THE RIVER - jack abbot x fem reader.
Summary: Jack Abbot can be considered a victorious man despite the tragedies throughout his life, but after years of romantic disappointments, the doctor believed he was destined for loneliness. However, after a dinner at a friend's house, he's not so sure if he'll end up alone.
Warnings: unspecified age difference (reader between 30 and 35 years old and Jack between 45 and 50 years old), love at first sight, Jack is somewhat melancholic, mention of past losses, the reader is cheerful and fun. Flirting innuendo. Resigned female reader at birth, no use of Y/N (I use "you" a lot omg!), not revised T.T
wc: 6.5k
Author's note: It took me a while, but I'm back 😅 This fic is based on this request! It was so difficult to write because I've been very busy with work, so sorry if it's not as expected, I tried my best. Thanks for your order, it was made with love.
♡ Reminder: English is NOT my first language, sorry for any mistakes. I do NOT support the use of AI to assist writers :)
Stopping to think, no matter how much success you have in the world, somehow something will still be missing. Be it material or sentimental goods, in that darkest corner of the heart there will always be something missing to be complete, and in Jack Abbot's case, it was love.
Of course, he had known love in its essence years ago, but it had been torn from him suddenly and cruelly. Now with hair already gray in some areas and shoulders hunched from exhaustion, he was a widowed and lonely man. The successful man, exemplary and admired doctor believed vehemently that he would end his life alone.
After all, everything came down to a lonely road. You are born and cry alone, you grow up to face life's adversities, you build and conquer things only to, in the end, die alone. That was what the former military man believed.
After losing his late wife, at the height of both their youths, Jack gave up the hunt for his other half, believing he had buried love and joy along with his former companion. Focusing then only on saving as many lives as possible in the Pittsburgh emergency room, it was the minimum to fill the existing and throbbing void within his being.
He woke up in a regimented routine, prepared his strong coffee and occasional snacks to try to eat during shift breaks. Abbot did his utmost to keep himself active, going for a run around the block for at least forty minutes before getting ready for work, and even when tired he did not set these activities aside. Staying active and busy helped keep his mind centered, without deviations to dark paths and depressed thoughts.
Then after returning to his spacious and empty apartment, he dropped his keys, cell phone, and running glasses on the living room table without losing pace, heading to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Then preparing his materials for another long and exhausting shift and, as draining as it was, he loved his work and the rush that happened in the emergency room. He felt filled in the empty places within his core and that, for now, was enough.
The shift at The Pitt's emergency room was always something chaotic yet controlled, exactly as Jack liked it, as morbid as that may be. Two cardiorespiratory arrests, a motorcycle accident with an open fracture, a child with a severe asthma attack, and a confused elderly man who tried to assault the nursing staff.
When the pace finally slowed down around two in the morning, Jack felt the weight of the last few hours on his shoulders.
"Abbot, did you eat anything today?" the voice came from the makeshift break room at the back of the nursing station. Dr. Robinavitch, head of the emergency department and one of the few people Jack considered close, stared at him with that careful look he insisted on disguising with irony.
Jack wrinkled his nose, trying to remember. Breakfast. Yes. The snack he had brought in his backpack was still stored, untouched.
"I forgot" he admitted, with a low grunt but no remorse.
Robby shook his head, pushing a plate with a somewhat squashed sandwich toward the older man. "Eat before I order an intravenous for you. "
He was going to refuse, but his inconvenient stomach growled in protest. Jack sat down heavily on the chair, biting into the sandwich without much enthusiasm.
"Wow, you're wrecked" commented Frank Langdon, leaning against the door with a cup of coffee in his hand. "With all due respect, Sr."
"With all due respect, Langdon, mind your own business" Jack replied, without malice and without even looking up.
Nurse Dana Evans laughed while organizing some medical records. "Leave him, Frank. Today was rough for everyone. Mr. Abbott deserves to eat a sandwich in peace."
"Hoho, thank you, Dana." Jack gestured theatrically and raised his eyes for a second, almost smiling.
At that moment, the conversation shifted direction when Michael spoke again.
"By the way" Robby rested his elbow on the table, leaning toward him, "are you going to the dinner on Saturday?"
Jack frowned, pausing mid-bite. "What dinner?"
"The one I'm organizing at my place." He raised an eyebrow, his face soon becoming skeptical. "I sent an invitation by message, you didn't read it, did you?"
"I read it, but I didn't take it seriously."
Robby now looked incredulously at his seated friend, who took another generous bite of the sandwich. "Why wouldn't you take it seriously?"
"You hate cooking, Robinavitch, besides the last time you tried to make dinner, you nearly set the kitchen on fire."
Robby rolled his eyes, but a smile escaped. "There will be real food and no incidents, you distrustful man." The doctor crossed his arms without losing pace. "My sister is going to help and I'm going to invite the neighbor too, she's been alone lately and cooks better than anyone I know."
Langdon raised his cup as if making a toast. "The neighbor you're always talking about who brought pie last week?"
"What pie?" Abbot asked indignantly, but was completely ignored.
"The very same." Michael smiled, and something in his tone made Jack eye him for a second. "She's really nice, you'd like her, Abbot."
"Oh yeah?"
"She's single" the friend commented, standing up, as if he wanted nothing.
Jack rolled his eyes, chewing the last piece of the sandwich and wiping the crumbs. "I'm not looking for a relationship."
"No one said you're looking, it was just an invitation to dinner and not a wedding ceremony." Robinavitch stood up, already considering the matter closed. "Saturday, eight o'clock."
And he left before he could retort. Langdon shrugged, following behind with a wink. Dana just smiled, returning to work while Jack remained there for a few more minutes, the sandwich crumbs now sprinkled on the metal table. The reality was that the doctor didn't want to go, didn't want to leave the empty apartment, didn't want small talk, didn't want to pretend he was fine for strangers.
But Robby was stubborn and, deep down, was just trying to help. With a heavy sigh, he cleaned the table and his clothes, then returned to the shift.
Saturday was far away, maybe if he ignored it his friend would forget or maybe he would find a way to slip out.
Saturday had arrived before Jack had time to craft a convincing excuse. He had spent the entire week rehearsing refusals in his head, rehearsing phrases like "I had an emergency shift" or "I'm not feeling very well" but he knew none of them would work, after all, Robinavitch knew his work schedule better than he did himself. And, more than that, he knew his melancholic soul well enough to know when he was running away.
That's why, when the clock struck seven thirty that Saturday evening, Jack Abbott found himself in front of his bedroom closet, looking at his clothes as if they could decide his fate for him or simply make him disappear like in that Narnia movie.
He opted for something simple. A short-sleeved shirt in navy blue, leaving his arms exposed, not that he wanted to show off his form, it was comfortable and simple; the cotton pants in dark gray completed the whole look, messy gray hair and black-framed glasses on his nose. He was not a man of great vanities, at least not anymore, but he was aware that personal presentation still mattered in society.
Or at least that was what his late wife used to say, when she still took his hand to adjust the wrinkled fabric of his clothes before commitments.
The mirror reflected a man with expression lines deeply marked around the eyes and a generous amount of gray hairs at the temples and in the short, well-trimmed beard. The shoulders, once broad and held high with the military posture of his youth, now seemed permanently hunched by an invisible weight. Even so, there was something there in his imposing bearing, after all Jack Abbot was far from being a man who had aged poorly, far from it and he knew it. He knew the younger nurses called him, among embarrassed giggles, "mature handsomeness" and that the doctor dismissed it with a shameful grunt.
He picked up his wristwatch, apartment keys, and cell phone, hesitated for a moment before the door, and then left. The empty and dull apartment fell silent behind him.
Robinavitch's address belonged to a modern house in a quiet residential neighborhood of Pittsburgh, far enough from the hospital but close enough so that Jack could, for a few moments, escape to his friend's embrace when darker times assailed his mind. He parked near the curb and remained for a long minute inside the car, hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the illuminated door of the house.
He could hear, even from where he was, the muffled buzz of conversations and the clinking of cutlery. People. People who were not patients or severe cases he had become accustomed to relating to in his regimented routine, there they were people who laughed and talked about things that didn't involve diagnoses or prognoses. People who lived, in a simple way.
Jack's fingers trembled on the ignition and he almost turned the car back on, but no, Robby would torment him for the rest of the year and he didn't want to be the widowed and boring guy.
With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of an entire decade, Abbot turned off the engine, unlocked the doors, and set his feet on the asphalt. The doorbell rang with a sound too shrill for his ears accustomed to silence. It took a few seconds for the door to open, revealing Michael Robinavitch in all his informal glory: a dark t-shirt, jean shorts, and a triumphant smile that said "I knew you would come" without needing words.
"Bro, you actually came" Michael said, opening the door wider.
"I was basically coerced" Jack replied with a shrug, the deep and monotonous voice he always used when trying to hide any trace of vulnerability.
"Coerce is a very strong word. I merely insisted in a... persistent way."
Jack rolled his eyes, but crossed the threshold. Michael's house was welcoming in a way that his own was not. There were photographs on the walls, books stacked in the corners, a smell of homemade food that came from the kitchen and enveloped every room like an invisible hug. There were people too, some known from the hospital, others Jack had never seen before. He greeted Frank with a nod, saw Santos in a corner drinking beer, and exchanged two or three words with Dana about the last shift, and then feeling a little overwhelmed, Abbot retreated to a corner near the living room window, where a tray with some appetizers was beautifully served.
It was then that the kitchen became the epicenter of something Jack couldn't name. The sound of a laugh, first, and not a polite or restrained laugh, but a genuine, full laugh, one of those that seem to come from a place so deep that they overflow through the eyes like tears of joy. Then, the clinking of utensils and the slamming of a cupboard door, then, as if the universe had decided to play one of the cruelest ironies of Abbot's existence, you emerged from the hallway that connected the kitchen to the living room carrying a steaming dish.
Jack Abbott forgot to breathe.
It wasn't something he consciously decided to do. His body simply acted on its own, freezing in place as if it had found a glitch in its own operating system. The wine glass remained suspended halfway to his lips. His eyes, that brownish-greenish mixture, which had already seen more death and farewell than any human being should endure, fixed on you as if you were the first light after an interminable night crossing.
You were laughing at something Michael's sister had said, your shoulders shaking slightly, your eyes shining with a joy so pure it seemed almost unreal before the melancholic gloom that Jack carried like a second skin. Your hair fell over your shoulders and back in a carefree way, your delicate hands held the dish with confidence, after all you had prepared each of those dishes with care, and when your eyes finally met those of the older man, even if for a brief instant, you did not look away.
You just smiled a little more and perhaps it was a figment of Jack's slightly fanciful mind, but he swore he saw an extra sparkle when both irises connected.
A smile so beautiful and that deep in Jack's perverse mind was perhaps just out of politeness, perhaps just for recognizing a new face amidst the familiarity of that night. But it was enough. More than enough to stir something inside him.
And when he watched you leave the dish on the large table, dry your fingers on the sides of your dress and turn toward him, your steps light like an angel coming in his direction, Jack thought the trumpets of the rapture would sound right there and take him.
"Oh hi! You must be the famous 'Jack Abbot'" you said, simulating explosion signs with your hands, emphasizing his name and making it clear that Robby had mentioned him several times. "Michael won't stop talking about you! I was curious, after all he said you were hard to convince to leave the house." You commented, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, speaking with enthusiasm. "It seems he managed to convert you this time."
Jack blinked. Once, twice, three times. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
"I..." he began, and his own voice sounded strange in his ears. Damn, he was a lived, mature man, who had seen, gained and lost things, people and now here he was, stuttering like a schoolboy. "Yes. I'm Jack, pleasure."
You let out a little laugh, extending your hand and saying your name too. Jack repeated it and savored how it sounded in his own voice, that sensation in his chest returning, like a contraction. Not painful, but strangely vivid, as if something long dormant had decided to revive on its own upon meeting you.
"Well Jack, I'm the neighbor who sometimes makes too much food and ends up offering it to Michael." You explained without losing enthusiasm, your body swaying slightly. "To be fair, I always prepare for the hospital staff too, hm, maybe you've tried something!"
"Ahm, I have... I'm sure your treats are great, but I haven't had the opportunity to try them yet" Jack heard his own voice say and wanted to slap himself, maybe you would think he didn't like the things you made with care, so he reiterated. "Seriously, that crowd is voracious like an army."
You tilted your head, a new smile blossomed on your lips and your face clothed in understanding.
"Well, then I guess I'll have to prepare something especially for you" you said with a wink, being bold enough to steal the older man's wine glass and turn away, leaving the man speechless.
And Jack? Ah, Jack stayed there, standing still, without his wine glass, watching you move between the living room and the kitchen with a lightness he hadn't seen in anyone for years. You talked with everyone, laughed with everyone, touched people's shoulders while telling some funny story, and there was something in that natural ability to simply connect with others that fascinated Jack in a way he couldn't name.
Michael appeared beside him at some point, an elbow resting on his friend's shoulder.
"See?" he said, low, just so Jack could hear. "I told you you'd like her."
"And who says I'm liking her?" Jack retorted, but with his eyes still fixed on you.
"I know you. Besides, you have the same face you make when a patient has some unknown symptom" Michael continued and upon seeing his uncomprehending face, he continued. "That 'I need to study this more deeply' face, in other words, fascination."
Jack finally averted his gaze and for the first time in a long time, found no strength to rebuff his longtime friend's teasing.
Dinner began without ceremony. Everyone sat around a long wooden table that Michael had placed on the extensive veranda, Jack found himself by some twist of fate or perhaps by divine interference from his friend, seated beside you. You to his right, where the distance between both your arms was too small to be casual and too large to be intimate, but Jack felt the warmth of your presence as if there were a lit fireplace between you.
The food was, indisputably, the best he had tasted in years. But it wasn't that which made him remain seated long after his plate was empty, nor was it that which made him accept the second glass of wine.
It was you.
You talked about simple things with a passion he no longer found in himself. You talked about an art gallery you had discovered downtown and how talented the local artists were, you talked about the book you were reading and that made you laugh by yourself on weekends, about the new cookie recipes you learned last week and that, according to you, Jack had to try.
"I only managed to get the recipe right after twenty-three attempts!" you recounted, hitting your own fist on your open palm, even with a certain pride.
"Twenty-three?" Jack asked, with a little incredulity in his voice. "You counted?"
"Yep! Of course I counted." you responded with your chest puffed out, saying it as if it were obvious. "I'm not the type who gives up without a record. I'm a woman of data, Abbott. Data and sugar, of course," you winked at him, almost conspiratorial.
He laughed.
It wasn't a loud laugh, not even a prolonged one. It was more of a sound escaping between his lips, an exhalation of air mixed with a near-smile, but it was a laugh that you noticed and ended up opening an even more radiant smile.
Dana, from the other side of the table, raised her eyebrows in his direction to Langdon, with an expression of poorly disguised shock. And Robby smiled, satisfied with that whole interaction.
Jack didn't notice any of that. His eyes were fixed on you, as they had been since the moment he arrived. There was this... thing happening inside him that he couldn't control, a crack that was transforming into an opening. And damn, he hadn't felt this since... Since he had met his late wife, after she died he had built a wall around himself, with a thick crust around it that was now crumbling every time he heard your laughter and glimpsed your sweet smile. He felt his own heart so exposed.
"Are you... always like this?" he asked quietly, almost like a secret he didn't want others to hear.
"Hm?" you furrowed your brows not understanding what the older man meant. "Like what?"
"Like..." Jack made a circular motion with his finger pointing entirely at you. "Joyful, light, and funny. It seems like..." he hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't sound rude or pathetic "...it seems like life hasn't hurt you and you're just... Enjoying the good part of it."
You didn't seem offended, after all the smile on your lips softened. You stared at him for a long moment and Jack felt as if he were being examined from the inside, as if you could see the bones and the scars and the places he tried to hide even from himself, from everyone.
"Life hurts everyone, Jack" you answered equally quietly, picking up the wine glass and taking a brief sip before continuing. Ah, it seemed like there was no one else but the two of you at that dinner. A tenderness that hurt more than any criticism. Both connected in a way that pulled you out of reality. "The difference is that I decided not to let it stop me from... Being happy or at least trying."
You pause, seeming to notice the slight wandering in the sentences, after all, everyone had their pains, fears, and losses. Your cheeks blushed slightly. "I mean, laughing is free and hurts less than crying over things that make you sad... and making others comfortable is also worth it... I... I think."
He didn't know what to answer, he absorbed your words that touched him in specific and locked places he didn't want to disturb. How could someone he had met just a few hours ago have the ability to understand him and make him reflect. Jack preferred to stay silent, his light eyes observing every detail of your face illuminated by the lights of the large veranda that extended over the table. The small signs at the corner of your mouth when you smiled, the way you gestured when speaking, your hands cutting the air as if drawing the words before saying them, and the way you looked at him as if he were an interesting question, and not a lost cause.
When dinner ended and the guests began to disperse, Jack didn't get up. Surprisingly, he deviated from the plan and remained there at the table, his fingers drumming without rhythm against the wood and when you got up to start collecting the dishes, his hand moved before he could think.
The tips of his fingers touched yours for a brief second. You looked at the older man with curiosity, your skin tingling with the contact.
"Can I help?" he asked, a little hesitant and internally collapsing, because damn, his goal wasn't even to stay the whole dinner and now there he was, offering help to gather things just to stay a little longer by your side.
You looked down, at the spot where his fingers still rested on yours and then raised your pupils again to meet his. You didn't pull away, instead, a smile appeared on your lips, it wasn't one of those you had distributed throughout the night.
Robinavitch's kitchen was a spacious and well-lit space, with light wood cabinets contrasting with the dark granite countertop. A window above the sink opened to the backyard, where leaves accumulated in the corners like small potential bonfires. There was a smell of rosemary and lemon still lingering in the air, remnants of the meal they had shared and Jack Abbott was standing beside you in front of the sink, he secretly discovered it was possible to miss a smell before even leaving the place where he found it. And of course, he wouldn't admit that it was your perfume in particular that he would miss when he returned to his empty and cold apartment.
You turned on the faucet with a practical gesture and began soaping the dishes with a yellow sponge, your hands agile and steady despite the apparent nonchalance. Jack watched for a moment, motionless, before consciousness nudged him and he took the initiative to reach for the dish towel hanging on the hook above the stove.
"I'll dry" he said, as if he needed to justify his presence there.
You nodded in agreement, handing him the first dish without ceremony and Abbot almost smiled.
The work unfolded in a calm and coordinated rhythm, like a choreography that both were learning in real time. You washed and handed to the older man. Jack dried and stored in the cabinets you had indicated, the cutlery clinked, the water ran over your smaller hands and from time to time you murmured something "this glass goes in that cabinet" "careful with the knife" but for the most part, there was only the sound of shared labor.
It was you who broke the silence first. "Michael told me about you" scrubbing a stubborn stain on an iron pan. "Not everything, of course. He's not the type who gossips. But he said you're the best emergency doctor. That you never lose your head. That you're the first to arrive and the last to leave."
Jack grunted, an evasive response that committed to nothing, but he felt his neck warm with shyness. What do you mean you talked about him with Michael.
"He also said you lost your wife... A while ago." you breathed the words, sounding so quiet that if both weren't so close to each other, maybe Jack wouldn't have even heard.
The older man's hands stopped drying the plate for a second and then continued, mechanical, as if the movement could erase the echo of those revealing words.
"I... I didn't mean to intrude, I mean, we were talking about you... Not in a weird way and.. It just slipped from him, don't be upset" you promptly justified yourself, looking at Jack's side profile, afraid of having been too invasive, but damn, you wanted so much to get to know him and know even more about him.
"It was eighteen years ago." His voice sounded so soft and flat. "Eighteen years, three months, and ten days..." Abbot laughed awkwardly. "It's silly to keep counting after so long."
"It's not silly... You count so it doesn't fall into oblivion" you said, without looking at him, now focused on the plate.
Jack raised his eyes to your face, illuminated by the yellowish light coming from above the sink. Water dripped from your hands, and there was an expression on your countenance that he couldn't decipher.
"You've been through this." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
The now-washed plate was placed on the drainer with a soft clink, you dried your hands on the apron you wore over your dress, sighing deeply. When you turned to face him, your eyes were as bright as the water running from the faucet, but there was no sadness in them, there was only acceptance.
"I lost an important person when I was younger" you confided, leaning your back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest, as if you could protect yourself from the memories. "It was.. hm, it was an accident, with no chance of recovery. At the time it was all so... fast" your voice was quiet now, a little broken by the memory. "In three seconds I was without the person who most taught me to laugh and value life."
Jack didn't interrupt, just listened attentively, observing your countenance, seeing the shift in expression when you turned to him. Acceptance.
"For a long time I was angry. Angry at what happened, angry at God, if he even exists.... God forgive me!" you gave a weak little laugh. "It was easier to feel anger than to feel the absence. Anger burns, corrodes you and blinds. But absence poisons you little by little..."
"I understand" Abbot murmured, the phrase so low it was almost lost in the ambient sound of the kitchen.
You looked at him then, really looked, as if you were seeing not just the man in front of you, but all the versions of him that had existed before. The young soldier. The doctor in training. The husband in love. The devastated widower. All these personas coexisting under the same tired skin and the same dull eyes, but with a glint of vivacity.
"...Then one day" you proceeded, your voice softer now, a smile so light that it made the older man's chest expand full of genuine affection. "I realized that life goes on, that I was still here, alive and breathing... As hard as the pain was, it will now be part of me and I would continue here... I mean, it's not easy at all, there's never overcoming, but we have to go with the flow... Laugh more, live more and.. Enjoy each day as if it were the last."
Jack frowned, in a way he had never thought of it that way. After his wife's death, he completely shut himself off and became a workaholic, letting the days, months, and years pass by like a blur.
"Laughing. Venturing. Having fun... everything will keep happening, with or without my permission. People will cry. People will be born and die... But I can choose to laugh, you know?" your eyes were lowered now, a little broken in the words despite the firmness. "Not because the pain doesn't exist, but because the pain doesn't deserve to be the only thing that defines me."
Jack Abbott remained silent for a long time, in a thoughtful rhythm and the kitchen was almost entirely tidied now. The dishes dried and put away. You continued the work until the older man beside you called your attention back to him.
"You know what I think?" he said finally, his voice deeper than usual.
"Hm?" you encouraged him to speak.
"I think that some people already have their destiny traced... I mean, yes, I lost my wife years ago, I did therapy and even so, in a way I still live the mourning to this day, but maybe it has to be this way, so paths can meet again, new stories can form..." Jack said in wandering thought. "We are like candles, burning until the end, without even noticing the brightness until the darkness arrives." He paused, his eyes fixed on your hands that moved over the last utensils. "Other people are like... windows? They let the light in, even when it's cloudy outside, just to illuminate." Jack finished, his pupils now staring at your face, perceiving your body stiffen, turning to the doctor with false naturalness and expectation.
"And I, Jack Abbott? Am I a window or a candle?"
"You are both" he answered, without hesitation. "You burn without being consumed and you let others see the light through you, like an open window."
The silence that followed was different from the others. It wasn't uncomfortable, nor heavy. It was a silence full of unsaid things, of possibilities suspended in the air like the dust particles dancing under the light of the kitchen chandelier. You held the freshly dried glass against your chest, your fingers wrapping around the glass as if it were something precious, and for a brief moment Jack thought that maybe he had said too much. The older man opened his mouth to perhaps apologize but it was then that Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway, a mischievous smile stamped on his face.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his voice laden with an irony that only a longtime friend could employ, you jumped and stepped back, feeling your cheeks flushed.
"No, of course not" Jack answered quickly, straightening his posture. "We were just washing the dishes and talking."
"Uhum, we were" you agreed now from the other side of the kitchen, but your eyes met Jack's for a second longer than necessary, and Michael didn't miss any of it.
The emergency chief doctor opened the refrigerator, grabbing a pitcher of water and while pouring a glass for himself, he spoke without looking back.
"Everyone's gone. Dana tried to say goodbye to you, Jack, but you were so focused you didn't even hear. I had to come deliver the message."
"What message?"
"She wants to put you on the surgery for the patient in unit four on Monday. She said you're the only one who can help that poor guy not collapse."
Jack nodded, mentally registering the information. But his body remained where it was, involuntarily seeking your presence on the other side of the spacious room of Robinavitch's house. Michael took a sip of water, observed the two of you over the rim of the glass, and then sighed with an air of someone who had seen that scene before.
"You know, Abbott" the friend said, placing the glass in the sink and preparing to leave the two of you alone, not caring if you would hear, in fact he wanted you to hear. "You talk so much about how you're going to die alone, but look at you, here you are, washing dishes and making friends. Almost smiling, even."
"I wasn't almost smiling" Jack retorted, with his usual gruffness.
"You were, yes!" you interjected, and your voice had a softness of amusement. "There was even the beginning of a dimple at the corner of your mouth. Very subtle." You pointed teasingly.
"I don't have dimples." The doctor said, frowning.
"Of course you do. I just saw it!" you shot back, approaching, both forgetting the existence of the house owner in the kitchen.
"It was an involuntary muscle contraction," Jack countered as if it were obvious, but of course you wouldn't accept that answer.
"Ah, of course it was. Sure it was, if that helps you sleep!" you said slightly disdainful, rolling your eyes dramatically.
Robinavitch laughed, a low and genuine sound, and left the kitchen without making much noise, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, not wanting to burst the bubble that had enveloped both of you again.
In the kitchen, the discussion about the dimples had evolved into something Jack couldn't name. You were leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, your gaze challenging and at the same time so absurdly gentle that he needed to avert his face every few seconds to avoid doing something foolish, like smiling again and proving your point.
"I'm going to prove you have dimples" you announced, as if declaring a holy war.
"How exactly do you intend to do that?" Jack asked, arching an eyebrow. His expression lines becoming more evident.
"I don't know yet." You admitted without any shame, biting your lower lip in a thoughtful gesture. "But I'm persistent."
He shook his head, but couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth from contracting, an involuntary muscle contraction, he repeated to himself.
"You're doing it again" you whispered, triumphant, that smug expression forming on your beautiful face.
"I'm not."
"You are! Right there." You pointed at his face, and for a horrible and wonderful second, your fingers grazed Jack's cheek in a gesture that could have been accidental.
Could have been, but wasn't.
The touch was so light that the widowed doctor could have imagined it, but the heat that spread across his face was undeniable. Jack Abbot, the ice man of The Pitt's emergency room, the lonely widower, the doctor who had seen everything and was unshaken by anything... felt his cheeks burn.
You noticed. Of course you noticed! Your eyes widened for a second, and then a slow and dangerous smile spread across your face.
"Dr. Abbott," you said, your voice dripping with theatrical sweetness. "Are you... blushing?" you placed the palm of your hand over your heart in false contemplation.
"I'm warm." The answer came too fast, shit. "The kitchen is hot."
"Liar."
Jack narrowed his eyes, but there was no real threat in them. There was something closer to... amusement and it was strange, this feeling. Like wearing a garment that didn't belong to him, but that fit his body perfectly.
"You're terrible" he murmured, without any conviction.
"Hey!! I'm charming" you corrected, finally stepping away. "Well, now you owe me two dinners." You said, changing the subject, with intention and seeing the questioning hover in Abbot, you set about explaining. "You didn't come to the other dinners Michael tried to drag you to, I was here, you know."
"I didn't know there were other dinners."
"There were and I helped in all of them." You and he left the kitchen, walking to the hallway and passing in front of Michael's veranda, who, as much as he was the owner of the house, had disappeared. "I was offended, you know?"
Jack followed you to Robby's large living room, both stopping near the sofa. "In my defense I didn't even know you would be there."
"If you knew, would you come?" you questioned with that provocative and fun little manner that disarmed Jack, pointing your slender finger in his direction, but beneath the question there was a vulnerability, a small thread of hesitation that contradicted all the theatrical confidence of the previous minutes.
Jack swallowed dryly. He looked over your shoulder and then at you. "Definitely."
Your smile was so raw and true, the kind that reached your eyes and made your whole face shine, it was a reward for the older man and Jack realized, with a shiver that started in his spine and spread to his limbs, that he wanted to see that smile every day.
The thought was so overwhelming that he thought he needed to sit down for a moment. You noticed his sudden shift, the way he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and for a second, your face twisted with concern, but Jack recomposed himself before you could ask.
"I'm fine" he lied. He wasn't fine. Everything was, absolutely everything, different. And that was at the same time the best and the most terrifying thing that could happen.
You hesitated, but didn't press. Instead, you walked around to the hall, picking up your purse, the right distance between you to put your heads in place. However, you turned to Abbot, seeing him following you from a distance.
"Next time" you said, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, "I'll give you some culinary tricks."
Jack turned his face to you, confused. "What?"
"You said you know how to cook the basics." You shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "So next time, I'll help with something more elaborate... At your place."
"At my place" he repeated, his voice hollow.
"You have a house, don't you?" You looked at him sideways, a half-smile on your lips. "Or do you live at the hospital and didn't tell me?"
"I have a house." The answer came out before he could think of the implications. "It is, well, it is... empty."
"Empty how?"
"Empty of things." Jack looked at his own hands, raised them and scratched the back of his neck. "Just the essentials, since...." he gestured deliberately.
The air in the kitchen changed. The lightness of the previous minutes gave way to something denser, heavier. You didn't pull away, but you also didn't come closer. You just stayed there, present, listening.
"Then we're going to have to change that" you said finally, with a simplicity that made Jack's eyes burn. "Not everything. Just... a little. Little by little."
He didn't answer. Not because he didn't want to, but because if he opened his mouth at that moment, he didn't know what would come out and worse, or better, you seemed to understand. You started walking, reaching him, briefly adjusting the bag on your shoulder and when you were close to Jack's taller body, you placed your hand over his and squeezed lightly. Your cheeks blushing a little bit.
"When is your day off?" you asked, feeling so... warm and confident.
"Next thursday," Jack answered mechanically, looking at the size difference between both of your hands.
"Thursday it is then," you smiled at him, your thumb lightly caressing the skin of the older man's large hand. "I might even teach you some dessert. Ask Michael for my number..."
And then you let go of him and spun toward the exit. "It's more fun this way," you looked at him over your shoulders and gave a wink. "Good evening, Jack Abbott," you whispered.
And you left, shouting a farewell to Robinavitch.
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