings in the back.”

Pope nodded quickly, eager, like he’d just been handed oxygen.

“Got it.”

⸻

Family dinners with the Cody’s were always chaos wrapped in tradition. Smurf booked their usual Chinese joint. Ruby sat wedged between Deran and Craig, sticking close as the tension simmered.

“Nikki, I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you catch this in your mouth,” Craig teased, holding up food toward J’s wide-eyed girlfriend in one hand while his other snug it self into the warmth of Ruby’s thighs under the table. Grounding him to her, always.

“Craig, leave her alone,” Ruby muttered, rolling her eyes and taking a bite of egg roll.

“Just being friendly!” he grinned, tossing it. Nikki caught it clean, smirking at J. Craig shoved a hundred from Ruby’s purse into her hand before Ruby could protest.

Later, Ruby skipped going back to Smurf’s and wandered to the beach with a 7/11 Slurpee, same as she had as a kid whenever home got too dangerous. Back then, she’d sit and wait for the storm to pass, half-expecting foster care to swallow her up again.

When she finally made it to the studio, one canvas was uncovered. Pope sat on her stool, staring at her favorite piece.

“Needed to see what Baz was so hyped about” he asked without looking up.

Ruby froze. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Stay.” His voice was low, worn. “I don’t want to fight tonight. Today’s been heavy enough.”

She set her keys down, sat on the bed’s edge. “Why do you stay?” he asked suddenly.

“What do you mean? With Craig?”

“No, just all of this.”

Ruby grabbed two beers, handing him one. “That’s easy,” she said quietly. “Growing up, I was bounced from foster care back to parents, then back again. To them, I was a check, food stamps. Nothing else.”

She sat there for a moment picking at the paper on her beer bottle.

“Then I met Smurf, and god she made me feel like I belonged somewhere. Showed me I had talent and pushed me to find my purpose.”

“Did you find it?” Pope asked.

She twisted the label on her bottle. “Still figuring it out.” A faint laugh. “She gave me everything a girl could ever need- except the one thing I wanted most.”

His eyes sharpened. “And what’s that?”

“You.”

The word knocked the breath out of him.

“She knew how I looked at you from the start. That’s why she pushed Craig on me. She knew I’d be a pawn. Last time I tried to leave, she put you in jail. So I stay, because now I’m too scared to go.”

“You think she knew we planned to leave that night?”

Pope thought back to how scared he’d felt knowing they’d be gone, but also the freeing feeling he felt.

“Without a doubt.” Ruby sighed, getting up from the bed and covering up the painting they were looking at with a sheet.

“You were the only person who had always made me feel like enough.” The words hung heavy in the air.

“But that was the past Andrew, and we can’t go back there now.”

With that she walked over to the sink and pours out her full beer, leaving before Pope could get in another word.