welcome to the confessional where you’ll find all your dirtiest desires 💋
24, she/her, mdni!
📚 masterlist
https://brxtnxy.tumblr.com/post/803064918918283264
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📚 multi-chapter
🕯️ mini series
💖fluffy
🫀 angst
💋smutty
🌙 all the feels
💥 chaos
Bitter/Sweet 🫀 reader tries to be there for the hardest shift of his life. Reader happens to be one of the lead vendors of Pittfest...
Saturday Rituals 💋 A soft bookstore date with your older boyfriend turns into slow-burn tension, filthy banter, and kisses all the way home.
Four Edges, Four Lies 💋 four times Michael insulted himself, and the one time Reader snapped and proved him wrong.
Rugelach & Rotisserie Chicken 💖💥 Michael comes home from the hardest shift of his week and immediately melts under the care of the one person who makes him feel safe.
Mistletoe in Aisle 5 💋 You came for cheap wine and questionable life choices. Mistletoe and Michael Robinovitch deliver both.
Challenge Accepted 💋 Quarantined in the trauma bay with the arrogant attending you’ve hated for three months? Nightmare. Learning the cure for the toxin you both inhaled is “multiple orgasms ASAP”? Okay, maybe not a nightmare.
We Hang What We Can't Carry 🌙💖 They can’t carry the dead home, so they hang them on the tree instead: One night, one trauma center, Evergreen, and a refusal to let love end where breath does.
Twenty Seconds 💋 He has spent too many nights imagining a world where she doesn’t come home. Tonight, he reminds them both: she’s here. She’s alive. She’s his.
0700 💋 One year of torture in V-neck scrubs. One on-call room. Twelve minutes. He fucks your tits until he paints them, then promises the real wrecking starts the second shift ends. Part 2: 7:01
Pull Me Closer 💋 You wake up needy and choose to wake Michael with your mouth. What starts sweet and playful turns rough and fast when an accidental hair pull unlocks a shared kink.
Bare Neccesities 🌙 You decide it’s time for a full Brazilian. Your boyfriend, Michael Robinavitch, responds by quietly holding a funeral for the bush.
Hucklerobby: Severed Thread 🫀 Dennis finds Robby praying on the pediatric floor. Hours later, Robby mistakes him for a traitor and tears him apart word by word. When the truth comes out, it’s too late—Dennis is already gone, and the damage is done.
📚Falcon Three, Do You Copy? 🫀 Grumpy x Sunshine but make it Search & Rescue.
📚First Date Things 💖
Sorry If You Feel Objectified 💋 4+1 of accidental objectification, cute aggression, a bicep bite, and a boyfriend who has absolutely been aware of it the whole time.
Seven Days, Zero Mercy 💋 Seven days. One rule. You try to obey, until a tequila-soaked Thursday night sends a video straight to the man who owns your body and your heart. When Jack comes home, he makes sure you remember exactly who you belong to.
Hi, Cookie 💖 Baking wasn’t part of Jack Abbot’s skill set—but loving you is. A night of flour explosions, cinnamon sugar kisses, and cookies for a good cause…
The Weight You Gave Me 🌙💖 Jack cancels date day because his leg is being a jerk. One very grumpy doctor gets reminded he’s still worthy of softness.
Wrong SD Card, Butterfly 💋 One forgotten SD card shatters the illusion — and when she comes for it, both of them finally realize the line between them never really existed at all.
Ghosts of Salvation 🫀 Jack storms out for his night shift—cruel, wounded, and bleeding venom, at the person who loves him most. Nightshift offers no quarter, only blood, phantom agony, and the grinding truth that surviving war was child’s play compared to letting himself be loved, scars and all.
Red Rimmed Rescue 💖 After a brutal night shift, you push through burning eyes and exhaustion, convinced you can make it one more hour. Jack notices anyway.
Gold Star 💋 Jack takes you through weeks of slow training: plugs, teasing, ice-cream setbacks, bathtub aftercare, and endless banter.
Seems to be Her Type 💖 They speculate. They assume. They get it wrong. Jack just watches, fed and unbothered, knowing exactly who she chose.
Engel 💖 He never meant to stop at the little yellow cottage near the Pitt… but warmth has a way of finding the coldest people first.
Not Your Disappointment 🫀 You’ve spent years swallowing your dad’s comments and calling it “family.” This weekend, Dennis finally hears every word you’ve been choking down, and the boy who calls you Birdie decides he’s done letting them clip your wings.
Neon Green, Nebraska Red 💋 After one too many drinks at Mercy’s, you get Whitaker on your couch with his legs spread, shaking, and begging to come down your throat.
Marked by Morning 💋Snowstorm outside, firelight inside, and Dennis Whitaker’s hands on your hips under a shared blanket.
Green Light, Sleep Tight 💋 After a shift that leaves him hollowed out, Dennis Whitaker slips home craving more than sleep. He craves touch. Connection. You.
Correcting Bad Behavior 💋 Four small moments break his heart, but one night at the bar shatters him completely.
Ghostbusters & Consequences 💋 Frank Langdon thinks mocking a safe word is funny. He learns, on his knees, cock locked, thighs red, begging, that his girlfriend does not share his sense of humor.
Langdon's Lover 💋 Frank hasn’t touched you in 9 days, so you did what any sane girl would do: went nuclear.
Say Thank You, Baby 💋 One unlocked door in a dream. One name that wasn’t his. One very secure boyfriend who decides the best way to handle it is to love you through every confession, fuck the shame right out of you, and promise that every future risk you ever take will only ever be with him.
Pink Pony Loser (Trinity Santos x Reader) 💋 You challenged Trinity Santos to a procedure bet and swore you’d have her begging by day thirty-one. She won by nine. Now you’re the one begging, and safeword Pink Pony is the only mercy you’re getting.
Golden Hour, Low Battery (Mel King x Reader) 💖 Melissa King is really good at saving other people’s lives—less good at remembering she’s allowed to have one of her own.
Crash Course 💋 A sleepover turns into an intimate lesson when it's just Victoria and Trinity left. Wine, movies, and months of tension lead to a very hands-on education.
Stay 💖 🕯️ A broken boiler, a freezing apartment, and one terrified toddler send you running straight into Michael’s arms. Cold hands, warm blankets, whispered confessions, and a single word that changes everything. Tonight, for the first time, you don’t have to do any of it alone. Tonight, you stay.
All the Pieces that Matter 💖 🕯️ A trip to the cabin spirals into full-scale chaos when Dottie declares war on the Cookie Man, demotes and re-promotes her Papa, and emotionally demolishes Uncle Jack before rebuilding him.
Before, Second Light 💖 🕯️On the first night of Hanukkah, Michael teaches his daughter about light, oil, and not hiding who you are.
Before Third Light 💖 🕯️ Before the third light, Michael gently teaches Dottie that spreading the light matters—even when not everything can be fixed in one night.
Before Fourth Light 💖 🕯️ A broken crayon, three candles, and a choice to come back.
Before Fifth Light 💖 🕯️ A rough morning turns into lattes, cake pops, Target jammies, and a self-care night that changes everything.
Surviving Santa 💖 🕯️ Dottie’s first real Christmas includes matching sweaters, big feelings, tacos, and a Santa who does not know when to stop talking.
Still Watching? 💖 🕯️You leave for work. Papa falls asleep on the couch. Netflix stops the cartoons, and Dottie decides he needs a little shine.
This Day is Yours 💖 When you wake up on your birthday surrounded by love, Jack’s steady presence, Michael’s quiet planning, and Dottie’s unfiltered devotion, everything else fades.
Fight Night at the Pitt 💥 crack fic with feelings, charity event chaos, underdog glory. Charity boxing match at The Pitt. You sign up. Your husbands panic. Santos falls in love. HR gives up. Everyone cries about Hope Harbor.
Summary: A ruptured appendix lands you in the ER. Jack told you to call if things got worse. You did. Too bad the number was wrong....
Jack Abbot x Reader
AN:First post back while I’m getting back into the rhythm of writing and posting again, and obviously it had to be about my husband Jack :P Hope you enjoy!
You’re halfway through getting dressed when the first cramp hits.
It’s low and sharp, like someone twisting a fist just behind your hip bone, and you pause with one sock in your hand, breath catching for half a second.
“—you still there?” Jack’s voice crackles through your phone, dry and unimpressed even this early. “Or did you finally get abducted by aliens.”
You exhale through your nose. “Rude. I’d at least text you first.”
“You’d forget,” he says. “You forget to eat.”
“I do not forget to eat.”
“You forget to eat real food.”
You tug the sock on and straighten, bracing a hand against the dresser as another wave rolls through. Not unbearable. Just relentless.
“Everything okay?” he asks. The humor drops. He hears everything despite his old age much to your dismay.
“Yeah,” you say automatically, then sigh. “Just cramps. I think.”
There’s a pause. You can picture him already. Scrubs half-on, black coffee in hand, leaning against the counter like the weight of the world lives there too. That crease between his brows carving itself in.
“You’re not due,” he says.
You snort. “Jack, I have PCOS. I’m never due.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I didn’t say it was.” You grab your hoodie and pull it on, slower now. “It’s probably nothing. My body just likes to freestyle.”
“Your body doesn’t hate you,” he mutters. “It’s just bad at communicating.”
You huff. “Wow. Pot, meet kettle.”
That earns a quiet huff of a laugh on his end, barely making it past his throat. You count it as a win.
Another cramp hits, stronger this time, and you swear under your breath before you can stop yourself.
Jack catches it instantly. “Hey. Don’t do that thing where you minimize your pain”
“M’not minimizing,” you say, defensive but gentle. “I’m just… acknowledging. With curse words.”
“Okay,” he says, already switching gears. “Have you eaten.”
You groan. “Don’t start.”
“I’m starting,” he replies flatly. “You need food before you take anything. Even ibuprofen. Especially ibuprofen.”
“I was gonna grab something at work.”
“At the animal shelter,” he says, irritation sharp but protective. “Where you will absolutely forget because a sad puppy looks at you.”
“Who absolutely deserves my full attention.”
“You can give it attention after you eat a granola bar,” he counters. “There should be one in your bag. Peanut butter. I put it there.”
You blink. “You’re creepy.”
“God forbid I take care of my girl” he scoffs
Another wave rolls through and you lean against the doorframe, eyes closing. Beads of sweat are starting to pepper your hairline.
“And the heating pad,” Jack adds immediately. “The wearable one. Did you charge it like I told you.”
“Yes,” you mutter. “It’s in my bag.”
“Put it on now.”
“I’m literally standing in my hallway.”
“And you’re literally in pain.”
You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway. “You literally deal with trauma for a living. I think you can handle my uterus throwing a tantrum.”
“Don’t joke about organs misbehaving,” he says flatly. “Bad precedent.”
You snort as you press the pad against your abdomen, warmth blooming slow and steady. It helps enough to stand upright again.
“You’re walking funny,” he says.
You freeze. “How would you even know that?”
“You get quieter when you’re hurting,” he replies. “And you rock side to side trying to soothe yourself”
You hate how right he is.
“Text me when you get there,” Jack says. No argument. Just that low, firm tone he uses when he’s trying not to spiral. “If it gets worse, you tell someone. I don’t care if it’s your boss or the world’s friendliest golden retriever.”
“I’m not telling a dog I’m dying.”
“You absolutely would,” he says. “You like animals more than people.”
“They don’t ask stupid questions.”
A beat.
“You’re such an old man,” you say, keys jingling as you head for the door.
“And you love me,” he shoots back.
You hesitate just long enough for him to hear it.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”
The pain ebbs again, dulling to a throb as you grab your bag and lock the door. You chalk it up to bad timing, hormones, your body being annoying but its survivable.
Normal.
You have no idea how wrong you are.
The animal shelter smells like disinfectant and fritos. Yummy
It’s comforting in a way some people wouldn’t understand.. Dogs barking in uneven bursts, the low hum of the ventilation, a cat somewhere hissing dramatically at a mild inconvenience. You hang your bag in your locker and move on autopilot, like you always do.
Your phone buzzes.
Jack: You there?
You smile and unlock it.
You: at work 🫡
You: don’t yell at me
You snap a picture before he can ask. A granola bar half-unwrapped, a bottle of water already sweating onto the metal table. You make sure your heating pad is visible in the corner, clipped under your hoodie like proof of compliance.
You: proof of life + nourishment
Three dots appear. Pause.
Jack: I see water.
Jack: Eat first. Then meds.
Jack: Don’t try to out sass me, you’ll lose everytime
You huff a quiet laugh and take a bite, chewing even though your stomach feels tight and off.
You: yes daddy 🫡
The typing dots disappear. Reappear.
Jack: …
Jack: Welp.
Jack: Someone’s gotta take care of you 🤷🏼♂️
You grin to yourself, warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the heating pad.
You swallow, then snap another photo. Pain meds in your palm. Water halfway gone.
You: see? compliant. hydrated. thriving.
Jack: Questionable on that last one.
Jack: Let me know when you take it
You do. Another picture sent. Malicious compliance at its best. You lean back against the counter and wait for the edge to dull.
It helps. A little.
Your phone buzzes again.
Jack: Good.
Jack: I’m gonna try to sleep before my shift.
Jack: Call me if you need anything.
You stare at that line longer than you mean to.
You: I will
You: go be grumpy in your dreams old man 😴
Jack: Watch it.
Jack: Love you.
Your chest does that stupid, warm, flutter thing.
You: love you too
The screen goes dark as you tuck your phone into the pocket of your pants as you step fully back into your day. Cleaning bowls. Refilling water. Speaking softly to the anxious ones, the scared ones, the ones who flinch at sudden movement.
You always feel steadier here. Animals don’t ask you to explain yourself. They don’t expect you to be anything but gentle.
“I know,” you murmur to a trembling pittie as you clip on a leash. “People can be a lot. But you’re safe here. I’ve got you.”
It’s a familiar comfort, and you won’t admit it but you love being needed.
Halfway through cleaning one of the kennels, the pain surges again. Sharper. Higher. It steals your breath this time, forces you to grip the metal door and press your forehead against it until the room stops tilting.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay. That’s new.”
Roco, your favorite pittie, noses your arm, worried. You manage a smile and scratch behind his ears, even as sweat beads along your hairline again.
“I’m fine,” you tell him softly. “Promise.”
You straighten and keep moving. Slower now. More careful. You don’t want to scare anyone. Or make a fuss. PCOS is a bitch. Painful periods that come out of nowhere.
Jack’s asleep. You don’t want to bother him. It’s probably just hormones. Stress. Your body being dramatic like it always is.
You slip back into your routine, ignoring the way the pain keeps clawing, unfamiliar and insistent.
You don’t call.
You really, really should have.
The next cramp doesn’t come in waves.
It hits all at once.
It’s sharp and blinding, a white-hot spike that steals the air from your lungs and folds you forward with a sound you don’t recognize as your own. Your knees buckle before you can even think to brace yourself, one hand slipping uselessly against the kennel door.
“Oh—fuck,” you gasp, the word breaking apart as pressure blooms deep in your abdomen, wrong in a way that sets off every internal alarm you’ve been ignoring.
The room tilts.
You try to call out. Try to steady yourself. Try to do anything other than sink to the concrete floor like your bones have turned to water.
You don’t make it.
Your shoulder clips the edge of the kennel as you go down, the impact distant and dull compared to the pain ripping through you now. It’s everywhere. Radiating. Crawling upward. Your vision tunnels, spots dancing at the edges.
“Hey—hey!” someone shouts. Footsteps. Too many. Too loud.
A dog starts barking, sharp and panicked.
“I—I’m okay,” you try to say, but it comes out thin and breathless, more of an automatic response than truth. You curl instinctively, knees drawing in as nausea roils hard enough to make your mouth flood.
You hear your name.
Hands hover, unsure where to touch, afraid to hurt you more.
“You’re not okay,” a coworker says, voice tight. “You’re really not okay.”
You shake your head weakly, sweat slicking your temples. “I just—need a second.”
Another bolt of pain tears through you and you cry out this time, sharp and broken, fingers clawing at the concrete as if it might anchor you.
Someone swears.
“Call 911,” another voice says. “Now.”
You try to protest. Try to say Jack is sleeping, that it’s probably nothing, that you can’t afford to make a scene. Your body ignores you completely.
The world narrows to sirens and pressure and the overwhelming certainty that something inside you has gone terribly, catastrophically wrong.
The paramedics move fast.
You’re barely aware of being lifted, of straps securing you to the gurney, of oxygen pressed to your face as someone asks questions you can’t seem to answer clearly.
“Any allergies?”
“Pain level?”
“Possibility of pregnancy?”
“No,” you gasp. “PCOS. I—fuck—please—”
“Okay, okay, we’ve got you,” a calm voice says, grounding but distant. “Stay with me.”
You try. God, do you try.
As they wheel you out, someone grabs your bag from your locker and sets it on the counter. Your hoodie is draped over a chair. Your phone, face down and on silent, sits beside a half-empty bottle of water and a crumpled granola bar wrapper.
No one thinks to grab it.
The doors close behind the stretcher.PTMC blurs into existence in bright lights and clipped voices.
You’re moved. Shifted. Prodded. The pain spikes again, vicious and consuming. Your focusing on your breathing. When they start shouting..
“Something’s wrong,” someone says urgently.
“We’re losing her pressure.”
“Get surgery on the line.”
Fear cuts through the fog at last, sharp and sobering.
“Jack,” you whisper, barely audible. “I need—”
No one hears you.
Your phone is miles away, sitting quietly on a shelter counter, while the man you love sleeps, blissfully unaware, preparing for a night shift that will change everything.
They sit you upright just long enough to hand you a clipboard.
Your skin feels hot and cold all at once. Sweat rolls along your face, dampening your collar, while a shiver rattles through your bones hard enough to make your teeth chatter.
“I can’t—” you start, voice thin. “Why do I have to fill this out?”
The nurse crouches slightly so she’s in your line of sight, her voice steady and kind. “It’s just routine, baby. No one came in with you, and we need as much information as we can get to help you, okay? Just do what you can.”
You nod, even though your hands are shaking so badly the pen nearly slips from your grip.
Name.
Date of birth.
You pause between fields, breathing shallowly through another wave of pain that twists deep in your abdomen. It’s not like cramps anymore. It’s wrong. It feels like something has torn.
Emergency contact.
Jack.
Your chest tightens. You picture him without meaning to. Slouched at his kitchen counter in yesterday’s T-shirt, black coffee steaming between his hands. Brow furrowed like he’s already annoyed at the world. Or maybe smirking, saying something dry and stupid just to make you laugh.
You wish he were here. He’d make a joke. He’d tell you you’re fine even while his eyes give him away.
Another shiver wracks through you, sweat cooling unpleasantly against your skin. You scribble his name down quickly, afraid you’ll lose the moment of clarity if you don’t.
The numbers blur. Your grip tightens. Another spike of pain steals your breath and your hand jerks.
You don’t notice the mistake.
The nurse takes the clipboard gently from you before you can look it over.
“Thank you,” she says. “That helps a lot.”
You want to tell her to wait. To double-check. Something nags at the back of your mind, thin and insistent, but it’s drowned out by another surge of pain that drags a broken sound out of your throat.
“Oh—oh my God—”
“Okay,” the nurse says immediately. “Let’s get you lying back.”
They lower the bed, voices layering now, efficient but urgent.
“What are you feeling?”
“Sharp,” you gasp. “It started low and now it’s—everywhere. I’m cold. I’m hot. I feel—icky.”
“Any medical history we should know about?”
“PCOS,” you manage. “I—I get cysts. I think maybe one ruptured?”
It makes sense. It’s something you’ve survived before and It’s less terrifying than the alternative creeping at the edges of your thoughts.
“That’s good to know,” someone says. “We’ll check everything.”
An IV slides into your arm. Cool saline, then the slow burn of pain medication following it. The edge softens just enough to make your head feel heavy
“Okay,” a doctor says. “We’re going to run labs and get imaging. Just to be safe.”
As they wheel you down the hall, lights streaking overhead, fear finally punches through the haze.
“I just want Jack,” you whisper, tears slipping sideways into your hair. “Please.”
“We’re taking good care of you,” a voice promises.
You let your eyes close, trusting that promise because you don’t have the energy to fight anymore.
Behind the scenes, the number is dialed.
It doesn’t connect.
They try again.
Still nothing.
And you have no idea that the man you love is still asleep, hours away from walking into his biggest fear
Time stops meaning anything.
It stretches and snaps in strange ways, hours bleeding together until you can’t tell if you’ve been awake for minutes or days. You drift in and out, pulled under by medication and dragged back by pain that never fully lets go.
Every time you surface, you look for him.
You expect Jack to be there. In the chair by the bed. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Scowling at the monitor to ensure you're truly stable. You expect his voice before you even open your eyes.
He’s never there.
The first time you realize it, confusion settles in your chest, slow and heavy. The second time, it curdles into something sharper.
By the third, you’re angry.
Where is he?
Another wave of pain rolls through you and you hiss, fingers digging into the sheets. Your skin still feels too warm, then too cold. You're soaked in sweat while chills ripple through you uncontrollably.
He said to call if you needed anything.
You needed everything.
You squint at the clock on the wall when your eyes manage to focus. Too much time has passed. Enough that he should be here by now. Enough that the hurt starts to whisper things you don’t want to hear.
Maybe he didn’t answer because he didn’t want to.
Maybe you mattered less than you thought.
The thought lands hard, stealing what little breath you have.
A woman in blue scrubs notices you stirring and moves closer, her presence calm in a way that feels genuine. She has kind eyes. Tired, but kind.
“Hey,” she says softly. “I’m Dr. King. Mel.”
You swallow. Your throat burns. “Can I—” Your voice cracks immediately. You wince, frustrated with yourself. “Can I get an update?”
“Of course,” Mel says, pulling the curtain a little more closed, making the space feel smaller. Safer. “We’re still waiting on imaging, but your pain and labs are concerning. We’re keeping a close eye on you.”
You nod weakly. That’s not what you want.
“Did—” You hesitate. “Did my boyfriend come?”
Mel’s expression shifts. Just slightly. Careful.
Your stomach drops.
“We’ve been trying the number you gave us,” she says gently. “I’m really sorry.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
“He knows,” you croak, more hope than fact. “He has to.”
Mel doesn’t contradict you. Instead, she reaches out, her hand warm and comforting on your arm.
“Let’s take a breath together for a second,” she says softly. “Focus on me, okay? You’re here, you’re being taken care of, and we’re doing everything we can.”
It doesn’t help.
Another surge of pain rips through you and you cry out, curling inward as much as the bed will allow.
“I just want Jack,” you sob. “Please. I just want him.”
“I know,” Mel murmurs, petting your hair. “I know.”
She stays until your breathing evens out, until the tears quiet into shaky hiccups. When she finally steps away, the room feels emptier than before.
You drift again, consciousness slipping, anger and hurt tangling with fear as your body fights something you still don’t have a name for.
And somewhere across the city, Jack Abbot sleeps through the worst hour of your life, completely unaware that you’re waking up scared and hurting and wondering if love is supposed to feel like this.
Robby's POV
Mel doesn’t ask for help often.
So when she pauses at the desk, a chart tucked under her arm, and says, “Can you go check on Bed Twelve for me?” Robby doesn’t argue.
“She’s scared,” Mel adds quietly. “And she keeps asking for her boyfriend.”
That’s enough.
Robby heads down the hall, already bracing himself. Severe abdominal pain. Labs trending the wrong way. Imaging pending but urgent.
He pulls the curtain aside and stops cold.
“Oh. Shit.”
You’re curled slightly on your side, knees drawn in as much as the monitors allow. Pale. Sweaty. Shivering despite the warmed blankets. You look smaller than you should, lashes damp like you’ve been crying in your sleep.
And suddenly it clicks.
Jack’s phone.
The wallpaper.
The way his voice softens when he says your name.
“Oh fuck,” Robby breathes.
Your eyes flutter open.
“Jack?” you whisper immediately, hope fragile and aching.
Robby steps closer, gentle. “Hey. It’s Robby. I work with him.”
Confusion flickers across your face, quickly chased by fear.
“Where is he?” you ask. “He was supposed to—”
Before Robby can answer, a nurse appears. “Imaging’s back.”
Everything shifts.
Jack's POV
Jack clocks in on autopilot.
Badge swipe. Fluorescent lights. The quiet, constant ache in his leg where the prosthetic rubs wrong. He moves at a steady pace, black coffee in hand, already scanning the board.
Robby spots him first.
Jack lifts his chin slightly, dry as ever. “Damn, brother,” he says. “Where’s the fire?”
Robby opens his mouth and stops when he sees Jack’s face.
The joking dies instantly.
Jack follows his gaze. Feels the shift in the air.
“What,” Jack says flatly.
Robby steps closer, voice low. “Jack… there’s a patient in one of the bays. She came in earlier today.”
Jack exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Okay? That narrows it down to… most of the ER.”
Robby doesn’t smile.
Jack’s brow furrows. “What. Did she steal your parking spot?”
“Jack,” Robby says carefully. “She looks just like your girl.”
Jack’s grip tightens on his coffee cup.
Robby swallows. “And you’re the only Jack Abbot I know.”
The humor drains from Jack’s face in real time.
“She keeps asking for you,” Robby finishes quietly.
Jack’s voice comes out rough. “No.”
Robby nods once. “Yeah.”
Jack stands there, frozen, like his body hasn’t caught up to what his brain just heard.
“Why wasn’t I called,” Jack demands, anger flashing hot and fast.
Robby winces. “They tried. The number on the file was off by a digit.”
Jack shakes his head once, sharp. “She knows my number.”
“She was scared,” Robby says softly. “And in a lot of pain.”
Before Jack can answer, a surgeon steps in, urgency written all over him.
“Appendix rupture,” the surgeon says. “There's an infection. We’re taking her to the OR now.”
Jack’s heart slams violently.
“No,” he says hoarsely. “I need to see her.”
“If you want to say something,” the surgeon replies, already moving, “now’s the time.”
Jack doesn’t run. He can’t. But he moves as fast as his body allows, every step heavy and burning as Robby keeps pace beside him.
“She thinks you’re not coming,” Robby adds quietly. “She’s scared.”
“Fuck,” Jack breathes. “I was right here.”
Your POV
They’re moving you again.
Faster now. Voices sharp and clipped. Someone tells you they need to take your appendix out. Someone says surgery. Someone presses something cool into your IV.
Fear spikes, bright and panicked.
“Jack,” you whisper. “Please.”
The bed stops.
A hand closes around yours.
“Hey,” a voice says. Familiar callouses scratch against your palm.
Your eyes flutter open.
He’s here, hair still damp, badge crooked, chest rising and falling like he fought the whole hospital to get to you.
“Where have you been?” you ask, voice small and cracked, not angry. Just hurt.
Jack leans in instantly, forehead pressing to yours. “Baby, I—”
The world tilts and the ceiling tiles blur
“No, wait—” he says urgently, squeezing your hand.
But the anesthesia pulls you under before he can finish, his words dissolving into darkness as the OR doors swing shut.
Jack stands there, frozen, your warmth still lingering in his palm, the explanation trapped in his chest, too late to matter now
Jack is pacing.
Not fast, physically he can’t, but he’s relentlessly. Short turns. Tight arcs. The prosthetic clicks faintly against the floor every time he pivots, the sound grating on his already-frayed nerves. His hands keep clenching like he’s looking for something to grab onto and coming up empty.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he snaps. “My name is on her chart. My name.”
Robby steps closer, palms out, trying to slow the room down before it detonates. “Jack. Listen to me for a second.”
Jack barrels right past him.
“You’re telling me nobody thought to connect that?” he continues. “She comes in critical, my name’s listed, and no one thinks to call the ER attending with the same goddamn name?”
“Jack,” Robby says firmly now. “That’s not how intake works and you know it.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jack fires back. “That’s negligence.”
“It’s protocol,” Robby replies, jaw tight. “They call the number. That’s it. They don’t Google coworkers.”
Jack scoffs, sharp and humorless. “Lazy system.”
Before Robby can answer, Mel approaches.
She has her tablet tucked under her arm, hugged loosely to her chest like it’s grounding her. Her expression is careful but open, eyes soft with recognition rather than defensiveness.
“You wanted a play-by-play,” she says gently. “I can tell you what happened.”
Jack turns on her immediately. “Good. Because I want to know exactly what I missed.”
Robby shifts, uneasy, but Mel just nods once and begins, voice steady in the way that comes from weathering chaos.
“She came in from an outside location,” Mel says. “Severe abdominal pain. Diaphoretic, tachycardic. She was scared.”
Jack’s jaw tightens.
“We started fluids and pain control right away. Labs, imaging. She kept asking for her boyfriend,” Mel continues. “She was crying.”
Jack’s head snaps up. “And you didn’t think to ask who that was?”
Mel blinks, caught slightly off guard by the edge in his tone, but she doesn’t bristle. “She kept saying ‘Jack,’” she explains gently. “Just Jack.”
She tilts her head, earnest. “It’s a common name. I didn’t realize she meant you, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack lets out a harsh, brittle laugh. “So you just assumed it was someone else.”
“I assumed it was someone important to her,” Mel replies quietly. “And I took that seriously.”
Without noticing, she hugs the tablet a little closer. “I stayed with her when she asked. I told her she was safe. I told her we were taking care of her.”
“Clearly that wasn’t enough,” Jack snaps.
The words hang in the air, soft and unfair.
Mel’s expression falters, just a little. She takes a slow breath, grounding herself before responding.
“She is stable,” Mel says softly but firmly. “Because people here did their jobs.”
“That’s enough.”
Dana steps in, decisive, placing herself squarely between Jack and Mel.
Jack turns on her. “I just want to know why she thought I didn’t—”
“No,” Dana cuts him off, calm but lethal. “What you want right now does not outrank how you’re acting.”
The room stills.
Dana holds his gaze. “You do not get to unload your fear on the doctor who sat with her while she cried.”
Jack’s chest heaves. “She thought I didn’t come.”
“And that’s devastating,” Dana agrees. “But it is not Mel’s fault. And it is not Robby’s fault. And it’s not something you can fix by tearing this place apart.”
Jack opens his mouth and snaps it closed.
Dana’s voice softens, just enough to catch him before he falls apart. “You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re allowed to be. But you need to get your shit together.”
Robby nods beside her. “She’s going to wake up soon. Confused. In pain. Looking for you.”
Dana steps closer, lowering her voice. “She needs you steady, Jack. Not spiraling. Not snapping. Steady.”
Jack drags a hand down his face, the fight draining out of him all at once.
“I was right here,” he whispers. “The whole time.”
“I know,” Dana says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And when she asks, you tell her that. But first — you sit.”
She gestures to the chair.
Jack hesitates, then sinks into it, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might crack open and give him answers.
Mel gives him a small, forgiving nod. “I’ll come get you as soon as she’s out,” she says softly.
When she leaves, Dana squeezes Jack’s shoulder once. “Breathe.”
Jack nods, barely.
Behind closed OR doors, machines hum steadily as surgeons work to fix what went wrong.
And for the first time since he walked into the ER, Jack Abbot stops moving because the woman he loves is going to need him whole when she wakes up.
Jack sits and stares at his phone.
The screen lights up when he taps it, muscle memory more than intention. The wallpaper fills the glass, not a posed photo, not anything special. Just you, half-turned, hoodie slipping off, laughing at something he said that he doesn’t even remember anymore.
This morning.
You sounded fine. Annoyed at your cramps, sure. But alive. Upright. Teasing him.
His chest tightens hard enough to make him wince.
“I should’ve known,” he mutters, even though he knows better. Even though Dana already told him this spiral won’t help.
He locks the phone and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
Honesty, he decides.
No half-truths. No softened edges. If she’s going to wake up confused and hurting, she deserves the real thing.
“I didn’t get the call,” he practices under his breath. “The number wasn’t right.”
Anger flares hot and fast, just under his ribs.
“They shouldn’t have made you write that down,” he adds quietly. “Not like that. Not when you were hurting.”
His jaw tightens.
“And I was scared,” he admits to the empty room. “Out of my goddamn mind.”
Jack exhales slowly and stands when he hears movement behind the curtain.
You wake up sore.
Not sharp pain, but deep and heavy, like your body ran a marathon without telling you. Your mouth is dry and your head feels fuzzy, thoughts slipping when you try to grab onto them.
You make a small, unhappy sound before you can stop yourself.
“I know,” Jack says immediately. “I know, baby.”
Your eyes flutter open.
He’s right there.
Close enough that you can see the crease between his brows, the faint redness around his eyes. His hand is already on the bed rail, anchored and refusing to move.
“Jack?” you whisper, voice thin and shaky.
Relief crashes through you so hard it makes your chest ache.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m here.”
You frown, confused, emotions tangled and blurry. “You weren’t—” You swallow. “You weren’t before.”
Jack doesn’t dodge it.
“I didn’t get the call,” he says gently, leaning closer so you don’t have to strain. “The number on the form was wrong. Just a digit. I didn’t know until I walked in.”
Your brow furrows. You try to make sense of it, but your head feels too full of cotton.
“They made you fill that out when you were in that much pain,” Jack continues, anger bleeding through now. “I’m furious about it. I hate that you were scared and I wasn’t here.”
His voice cracks despite his best effort.
“I was so scared,” he admits. “I would’ve come the second I knew. You know that.”
You blink at him slowly, tears gathering without permission.
“But you’re here now,” you mumble.
“Yes,” he says immediately. “I’m here now.”
That’s all that matters to you.
You make a small, needy sound and reach for him, fingers weak but determined.
“Come here,” you whisper. “Please.”
Jack doesn’t hesitate. He moves closer, carefully, one arm sliding around your shoulders as he leans down. He presses a kiss to your forehead first, then your temple, then your cheek, its soft like he’s afraid you’ll disappear
“I just want you,” you whine quietly, face tucking into his chest. “Hold me.”
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you fully now. “I’ve got you.”
You cling to him like gravity changed directions, fingers twisting into his scrub top, nose pressed against his collarbone. Your breathing evens out almost immediately.
Jack doesn’t care who sees.
If anyone looks in, they’ll see an ER attending bent protectively over his girlfriend, prosthetic planted firm, arms tight around the woman he almost lost.
And he does not give a single damn.
You sigh, content despite the pain, eyelids fluttering.
“Don’t leave,” you whisper.
Jack presses his lips to your hair, voice absolute. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You fall asleep like that clutched against him, safe and for the first time since he walked in, Jack lets himself breathe all the way out.
AN: This one has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I finally decided to post it 🫡
PLEASE send me requests!! I have a few more drafts I plan on posting, but I’m nothing if not a people pleaser 🤭
punching above his weight...or is he? - dennis whitaker x f!reader
summary: once your relationship is no longer a secret, the emergency department starts to see just how perfect you and dennis are for each other, and they realize that you may not be as far out of his league as they initially thought.
aka dennis can fucking PULL okay.
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
word count: 4.2k
cw/tags: swearing, no use of y/n, typical pitt warnings (blood, intubation, depictions of a motorcycle crash victim), you're (affectionately) nicknamed 'hot shot' by most of the department, dennis is obsessed with you, you're obsessed with him, what more could you ask. you have hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. light inappropriate conduct in the workplace but it's all in good fun and no one's feelings are hurt!
more dennis x hot shot guys i told you i couldn't be stopped! inspired by this ask and @libbyqypu :)
secure chat for anyone who doesn’t know is basically a messenger system that is patient privacy compliant and integrated into the charting platform!!
MASTERLIST
TAGLIST(S)
Victoria’s killing a bit of time in the main foyer before her shift starts one day when the two of you arrive.
Dennis pulls the door open for you, as usual, holding it while you walk inside. He does the same with the inner door, despite having to speedwalk in order to get there before you. She notices that he’s carrying your backpack, the strap slung over the opposite shoulder from his own. He reaches out as you walk towards the elevators, fingers pinching the side of your shirt, gently pulling you closer to him. It’s subtle, and Victoria’s certain she’s the only one who notices that your hands now brush against eachother’s as you move.
“You coming up?” You ask, reaching forwards, hitting the button.
He checks his watch, then nods. “Still got time.”
You bite back a smile as you step into the elevator, doors closing behind you, blocking you from Victoria’s probing eyes. The ICU floor is much quieter than the ED, especially since it’s still early, most of the patients still sleeping as the hospital starts to wake up. You swipe your badge against the sensor, and then step through the double door together, like you always do.
Dana’s standing at the central desk when you come in, talking to the charge nurse there, trying to get some boarders moved before dayshift officially takes over. She clocks both of you immediately, her sentence coming to a stop when she hears your soft laughter. She turns around, watching as you approach, smiling at her.
“Dana,” You greet. “Are you finally leaving the ER to join us up here?”
“You wish,” She says, looking past your shoulder, where Dennis is waiting a half-step behind you. “Whitaker, fancy seeing you here.”
The ICU charge scoffs, laughing a bit. “What do you mean? He’s up here every morning.”
Dana raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on her face. “That so?”
He shrugs, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, both bags on his back lifting with the motion. “Pretty much, yeah.”
You, wanting to save him from any further embarrassment, turn around and give him an opening. “I can take my bag, you can head downstairs.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “I got it, I’ll be right back.”
He walks over to the locker room, his figure disappearing through the door. One of the nightshift RT’s comes out of a room, and Dana doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. He ignores everyone else at the desk as he approaches, saying your last name with way too much enthusiasm for six-thirty in the morning.
“You should’ve seen this patient last night,” He starts, diving into the story as soon as your eyes are on him, a small smile on your face as you genuinely listen.
Dennis comes back out of the locker room just as he takes your wrist in his hand, turning your arm so your palm faces the ceiling, gesturing to your forearm as he explains the IV situation the patient had. He mimes the action of fluids spewing, retelling the moment it came loose as he was in the middle of intubating.
Your face scrunches, but you’re still smiling, and he’s pretty sure you say ‘oh, gross!” before slowly pulling your arm away, tucking both hands into your pockets. He comes up behind you, setting your stethoscope and water bottle on the desk. The other RT loses all steam at the sight of him, and he immediately takes a step back, stuttering over his words for a second. You feel a single finger twist into your waistband, making you look over your shoulder, seeing Dennis and your belongings.
“Thank you,” You say, fully spinning around. He drops his hand back to his side, nodding.
“Yeah, uh, no problem,” He says. “I’ll see you later?”
“Hopefully,” You say. “Good luck down there.”
“You too,” He says, then he heads back through the doors and down the hallway. You loop your stethoscope over your shoulders and put your water bottle by your workstation before returning to the nightshifter, a tablet in hand now.
“Catch me up,” You say, the rest of his story long forgotten.
Dana follows Dennis out, still smirking, putting both hands on his shoulders as she comes up beside him.
“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?"
Around eleven that morning, the higher-ups send donuts down to the ED as a ‘thank you’ for all their hardwork. Robby’s in the breakroom when Dennis walks in, admiring the spread, trying to decide if he actually wants one or not.
“Anything good, boss?” He asks, stepping closer to the tables, looking for something specific.
Robby shrugs. “Would be nicer if they could just pay my staff what they deserve.”
“Oh, definitely,” Dennis says, spotting what he’s looking for, grabbing one of the napkins nearby. “Gotta’ take advantage though, right?”
He picks up a donut, setting it neatly on top of the napkin and putting it down on the table. He opens the fridge, pulling out his lunch and unzipping the bag. Robby watches as he places it on top of whatever’s in there, then puts it back in the fridge, brushing his hands off and closing the door.
“Worthy of saving for later?” Robby asks, slightly teasing. Dennis lets out a small laugh, already halfway out the door.
“Yeah, uhm, trying to be optimistic about getting a break today,” He jokes, stumbling over the words. He’s still getting used to joking around with his boss.
Robby shakes his head, following him back outside. “Oh, you know better than that by now, Whitaker.”
They step out just as the ambulance bay doors open, revealing two paramedics wheeling a gurney in. They both rush over as Dana directs them to an open trauma room, examining the patient while one of the paramedics gives handover.
“Twenty-three year old male, motorcycle versus guardrail,” She says. “Helmet off at the scene, significant facial trauma, breathing on his own for now, but it’s not pretty.”
They swing the door to the trauma room open. Nurses flood in behind them, taking their usual spots around the room, clicking monitors on and hooking them up to the patient.
“Hey, can you open your eyes for me?” Dennis asks, shining his penlight into them when he gets no response. “Pupils equal and reactive, GCS six.”
“Sats eighty-seven and falling,” Mateo says.
“Bag him,” Dennis instructs, setting his stethoscope against his chest, moving it around. “Decreased breath sounds bilaterally.”
“This is gonna’ be a complex airway,” Frank says, having come in a moment after them. “Let’s get respiratory down here.”
You’re adjusting some vent settings for one of your patients when your pager goes off, making you pluck it off your scrub pocket, glancing down at the tiny screen.
EMERG. DEPT. TRAUMA #3 - STAT PAGE
You shove the pager back into place, already running out of the room, calling for the other RT on shift to finish with your patient as you fly by. You take the stairs down to the ED, shoving the door open at the bottom, gripping your stethoscope in your hand so it doesn’t fall. You grab a pair of gloves before opening the trauma room door, trying to assess the situation as best you can in a few seconds. You can’t even see the patient from how many people are in there, crowding around the bed.
“Sats down to seventy-nine,” Perlah says. Garcia already has sterile gloves on, holding her hands up and shaking her head as she looks over Dennis’ shoulder. He’s holding the laryngoscope, watching the monitor, trying to get a good view of the anatomy.
“We need to crike,” She says.
“Woah, hey, I’m here, what’s going on?” You say, grabbing a gown, shifting towards the head of the bed. You look towards the patient’s face, or what’s fucking left of it, exhaling sharply. “Jesus.”
“Motorcycle versus guardrail,” Frank says. “His jaw’s completely unstable, we couldn’t get a seal with the mask, he’s bleeding like crazy.”
“Move, please,” You say, kind but firm, needing to get a closer look. Dennis pulls the tool out, stepping back, his hands up so they don’t get caught on any of the IV lines. Mateo holds the suction as you do your exam, running through options in your head. He’s already using the biggest suction that he can, and the patient's sats are still falling.
The room seems frozen around you as you think, everyone waiting on your next move. You nod to yourself when you decide on the best course of action, a small way to hype yourself up.
“I’m going in through the nasal passage,” You say.
“Blind?” Frank asks. “That’s-”
“No, not blind,” You correct. “I need a lubricated three-point-five.”
The tube is placed into your hand five seconds later. “I’m gonna’ try and advance just past the tongue, see if I can use it as a guide.”
You glance up, making eye contact with Frank, then Robby, waiting to see if either will object to your plan. Robby gives you an affirmative nod.
“Do it.”
You look to Dennis, who’s already watching you. “Could you listen for breath sounds please, Dr. Whitaker?”
“Oh, Dr. Whitaker,” Garcia repeats. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shoot back, smirking.
“Behave,” Robby says, but you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s fighting a smile. Dennis gets into place as you use your free hand to put your own stethoscope in, settling the diaphragm against the patient’s neck, moving it around until you hear what you’re looking for. Then, you slowly advance the tube through the nostril, eyes flicking towards the chest every few seconds to check for rise.
You start to get some resistance at fourteen centimetres, and the chest twitches. You hear a small amount of air pass.
“Minimal movement,” Dennis says, focusing on what he’s hearing.
“Bag it,” You instruct, and Jesse does, squeezing. The patient’s chest rises again, and Dennis looks back at you, nodding, confirming that he can hear at least some remnants of breath sounds.
“Sats up to eighty-five,” Perlah announces.
You shine your penlight into his mouth, studying the passage that the nasal tube is barely revealing, committing the location of his tracheal opening to memory each time the suction clears enough blood for you to see it.
“I can intubate now,” You say.
“Are you sure?” Frank asks, taking a look himself, seeing nothing but blood and a small clearing where the tube sits. “You still can’t visualize most of the landmarks.”
“I don’t need all the landmarks,” You counter. “Do you want a real airway or not, Dr. Langdon?”
Dennis’ breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. You’re looking at Frank expectantly, waiting for a decision. He steps back, nodding. Garcia smirks, speaking before he can.
“Blade to hot shot, please.”
You take the tool in your hand, turning on the light and sliding it into place. You don’t bother looking towards the monitor, knowing that you won’t be able to see where you’re going.
“Seven tube,” You say, reaching for it once it’s passed over, positioning it where the nasal tube already sits. You wait for the suction to expose the clearing again, not hesitating when it does, sliding the tube into the airway. You’re almost certain that it’s in the right place based on how it feels as it clears the epiglottis. “I’m in.”
The cuff is inflated, and Jesse moves the bag from the nasal tube onto the new one, nodding. “Yellow on end-tidal.”
“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds.
“Sats up to ninety-four,” Perlah says. The tension in the room fades as you look at Dennis, failing to contain a grin when you make eye-contact. He gives you a tiny, proud smile and a subtle nod, silently saying ‘nice work.’
You don’t realize that everyone else catches it, too.
“I’ll get him up to CT,” Garcia announces. “Glad you were here, hot shot.”
“Excellent work,” Robby says, followed by your last name. The patient is wheeled out of the room, and you’re all left behind, pulling off gowns and gloves.
“Thanks,” You say. “It’s what I’m good for.”
Dennis holds the door for you as you leave, exhaling once you’re out. Frank holds his fist up.
“Sorry for doubting you,” He says. You smile, tapping your knuckles against his.
“No harm, no foul,” You insist, waving him off. The adrenaline of the trauma starts to wear off as you move towards one of the computers, wanting to get the charting out of the way before you go back to the ICU—as long as none of your patients crash. Goosebumps splinter over your arms, despite the long-sleeve you’re wearing under your scrub top, making you shiver.
Dennis is shrugging his fleece off before you even sit down, handing it to you, already focused on the board to figure out where he should head first. He’s about to walk away when he remembers, spinning back around and leaning towards you over the desk.
“Oh, hey, there’s something for you in my lunch,” He says, voice quiet, but everyone in the vicinity hears him. They started watching the second he passed you his jacket without a single word. “You can grab it before you head back up, if you want.”
You close your hand around his fleece, trying to get your brain to function again. All work is abandoned by the people around when, for the first time possibly ever, you’re speechless. Not because this is unusual behaviour, just because he’s never done it so…publicly before.
“Okay,” You finally say, the single word breathy and faint. “Thank you.”
Everyone is staring at the two of you like it’s their favourite TV show.
“Yeah, ‘course,” He says.
He walks off, you take a seat, pulling the fleece over your head and sticking your badge to the front pocket before logging on to the computer. Your heart is racing, but you do your best to hide it from your colleagues.
“You ever wonder how they ended up together?” Frank asks, watching the interaction from afar, the question aimed at Mel, who has no idea what he’s referring to.
“Who?” She asks, barely looking up from her tablet.
“Whitaker and Hot Shot,” He clarifies. Mel looks up now, still confused.
She says your real name like it’s a question. Frank nods.
“Yeah, Hot Shot,” He emphasizes.
Mel shrugs. “I didn’t know everyone called her that, I thought it was just Garcia.”
“Doesn’t matter,” He says, moving on. “Labs back for twelve yet?”
Trinity comes back into the department twenty minutes later, having gone outside for a breather, stopping just behind your chair as she walks by. She squints, realizing that you’re definitely wearing Whitaker’s quarter-zip, the one he wears pretty much every single day once it starts getting colder. She goes straight to Victoria, who’s talking to Cassie while they wait for one of their patients to get back from CT.
“He gave her his fucking fleece,” She says, eyes drifting towards you. Victoria and Cassie look over.
“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Victoria says, pouting slightly. “He’s so sweet to her.”
“Have you seen her?” Trinity asks, rhetorical. “He’s got to be in order to keep her around.”
Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s probably just because he loves her.”
“Or he knows he’s punching above his weight,” Trinity counters. “I love the kid, but she’s practically a supermodel.”
“Well, maybe that’s what drew her to him,” Victoria suggests. “You know, she’s so used to people tripping over themselves to impress her, maybe she liked the fact that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself to get her attention.”
Trinity thinks about that for a second, cocking her head slightly as she looks at you. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.”
“Has no one considered the idea that she just thought he was attractive?” Cassie asks. “He’s a good looking guy!”
Victoria shrugs. “Doesn’t matter either way, they clearly love eachother.”
You barely even realize that your head’s starting to hurt before a pill cup and your favourite donut are placed on your desk. You tug your eyes away from the screen, almost done with your charting, blinking a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. There’s two ibuprofen tablets in the cup, and you see Dennis standing beside you, holding his water bottle out. Robby watches from his workstation a few feet away, smiling, remembering how he watched Dennis set that donut aside a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for him, it was for you.
"Headache?" He asks.
“How…?” You ask, taking the bottle from him and opening the lid.
“You’re blinking more than usual,” He says, as though anyone would’ve picked up on it.
“Oh,” You say. “Yeah, it's not too bad, though. Thank you.”
You take the pills and a few extra sips of water before passing it back to him. He sets it on the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back.
“You should eat something,” He suggests.
You nod. “I’ll eat this in one second, thank you so much, Denny.”
Robby looks towards Dana, mouthing ‘Denny?’ to her, and she mouths ‘I know!’ back.
Dennis nods, taking a seat at one of the computers across the hub. You finish your own charting a few minutes later, standing up and walking over to one of the nearby sinks, washing your hands thoroughly. You pick up the donut when you get back to the desk, tearing it in half, holding one side out towards him.
He’s so wrapped up in his work that he barely glances up when he takes it, then he does a double take, brows furrowing before he looks at you. He’s about to protest when you give him a look, one that let’s him know that you’re well aware he hasn’t eaten since his shift started. He keeps his half raised up, tilting it towards you, and you tap your own portion against his. You both take a bite at the same time, and Princess raises an eyebrow.
“Did they just…cheers with a donut?” She asks.
“You haven’t seen ‘em do that before?” Dana asks. “They do it with everything—granola bars, apple slices, sandwiches. It’s sweet.”
“I saw them do it with goldfish once,” Mateo says, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Pretty sure they made them kiss.”
You stretch your arms above your head a few minutes later, leaning against the back of your chair. A few people glance over, hoping to get a glimpse of something, but Dennis’ fleece keeps everything covered. You gather a portion of your hair in your hands, reaching towards your wrist for a hair tie.
It snaps when you go to loop it around, making you frown.
“Ow,” You murmur, dropping your hair. Victoria goes to offer you a new one, but she’s cut off by Dennis pulling one off his own arm, slingshotting it across the hub, a solid twenty feet or so. You catch it in your palm like it’s second nature, sticking it between your teeth, smoothing your hair back again.
She malfunctions for a second, trying to see if anyone else witnessed that. Most people have gone back to work, eyes focused on screens or notepads, including Dennis.
“I…how did you do that?” She asks.
Dennis doesn’t even look over. “Do what?”
“The—the hair tie thing,” She stutters. He shrugs.
“She’s always losing them,” He says, as if that remotely answers her question. She’s close enough to see his screen, catching a new secure chat rise to the top of the list that he’s working through answering. It’s your first and last name followed by ‘RRT,’ the profile photo you in scrubs, standing against a white wall.
heading back up
She glances over at you, still sitting across the hub. You’re looking at your computer, scanning some new orders for your ICU patients, face neutral as you mess with your necklace. She looks back at Dennis’ screen.
He signs the note he's working on before opening the conversation.
Come here a second
You log off of the computer, pick up your stethoscope and walk over to him. It’s casual—comfortable. His hand lifts from the keyboard once you’re close enough, reaching over and flipping the collar of his fleece out from where it’s folded in on itself. You raise an eyebrow as he pats it twice, the simple touch of his palm to your collarbone intoxicating.
“How long has that been bothering you?” You ask, teasing and quiet. The volume has picked back up in the department, so Victoria shuffles a bit closer to try and hear the conversation.
He pretends to think, glancing at his watch. “How long ago did you put it on?”
You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”
“Yeah, you should probably be more careful,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Are you warm enough? I think I have a long sleeve in my bag if you want it.”
You do want it, but not because you’re still cold.
“No, I’m okay, thank you,” You say, trying to get your feet to move, but his presence is sucking you in. You’re tempted to wedge yourself into his side, knowing that he’d probably respond automatically, arms wrapping around you and his lips brushing your temple like they would at home.
“Okay, just come grab it if you change your mind,” He says. Your pager beeps from your pocket, and you grimace, face scrunching up in disappointment.
“I will,” You say, checking it quickly before putting it back. You’re still hesitating, not taking a step away from him. He smiles.
“Go,” He insists, softly. “They need you.”
You look at him for another second, pursing your lips. “Yeah, alright, going now, Dr. Whitaker.”
Victoria’s eyes widen as she rereads the same line on her tablet for the millionth time. A blush blooms on Dennis’ neck, and he brings a hand up to try and cover it immediately, his blue eyes following you as you get closer to the doors, filled with adoration.
He gets another secure chat five minutes later. Victoria squints to see what it says.
made it :)
don’t work too hard while im gone
He types back right away.
Yes ma’am
Victoria gasps. Dennis glances back at her.
She brings her elbow up to her face, pretending to cough a few times, clearing her throat once she’s done with the performance.
“Sorry, dry in here today,” She says, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He nods once, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press her on it.
Her own secure chat lights up.
TRINITY SANTOS, MD
smooth, crash
Seven finally rolls around, signalling the end of your shift. You go back downstairs, waiting outside the ER, like usual, backpack on and changed out of your scrubs. Dennis comes out ten minutes later with Trinity and Victoria trailing behind, his eyes softening when he sees you.
“Hey, ready to go?” He asks, making you look up from your phone. You nod, greeting his friends before falling in step beside him, bumping your shoulder against his.
“Oh, gross,” Trinity says, frowning at the heavy rain that’s pouring outside. “You want a ride, Crash?”
“Yes, please,” Victoria says, already bracing herself as Trinity opens the door, turning back to you and Dennis for a second. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” You both say, giving her a tiny wave as they step out into the rain, running to Trinity’s car.
Dennis pulls his keys out of his backpack, squeezing your wrist quickly. “Stay here.”
You smile. “I know.”
He goes outside, rounding the corner and speedwalking away from the doors. You stay inside, waiting, until you feel someone stop beside you.
“Waiting for Whitaker?” Robby asks. “I swore he left a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, yeah, he did,” You confirm. “He went to grab the car.”
Robby hums, chuckling. “Of course he did.”
You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “He just really loves you, is all.”
Your chest and neck start to heat up, making you look towards the ground, scuffing your shoes against the floor. “Yeah, he does.”
“Well, have a good night,” He says.
You smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”
He walks off just as Dennis pulls the car in front of the doors, shifting it into park as he leans over, gripping the inside handle of the passenger side door. You tense up the moment you’re outside, rain pelting against you, thankful that you still have his fleece on as you run to the car. He opens the door right before you make it so you can just jump inside, slamming it shut behind you, wiping some water off your face.
You’re both soaked, him more than you, obviously—but he doesn’t care. He leans over the centre console, hand looping around the back of your neck and pulling you close, kissing you. You kiss him back, smiling into it, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He kisses your forehead after, then pecks your lips again for good measure.
“Love you,” He says.
“I love you,” You echo, still smiling.
A/N - i love that u guys love dennis and hot shot bc i think about them constantly
r2! dennis whitaker x PT! reader
↳ tags: third installment of PT notes, fem! reader, fluff, first date ish, teeny tiny bit of angst if you squint, 2/4 of the pittlings + samira being nosy
↳ warnings: mentions of car accidents, implied patient death, alcohol
↳ disclaimers: not american + still a student PT so there will be inaccuracies, not proofread
↳ word count: 2.56k words
PT Notes Masterlist
divider by @/huraxy-dividers !!
07:00 P.M.
He was not getting off this shift on-time.
Robby had gathered everyone around for an ER-wide huddle five minutes earlier to brief everyone on the incoming wave of patients headed for the ER. Multiple-vehicular collision, at least ten cars, estimated thirty patients, ETA five minutes.
“If you have any calls to make, I suggest you make them now,” Robby said, grimly. “Once the first few patients arrive, we’ll be overrun within the minute. No time for calls then.”
Dennis exhaled shakily as he dialed your number and brought the phone up to his ear.
“Dennis!” you greeted him from the other end of the line. “Is everything okay?”
He couldn’t help but smile softly at the sound of your voice. After the headbutt incident, you’d seen each other a total of three times. For your jobs, that was a lot but the quick smiles and glances whenever you passed by each other could only do so much. It was safe to say that he missed you.
“Hey, doc,” he said, softly, dreading having to tell you what he was calling for. “I think we’re gonna have to do a rain-check for our date later. I’m really sorry, I’ve been looking forward to it all week bu–”
“No, none of that,” you said, reassuringly. A kitchen timer goes off in the background, your scramble to turn it off heard loud and clear on Dennis’s end. “I saw the pile-up on the news. I understand, please don’t apologize.”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that the overtime and cancelled plans came with the job and he knew it wasn’t his fault. But the thought of you going through all the trouble of cooking and getting ready for a dinner date that was never going to happen made his stomach twist with guilt.
“I just want you to know that this date was all I thought about this week,” he said, sadly. “I really did want to come over and spend time with you.”
“I could still go and see you?”
Dennis’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I c–”
“First two arrivals! Twenty-three year-old male and twenty-four year-old female!”
He swore before bringing the phone back to his ear. “I’ll call you again later,” he said, quickly. “I’m sorry.”
He hung up before you could wish him good luck.
-
When you saw the news of the accident on the news, wishful thinking kept you going. Of course, you knew better but maybe, just maybe, your favorite resident had already clocked out and was on his way to your apartment.
You got the call just as the oven went off.
You didn’t hold it against him. It was his job, after all, and it was out of his control. But he just sounded so sad on the phone, it didn’t seem right to just eat the food you made and pack the leftovers for tomorrow.
So, now, you were staring at the food on the counter wondering if you had enough to-go containers to fit everything. Were you overstepping and potentially embarrassing yourself in front of him and the entire ED staff? Maybe.
“A risk I’m willing to take,” you muttered to yourself as you carefully loaded the containers into your car. “For true love, I guess.”
08:00 P.M.
Everyone could sense the miserable energy radiating off of Dennis. Like, even more than usual. Everyone knew why, of course, it was the only thing anyone in the ER talked about in the last few days. Shy mousy farmboy Dr. Whitaker scoring a date with the cute PT on the day they met? It was news to everyone.
If they had gotten off on time, Trinity had enlisted the help of Samira and Javadi to help Dennis get ready for his big date, much to Dennis’s embarrassment. He secretly appreciated it, but they didn’t need to know that. They’d tried inviting Mel but she’d politely declined, saying she had to take care of her sister, but not before making them promise to tell her about everything.
“Hey, farmboy,” Trinity said, quietly, coming up to him after they’d just stabilized a patient. “I’m sorry about your date.”
“Huh? Oh, right,” he replied, clearing his throat. “It’s alright, really. No big deal.”
“Right. Does that explain why you’ve been miserymaxxing for the past hour–”
“Okay, first of all, never say that again,” Dennis said, holding a finger up to stop her. “And, second, fine, yes! I feel shitty about cancelling.”
“I’m sure she understands,” Trinity said, giving him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. “She wasn’t mean about it on the phone, was she?”
He laughed humorlessly. “The opposite, actually. Made me feel even worse.”
She laughed, making Dennis send her a small glare. “You’ll live, Huckleberry,” she said with a small grin. “She likes you. I’m sure she’d be more than down to reschedule.”
“I hope so,” he sighed, tiredly. “Is it going to be like this forever?”
Trinity had to stop herself from full-on cackling at her roommate’s expression. “C’mon, Huckleberry. We’ve got some more lives to save.”
09:00 P.M.
The wave of patients eventually turned into a trickle before things were back to normal in the ER. Dennis sighed as he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked alongside Trinity out of the double doors into chairs. He clicked on your contact and pressed his phone to his ear.
“Hey,” he greeted, surprised you picked up after one ring. “Just got off my shift. I’m sorry again about c–”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to keep saying sorry.”
“Do you want to reschedule? I’m off this Wednesday.”
“Oh, we don’t have to reschedule.”
Dennis swore he felt his heart fall out his ass. Maybe you didn’t like him as much as Trinity thought. “Oh. Um, okay.”
You heard the change in his tone and panicked. “No, Den, I didn’t mean it like that!” you squeaked, quickly rolling down the window of your car. “We don’t have to reschedule because I’m kind of… already here.”
The small beep from your car quickly caught the attention of the two residents. You locked eyes with Dennis and gave him a small wave as the two of them jogged over.
“What are you doing here?” Dennis asked in disbelief. “Did you drive all the way here? Even with the acc–”
Trinity elbowed him in the shoulder, making you laugh. “You can lecture me all you want later, Dr. Whitaker,” you said, chuckling. “But, I came to see you, of course.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his eyes softening.
“I wanted to and, besides–” you pointed your thumb at the backseat “–brought enough to feed a few residents.”
“Oh, you’re the best,” Trinity said, her eyes widening. “Hey, guys!”
Trinity called the rest of the day-shift over as you got out of your car and handed them the containers. You must’ve heard a hundred ‘thank you’s before they eventually walked over to the park across the PTMC. Leaving you and Dennis with the last two containers of food.
“Hey, hotshot,” you said, giving him a small nudge. “Want to help a girl out and find a nice bench away from your co-workers?”
“Gladly.”
-
“Was your shift okay?”
You saw his shoulders sag before he shook his head. “Not exactly dinner date topic material but, no, it was not okay,” he winced. “The first two patients that came in… the EMTs said their car was in the worst shape out of all of them.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He thought about it for a bit before shaking his head. “I don’t want to bum you out with the details,” he said with a sad smile. “Besides– oh, I think right here is perfect.”
He gently brushed the leaves from the tabletop before setting down everything he was carrying on it. This was not how you expected your weekend to go. You thought you’d be watching a movie with Dennis on your couch by now but instead he was pulling your chair out for you on a random chess table in the park. The soft glow from the lamps and the soft breeze that blew through the park did little to calm both Dennis’s and your racing hearts.
“How much food did you make?” he asked, incredulously, as you cracked open one of the containers. “Didn’t you already give away five of these?”
You shushed him as you pushed a loaded plate in his direction. “Doesn’t matter,” you said, making him chuckle. “Just eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled fondly as he basically inhaled his plate with the speed of a resident who probably only had an energy bar for lunch. He must’ve noticed because he flushed and wiped his mouth before chewing his food more slowly.
“This is really good, by the way,” he said, smiling softly. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you think so,” you replied, smiling back. “I didn’t spend hours cooking just to come up with something that tasted like shit.”
The mention of the time you spent cooking makes Dennis’s stomach twist in guilt again. “I’m really sorry today turned out like this.”
You sighed and reached over to grab his hand, running your thumb back and forth over his, reassuringly. The little jolt of energy that ran up your fingers surprised the both of you.
“Hey, I’m just glad I get to spend time with you, okay?” you said, smiling. “This is more than enough.”
“You deserve a real date,” he said, a little sadly. “Not saying this isn’t a real date! But you deserve more than this.”
You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on. “I just don’t want to mess this up, you know?” he said, with a sad laugh. “I really like you and it would really suck if this didn’t work out.”
“Well, you said you had Wednesday off?” you asked, smiling softly. “I heard there’s a new coffee place downtown.”
He smiled back and gave your hand a small squeeze. “Maybe we could grab some coffee together after you clock out? The pastries are on me.”
“It’s a date.”
You both smiled and reluctantly let go of each other’s hand to get back to eating. The two containers of food eventually emptied and you grabbed a beer from the six-pack you brought, setting it in front of him.
“Also… you like me?” you asked, grinning.
You’d never seen anyone turn redder than Dennis was at that moment.
“Shit, I did say that, didn’t I?” he said, laughing nervously. “Is it bad that I do?”
“I don’t go around bringing dinner to guys I don’t like, Dennis,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “So, no, it’s not a bad thing. That was the best case scenario, actually.”
He laughed as he took a sip of beer. “You still shouldn’t have driven here, by the way,” he said, trying to be serious. “You know, with the accident and all. I’d hate to see you in the ED. Again.”
“Aww, not even for consults?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, trying not to smile too wide. “Stay home next time.”
“I couldn’t help it. You just sounded so sad.”
“You can just say you missed me.”
You scoffed as Dennis smirked a little behind his beer can. “You’re pushing it, hotshot,” you warned, feeling the warmth on your cheeks. “So, what if I did? I could say the same about you. Just ten minutes ago, you were seconds away from grovelling–”
“I was not!” he said, laughing in disbelief.
“You so were!
The playful banter continued, both of you completely oblivious to the small crowd of three peeking from behind one of the bushes.
“Ugh, barf,” Trinity whispered. “They’re so in love with each other, it’s gross.”
“Apartment walls are pretty thin,” Javadi said with a shit-eating grin. “Maybe you and Garcia have some competition.”
“Eww, can we not!” Samira said, her nose scrunching at the thought. “I don’t need to hear about my co-workers’ sex lives.”
Pictures of you and Dennis were taken, I fear. Perlah and Princess would be eating this up in the morning.
10:00 P.M.
Despite the protests, you gave Dennis a ride home. The poor guy fell asleep as soon as he finished typing out his and Trinity’s shared address on your phone. You made sure to drive extra carefully to not wake him. Your favorite resident deserved the rest.
Dennis’s small snores slowly ceased, blinking awake just as you pulled into his apartment complex’s parking lot.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” you hummed, slowly coming to a stop. You smiled fondly as you took in the sight of him: messy hair, bleary eyes, and a small smile on his face at the nickname.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I owe you.”
“You really don’t,” you said, chuckling as you shook your head. “I had fun tonight. Thank you.”
Silence washed over you two.
“So, um…” Dennis swallowed. “Goodbye, I guess?”
You laughed, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Bye, Dennis,” you said, softly. “Have a good night.”
None of you budged, waiting for the other to make the first move. Dennis was now suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you two were alone, all the sleep in his system now gone. You also noticed the way his eyes were darting from yours to your lips. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that you were doing the same.
As if on cue, both of you rushed to lean forward, causing both your foreheads and teeth to bump into each other. You both hissed, clutching your own foreheads and laughing a little as you checked each other for any injuries.
“We should really stop with the almost-concussions,” he said, laughing as he scanned your face one last time. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I sent you to the ER.”
You laughed, leaning in closer. “Do you want to try that again?”
The two of you slowly leaned towards each other until your lips touched. He slowly brought his hand up to rest on your cheek as you deepened the kiss. Dennis let out a muffled groan before you both pulled away to breathe.
“Whoa,” he said, breathing heavily. “You’re good at that.”
“Oh my god, shut up!” you said, giving him a shove to hide how flustered you felt. “Get out of my car, you’re making me feel all icky and gooey inside.”
He laughed and slung his bag over his shoulder, slowly getting out of the passenger seat. “Drive safe, okay?”
“I will. See you this Wednesday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He stayed by the apartment complex entrance waving until your car was completely out of sight. Sighing contentedly, he turned around and entered the building. He’d entered the apartment only to be bombarded with questions from Trinity and… Javadi on FaceTime?
He’d told them about most of the date, leaving the part where you kissed out. Dennis wanted to keep that to himself for now. As he was getting ready for bed, he heard his phone ding. A text from you.
from: doc headbutt
sent: 10:38 p.m.
just got home!! thank u again for today <33 good night and get some rest xx
He smiled. Maybe today wasn’t so bad.
(a/n): hope you guys enjoyed the third installment of PT Notes !! thank you for all the kind words on the last two. off to disappear again for a week to focus on school but please feel free to blow up my ask box with reqs or ideas for future fics 🫶 may be posting request guidelines in the near future so please look out for that !! + ideas for a langdon x reader are floating around in my primordial brain soup but no promises !!
Hope you’re doing ok! It’s been a while since you’ve posted. I’ve just been rereading all the dottie things 😂
I’ve also been thinking about writing some stuff for Jack but still a bit unsure if I’m good enough. Anyway hope to see dottie back on my screen soon ❤️
This made me smile so much. Thank you for checking in on me. I’ve just been taking a little time and writing behind the scenes, but Dottie is absolutely coming back.
And please don’t doubt yourself about writing for Jack. Nobody starts out confident. If you love him, that’s more than enough. Fandom is meant to be fun, not intimidating. I’d love to see what you create (TAG MEEE PLZ)
Thank you for sticking around and rereading angel ❤️
I—I don’t even know where to start??? Recently new to The Pitt fandom but I’m an oldie when it comes to fics and fandoms. I think, In all of my years of reading fanfics, yours are some of the best!!!! So, I love everything you write and now I’m obsessed. Literally. I can’t wait to see what else you cook up, and I can wait to see what happens next with Falcon & Sunny ❤️❤️❤️
EXCUSE ME???
You cannot just say that and expect me to be normal about it 😭
Thank you so much, that is insanely kind. I’ve been in my little writing cave lately working behind the scenes without posting (very mysterious, very dramatic of me) but I promise new things are coming soon.
summary: there are two things that everyone in the ER knows about you—you're incredible at your job and extremely hot. the thing that they don't know is that you're dating one of their newest residents and have been for years.
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
cw/tags: female reader (she/her pronouns used), described as having breasts and wearing a thong and bralette, mentions of cleavage and nipples, hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. established relationship, typical pitt warnings (hospitals, intubations, chest compressions, sedation drugs, etc etc), swearing, ogilvie being a freak lowkey, very very minor and casual inappropriate conduct i guess (everyone wants you badly okay is it such a crime??), garcia calls you 'hot shot,' HPV in this context stands for 'hot potato voice,' not human papillomavirus lmfao, no smut but a few sexually explicit references
takes place on the fourth of july but absolutely zero reference to any real events of season 2 so no spoilers!
the pitt needs to introduce some respiratory therapists okay or else
Dennis knows you’re hot, obviously. Everyone with eyes knows that you’re hot. He still sometimes can’t believe the fact that he gets to date someone like you, even though you’ve been together for years at this point. You were working in a clinic that he did one of his first medical school rotations at, and for whatever reason, you had liked him.
You got a job at PTMC a year later, and you absolutely loved the fast-paced chaos that was the ER and ICU.
When it came time for Dennis to spend a few months at the trauma centre he decided to set some ground rules, not wanting anyone to give him special treatment because they knew he was dating one of their best respiratory therapists. No, he wanted to establish himself as a good student on his own, and he didn’t want to risk anyone making fun of you for being with him, not that he told you about that reason.
You had agreed, hesitantly, but ultimately thought that it made sense to keep things at work strictly professional.
At first, that had been fine. You actually spent the vast majority of your time in the ICU, since the patients up there typically needed more oversight regarding ventilation settings, and most of the doctors in the ER were more than capable of handling emergent intubations on their own. The two of you didn’t even cross paths for the first couple weeks that he was working in the ER, which was different from when he was doing internal medicine and admitting patients to the ICU frequently.
October 30th, 2024
“Fifty-eight year old male, severe SOB and throat swelling, sats eighty-eight on non-rebreather,” The paramedic says, wheeling a gurney thorough the ambulance bay doors.
“Whitaker!” Samira calls, and he races over, holding his stethoscope so it doesn’t fall as he moves.
“Temp thirty-nine, difficulty swallowing, HPV,” The paramedic continues. “History of type two diabetes, hypertension, and obstructive sleep apnea.”
The patient is propped up on the gurney, not laying fully back, likely because he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he did so. Samira counts down when they make it to the trauma room, hands moving the patient onto the hospital bed. She asks the patient for his name as Whitaker starts his exam, shifting between nurses as they try to figure out what’s going on. He shines his penlight into the man’s mouth, swallows some mild panic, then speaks.
“Drooling, significant submandibular swelling, limited mouth opening,” He says. “Unable to visualize the posterior pharynx, reduced neck extension.”
Mel has her stethoscope to the man’s back, listening carefully. “Lungs sound clear, but we’ve got significant stridor.”
Dennis takes a piece of gauze to wipe away some drool from the patient’s mouth. “Unable to handle secretions.”
“Sats decreasing,” Princess says. “Down to eighty-two.”
“Okay, we’re gonna’ need to intubate, and fast,” Samira says. “Mel, you’re up.”
Mel orders ketamine and rocuronium, then positions herself by the patient’s head. It becomes extremely obvious that this intubation won’t be easy, but Mel attempts it anyway.
“There’s a lot of swelling,” She says.
“Where’s Robby?” Samira asks, and one of the nurses leaves to go find him. The video laryngoscope is inserted, but Mel genuinely can’t see anything on the screen. Sedation starts to kick in, and the patient goes limp.
“I can’t visualize the epiglottis,” Mel says, her voice still calm, but Dennis can see a small amount of panic in her expression as she attempts to insert the tube. “I can’t get it in.”
“Okay, first pass failed,” Samira adds, keeping everyone in the room up to speed. She takes a closer look at the screen, shaking her head. “Page respiratory and surgery, stat.”
Samira gives the intubation a try, but she can’t pass the tube either, and the patient is desatting quickly. “Where the hell is Robby?”
“Stuck with another patient,” Mateo says, replacing the bag over the patient’s face, squeezing it every few seconds.
Rushed footsteps echo across the linoleum floors from outside, and Dennis looks up just in time to see you push the door to the room open, the badge that reads your name and ‘RT’ over a purple background swinging back and forth from your sprint to the department. Dennis sees the way the room relaxes, thanking god that you’re the responding respiratory therapist.
He also sees how good you look.
You don’t have an undershirt on for once, and the slight v-neck of your scrubs shows off a bit more skin than usual. You somehow manage to make hospital issued scrub pants look amazing, and if he didn’t know any better he would think that they had been tailored to your body. The fabric shows off the curve of your ass perfectly.
“What’s up?” You ask, grabbing a pair of gloves, slipping into them as you move to the head of the bed.
“Fifty-eight year old male, severe mouth and neck swelling, two failed intubation attempts,” Mel explains. “Sats down to seventy.”
You do a brief exam, hands feeling up the sides of his neck and jaw, then you look inside his mouth, nodding.
“Okay, I need more pillows under his head, prop him up more,” You say. “Ears to sternal notch alignment, please.”
You take hold of the mask that Mateo was keeping pressure on, using both hands to seal it around the patient’s face as he continues to squeeze the bag. Garcia opens the door to the room, taking in the situation.
“What’s up, party people?” She asks, looking at the patient’s face. “Yikes, we should crike.”
“You know me better than that,” You counter, shifting your arms out of the way as Jesse packs pillows and blankets underneath the patients head. “Can’t let you surgeons have all the fun.”
“What’s your plan here, hot shot?” She asks, an emphasis on hot that makes Dennis look up.
“Let’s add a PEEP valve, ten centimetres,” You say, and Mel jumps into action, grabbing the piece that you’ve asked for and fitting it to the mask. “I need someone on suction, too.”
“Yep, got it,” Dennis says, scrambling a bit with the tube, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly. You’re calmer than everyone else in the room.
“Sats up to ninety-two,” Princess says, eyes flicking over the monitor.
He doesn’t miss the way you look at Garcia, a small smirk on your face as she holds her hands up, letting you work.
“Okay, let’s try intubation again with a bougie,” You say. “Don’t stop with that suction, Whitaker. Princess, can you take over for me?”
The nurse takes your place, positioning her hands over the mask exactly how yours had been. Jesse hands you the laryngoscope, which you toy with for a second, turning the light on and making sure you can see the monitor. Princess pulls the mask off once you’re in place, and you slide it into the patient's mouth.
“Dr. Mohan, can you put some pressure right here.” You put your free hand on the patient’s neck, and Samira moves to copy the action. “Good, right against the thyroid cartilage. Press towards the spine.”
Samira follows the instructions with ease, doing exactly what you’ve asked.
“Up and to the patient’s right a bit,” You add, keeping your eyes on the monitor as you hold steady. Samira adjusts. “Okay, perfect, hold it there. Bougie.”
You take the bougie in hand, and Dennis keeps the suction going, trying to keep the field clear of fluids. You don’t look at the screen for a moment, sliding it past the tracheal rings on feel alone, and then you glance back over, confirming the placement. Jesse hands you the tube when you reach your hand out, and you slip it over the bougie, inserting it into the airway. Dennis watches it on the monitor, a rush of pride swelling over him.
“I’m in,” You say, pulling the bougie out. Mateo attaches the bag to the end of the tube, and the monitor’s beeping comes to a stop as his sats hold steady. "Yellow on end-tidal."
“Sats up to ninety-eight,” Mel says, turning to look at you. “That was awesome.”
She raises her hand, giving you a high-five, which makes you grin.
“Thanks for the assist,” Samira adds, the sentence punctuated by your last name. The door between the trauma rooms open, revealing Robby, who’s eyes instantly land on you.
“Robby,” You greet.
“Oh, good,” He says. “She got your airway, I assume?”
“Sure did,” Samira says.
“She always does,” Robby says. “What’s going on?”
Dennis doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail up and down over your figure. Mel can’t look away from you either, eyes snapping between Robby and your chest. He watches her squeeze them shut for a moment, shaking her head lightly to bring herself back to the case. You pull your gloves off as you walk over to the door, turning to Garcia before you leave.
“When will you learn to stop underestimating me?” You ask, teasingly.
“Never,” Garcia shoots back, a flirtatious smile on her lips. “Keeps you sharp.”
You roll your eyes, then leave the room without a second thought, tossing your gloves into the garbage outside. Dennis stares at the doorway until he hears Robby ask Samira what she plans on doing next.
After that it became extremely clear that everyone in the ER thought you were hot, which Dennis couldn’t blame them for, but it still bugged him. Peoples eyes lingered on you a little too long whenever you were around, movements a second delayed because they were too busy thinking about you. It didn’t matter if you were just checking on a ventilated patient or trying to intubate a critical case, people were always watching.
They also talked about you.
Like, a lot.
It was driving Dennis insane.
And after ten months he just couldn’t take it anymore.
You were elated when he landed an emergency medicine residency at PTMC, as was he, but it also meant that he had to keep watching people pine after you.
The Fourth of July—a dreaded day in the emergency room, one that both of you were working. One of the boarders who had been waiting for an ICU bed desatted an hour into the day, resulting in your subsequent page and arrival to the department. Dennis comes out of a patient’s room, Ogilvie and Joy behind him, to you leaning against the nurses desk, laughing at something Dana had said.
He almost stops walking at the sight.
Your hair isn’t fully pulled back, the lower half out and styled perfectly around your jaw and shoulders. The top half is tied up, slightly frizzed. You’re wearing the typical navy blue scrubs with a white long-sleeve underneath, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your forearms tensed as you brace yourself against the desk.
“Oh, Whitaker and friends,” Dana says, gesturing for him to come over, then she says your name. “These are some of our new med students.”
Ogilvie moves so fast it makes Dennis’ head spin.
“Hi, James Ogilvie,” He says, outstretching his hand for you to shake, an obviously flirtatious smile on his face. “MS4.”
You raise an eyebrow, shaking his hand as you say your name. “Respiratory. Nice to meet you.”
“Uh, this is Joy,” Dennis says, and she gives you a wave. It might be the most enthusiastic thing she’s done all morning.
“She’s one of our best RT’s,” Dana adds. “Can intubate pretty much anyone.”
“Very good to know,” Ogilvie says, still smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You smile back, completely friendly, no undertones. “Our entire team is great, don’t ever hesitate to page. We’re happy to help out. I have a patient, but again, nice meeting you.”
You turn away from them, your badge colliding with the desk, unclipping from your shirt and clattering to the floor. You huff in annoyance, bending over to pick it up. You’re flexible enough to not have to bend your knees much at all, a fact that Dennis knows very well, but the back of your shirt rides up just as your scrub pants shift, and he catches a glimpse of your hot pink thong.
Yolanda emerges from one of the rooms behind Dennis, a low whistle leaving her lips when she sees you, not hesitating to walk over as you stand back up.
“Nice thong, hot shot,” She says, and your hand collides with her shoulder in a playful push. You pull the waistband of your pants up, tug your shirt down, clip your badge back on and walk away. Trinity appears in Dennis' peripheral, a smirk on her face and arms folded over her chest as she looks to where you just were. Even Dana’s eyes are wide, and she takes a second before speaking.
“Show’s over,” She says, referring to the handful of people who look like they just saw a ghost, frozen in place.
“Holy shit,” Ogilvie mumbles, and Dennis can finally move again, hands reaching for a tablet so he can pull up a patient’s chart—any chart. “Please tell me she’s single.”
Dennis isn’t sure if the question is directed at him, but Dana answers before he can open his mouth.
“Unfortunately not, Ogilvie,” She says, eyes now focused on her computer, glasses on.
Trinity pipes up. “Yeah, you’d probably be the five hundredth med student she’s rejected if you asked her out, trust me.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t single,” James insists. “Maybe she just wasn’t interested in those other med students.”
Trinity clicks her tongue behind her teeth. “Nah, she’s in a relationship, trust me. No one turns down that many people without so much as a stutter unless they’re already spoken for.”
A trauma comes in a few hours later, a smoke inhalation patient. They’re coding upon arrival, one of the paramedics straddling the gurney as they’re wheeled in, instantly gaining Robby’s attention.
“Whitaker, with me,” He says, which means Ogilvie and Joy follow as well. “Page respiratory.”
“We don’t mess around with smoke inhalation,” Dennis says. “Always get RT down here as soon as you can, those airways swell like crazy.”
“As long as it’s that RT from earlier,” Ogilvie says.
Dennis says your name, followed by “and listen when they introduce themselves.”
“How was I suppose to listen when she looks like that?” He asks. Dennis wants to punch him.
“You’re disgusting,” Joy says.
“What?” Ogilvie asks. “You thought she was hot, too.”
“Yeah, but you don’t hear me talking about it.”
The trauma room fills up quickly, and you arrive just as they move the patient onto the mattress, still doing compressions. Dennis doesn’t miss the way Ogilvie looks at Joy when you walk in, completely oblivious to the small interaction.
“Talk to me,” You say, gloving up.
Robby gives you the summary, finishing up just as Dennis takes over on compressions. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breath catching in your throat for half a second. His biceps push against his scrubs, his chain dangling in front of him, the way it does when he’s fucking you.
“We—we should intubate right away,” You say, turning back to Robby.
“You read my mind,” He says, and you move quickly. The intubation goes relatively smoothly, all things considered, but the patient remains in asystole.
Robby says your last name, making you look at him. “Switch with Ogilvie.”
You nod, letting Donnie take over with the bag, positioning yourself over the patient and pushing into their chest hard. The arterial waveform spikes sharply on the monitor, dipping as you allow the chest to recoil, then peaks again when you push back down.
“Now that is how you do chest compressions,” Robby says. “Ogilvie, Joy, take notes.”
“Gladly,” Ogilvie whispers, happy to have an opportunity to stare at you.
“Rhythm check,” Dennis says, glancing at his watch. You stop, lifting your hands off the patient’s chest, looking towards the monitor.
“V-fib,” You say, at the same time Dennis does, too. You don’t look at him, but a small smile forms on your face, which makes his heart jump.
“Charge to two-hundred,” He says, picking up the paddles and placing them on the chest. “Clear!”
Normal sinus returns after the shock, making the room collectively exhale. Dennis steps back, putting the paddles away, just as you try to squeeze past him to get to the exit, your services no longer needed. He finds himself taking a small step forward, leaving you with a smaller gap than anticipated, resulting in your ass brushing against his crotch.
“Sorry, ‘scuse me,” You murmur, but you don’t really mean it. Dennis has to stop himself from grabbing your hips. “Page if you need me.”
“Oh, we will,” Robby says.
By the time the patient is stabilized you’re back in the department, just to check on something, but you’ve been roped into a conversation with Samira and Victoria by the water fountain. You’re playing with the cap on your water bottle, fingers flicking it open and closed repeatedly as Dennis walks out of the trauma room.
He’s sanitizing his hands when your water bottle decides to protest the action, a stream of water shooting up and out of the straw as you pull it open again, landing all over the front of your top. Victoria and Samira gasp, as do you.
“Shit, are you okay?” Ogilvie asks, and Dennis feels like he’s rooted to his spot as the med student steps closer to you, assessing the damage. Your entire shirt is soaked.
You let out a slightly humiliated laugh, waving him off. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just…cold.”
Your fingers grip the bottom of the shirt, yanking it over your head, revealing your almost equally wet undershirt. You frown when you look down, accepting a handful of tissues from Samira and starting to blot at the fabric.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity comes to a halt, eyes landing on you, his girlfriend, who’s standing in the middle of the room with your nipples on full display. Dennis is pretty sure you’re not wearing a bra, or at least not one of much substance, and that fact is obvious to those around him, too. Robby and Dr. Al-Hashimi stop mid conversation, both of them craning their necks to see what’s going on. Mel drops the pen she’s holding to the ground, the clattering sound ringing in his ears. The patients that line the walls are watching, unable to look away as you scrub the front of your shirt with tissues, completely unaware of what you’ve just done.
The nurses go silent. Cassie comes out of a patient’s room, feet stopping instantly, and Frank almost runs into her.
Something between possession and protection override his jealousy, forcing him to move towards you, stepping directly in front of your chest as he puts his hands on your biceps. You look up at him, then you glance over his shoulder, noticing how quiet everything has gotten.
“Come on,” He says, plucking a few more tissues from the box and holding them against your barely exposed cleavage and chest. You don’t react at all, as though his hand has been there a million times—because it has.
He pushes you towards the bathroom, locking the door behind the both of you. Trinity is the first to speak.
“She’s dating Huckleberry?”
This seems to snap everyone else out of their daze, and people scramble to get back to work, acting as though they didn’t all just collectively lose their minds over a wet t-shirt like a bunch of twelve year olds.
Your cheeks are hot, but you still find yourself making a joke.
“Guess they know we’re dating now,” You say, smiling. He exhales, a tiny laugh escaping.
“Or they think I’m a creep,” He counters, and you laugh this time. He takes his own scrub top off, revealing the tan t-shirt he has underneath and his silver chain, the one that you bought for him on his most recent birthday. “Arms up.”
You listen, raising your arms and letting him pull your shirt off, revealing your lace bralette. He swallows, passing you his scrub top before moving towards the hand dryer that sits on the opposite wall, sticking your shirt underneath it.
You grab a few paper towels, dabbing at the spots on your pants. Dennis frowns at the practically non-existent flow of air from the dryer, shaking his head.
“Pass me your scrub top,” He says, hand outstretched. You do, dropping the ball of fabric into his palm. “I’ll be right back.”
He unlocks the door, pushing it open, stepping back out into the department. Things have mostly returned to normal, but Dennis doesn’t miss the way the small group of people at central go quiet when he reappears, quickly trying to act as though they’ve been working this whole time. He sighs, walking over to the scrubs machine, unclipping your badge and tapping it to the sensor.
He inserts your old top, then dispenses a new one. He raps his knuckles against the bathroom door, smiling when you pull it open, letting him back inside. You, begrudgingly, give him his own shirt back, sliding the navy blue top on while he does the same with the black one.
“Thank you,” You say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would…”
You trail off, exhaling sharply, your lips curving up in a disbelieving smile. “Be such an issue.”
Dennis shakes his head, grabbing you by your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.
“Not your fault,” He says. “But…maybe wear a better bra from now on, hey?”
“Yeah, yeah, definitely a good idea,” You agree.
Everyone has moved on by the time you open the door, and you walk towards the exit, pager already going off again. Dennis watches you go, so do a few others.
“See you at home!” You call over your shoulder, and Dennis’ cheeks turn pink.
A/N - wow she writes for people other than robby??? it's a miracle
Summary: A routine surgery turns Dottie’s world upside down.
How do Jack and Michael fix a kid who just wants her Mama back?
inspired by this request
Lights click on one by one. A drawer opens. A zipper hums. Someone sets keys down, then picks them up again. The clock on the microwave says it’s earlier than anyone would like.
Being up at 6AM on your day off was never ideal, let alone having to be productive.
You sit at the edge of the kitchen, arms folded, watching Jack pour himself coffee, using one of the fancy syrups you scored at TJMaxx.
He would never admit it but he has a HUGE sweet tooth. His current fixation is Diamond. What the hell Diamond tastes like is beyond you, but he swears it makes his coffee taste like ice cream.
You eye the sugar bomb in his hand and make pleading eyes at him,“I would really love a coffee right now,” you say, a little whiny on purpose.
Jack doesn’t even look up. “Sweetheart.”
You sigh dramatically.
“If I could give you one, I would,” he says, turning at last, mug in hand. “You know the rules. No eating, no drinking before surgery.”
“I know,” you mutter, defeated.
Michael snorts from the hallway, where your overnight bag is open on the bench. He’s double-checking things that were already packed. Charger. Insurance card. The soft hoodie you like.
“How’re you holding up?” he asks while zipping the bag back up.
You think about it for half a second. “Physically? Fine.”
“And otherwise?”
You hesitate, then shrug. “The only thing I’m nervous about is leaving Dottie.”
Both of them turn to give you their full attention.
“This is the first time I’ve had to do something like this since she was born,” you continue, quieter now. “I know she’ll be okay. I just… don’t love that I won’t be here.”
Jack sets his mug down. “She’ll have her Daddy and her Papa.”
“And Dennis,” Michael adds. “Which, lately, seems to be her favorite.”
You huff a small laugh. “Traitor.”
Michael smiles. “He makes a good point.”
Jack steps closer, resting a hand at your hip. “If you want, one of us can go with you, and Dennis can stay with Dot when he gets off.”
You frown, thinking. “Is that excessive?”
“No,” Michael says immediately.
“Not even a little,” Jack agrees.
You chew on your lip. “I want you both with me and with Dottie, which I realize isn’t possible unless we bring Dottie to the hospital.”
Michael tilts his head. “We could do shifts.”
Jack nods, already mapping it out. “One of us goes with you, the other stays with Dottie, and we switch once you’re in recovery.”
“That feels… doable,” you say.
Michael pushes off the counter,“Good. Then that’s the plan unless you change your mind within the next ten minutes.”
They hear a small thump followed by murmuring coming from upstairs.
Jack glances toward the stairs. “She’s waking up.”
Your chest tightens just a little.
Michael hands you the bag. “You don’t have to pretend you aren’t nervous, it’s okay.”
You take it, fingers curling around the strap. “I know.”
You look at both of them, steady and full and right there. “I just need to know she’s okay.”
Jack kisses your forehead. “She will be.”
Michael squeezes your shoulder. “And so will you.”
Dottie comes down the stairs slowly, one hand gripping the rail and the other rubbing at her little eyes.
Her hair is a hot mess. Unruly curls in every direction and staticky from rubbing against her pillow. She pauses at the bottom step and blinks at the kitchen light, eyes adjusting the brightness.
“Mama?” she calls, soft and sleepy.
Your heart stutters a little.
Lately, she’s been all about Dennis, Daddy, Papa. She waves at you on her way past, already mid-story, already busy.
But today, she walks straight to you and presses her face into your stomach.
She wraps her arms around you and just stays there.
You swallow and smooth a hand over her hair.
“Good morning, sweet girl,” you murmur.
She yawns against you. “Why you wake now?”
“Sometimes Mama wakes early,” you say gently.
She pulls back, frowning. “You no work today.”
Michael looks up from his coffee. “How do you know Mama doesn’t work today?”
Dottie points toward the wall immediately. “Cuz today pink on da calendar.”
Jack smiles despite himself. “The calendar?”
“Mama is pink,” Dottie explains patiently. “Daddy blue. Papa green. Den is purple.”
Michael blinks, then laughs under his breath. “Ohhh. That’s right.”
Jack sighs. “Did you forget that fancy-ass skylight calendar we just had to get from Costco?”
Michael crouches, grinning at her. “You’re so smart, baby.”
Dottie accepts the compliment graciously, then turns back to you and tightens her arms again.
Jack exhales. “Okay, Bug. We gotta talk about today.”
She doesn’t move.
Michael stays low. “Mama has to go see some doctors.”
Dottie frowns. “Why.”
“You know how girls and boys have different parts?” Jack asks gently.
She nods. “Yep.”
“Mamas have something called ovaries,” he continues. “They help make babies.”
“Like da chickens and eggs,” Dottie says confidently.
“Yes,” Jack says, relieved. “Exactly like eggs.”
“And Mama has something called an ovarian cyst,” Michael adds. “It’s like a bubble that’s not supposed to be there.”
“Bubble bad,” Dottie decides.
“Bubble bad,” you agree softly. “So the doctors are gonna take it out.”
Dottie’s eyes widen and she gasps. “They gonna cut you gina?”
Crickets
Michael goes bright red so fast it’s impressive.
Jack chokes on his coffee, turning away, shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh.
You feel your face heat instantly. “No, baby,” you say quickly. “No. Ovaries are near Mama’s tummy.”
Dottie pokes your stomach thoughtfully. “Oh.”
Jack coughs. “Thank you for clarifying.”
Michael snorts. “This has been an educational morning.”
Dottie presses her forehead to yours. “I go.”
You swallow. “Not today, Bug.”
She clings harder. Her hands fist in your shirt like if she lets go, something bad will happen.
“You stay all day,” she insists, voice wobbling now.
Jack reaches out, rubbing her back. “Mama’s coming back after one sleep.”
Dottie doesn’t cry. She just looks at him unconvinced.
“One,” she repeats.
“Yes,” Michael says. “One.”
She turns back to you, eyes shiny. “You promise?”
You nod, pressing your nose to hers. “I promise.”
Dottie presses her cheek back to you anyway, arms still locked tight.
Michael reaches for the keys, the soft jingle breaking the silence.
“Papa leaving too?” Dottie asks, eyes wide.
Michael nods. “Yeah, Bug. Papa’s gonna go with Mama to the hospital.”
Dottie turns to Jack immediately,eyes shining with confidence. “Daddy fix bubble.”
Jack’s chest tightens.
“You fix people,” she insists. “You tell me. You fix people when you soldier.”
Jack crouches in front of her, voice steady even as something in him cracks. “I did help people then,” he says gently. “But this is a little different baby.”
“You can,” she says, smaller now.
He shakes his head. “Dottie, it’s a lot safer for Mama to go to the hospital. Papa will be with her the whole time.”
Dottie considers this. “Okay.”
Then, decisive. “I go wif you.”
“To make sure it safe,” she adds.
“I want you with me too,” you say softly, already blinking hard.
“That okay,” Dottie declares, turning on her heel. “I go wif you.”
She disappears down the hall.
Jack exhales shakily. “Talk about breaking our hearts.”
“She’s stubborn,” Michael murmurs.
Jack huffs. “Just like her Papa.”
Tiny footsteps thunder back as Dottie skids into the kitchen wearing one shoe, the other in her hand, clutching her toy gun.
“For safety,” she announces.
Jack lets out a weak laugh. “Of course.”
You crouch immediately, “Bug… you can’t go today.”
Her face falls. Tears gather as she sniffs, trying to be brave.
Michael kneels, pulling her into a long hug, holding her close.
He kisses her forehead once, then again.
“You gotta make sure Mama be okay,” Dottie tells him seriously.
“I will,” he promises.
Dottie turns back to you then, arms wrapping around your neck, face buried against you. You cling to her just as tightly, both of you sniffing now.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you so much,” you choke out. “I’ll be back after one sleep.”
She nods against you. “One.”
You kiss her hair, cheeks, and nose, holding her just a second longer before Jack gently helps guide her back.
Michael gives her one last kiss on the forehead. “Daddy’s got you.”
You step toward the door, wiping the tears from your waterline.
Behind you, Dottie clutches Jack’s shirt, sniffling trying to be brave.
The playroom is silent.
Jack kneels at the opening of Dottie’s fort, the one Dennis built her with couch cushions and practically every throw blanket you own. Usually it’s loud in here, but today it’s so quiet you can hear the forgettable noises of the house,the ice maker and the hum of the dryer.
Dottie curls deeper inside, knees tucked in the fetal position and thumb in her mouth. Little hiccupy whimpers sneak out of her no matter how hard she tries to keep them in.
“I want my mama,” she whispers.
Jack’s chest tightens hard.
Okay. Think.You’ve got this. She’s your daughter too.Fix it.
When an idea pops into his head, she’s a foodie baby.
He reaches in just enough to touch her foot. “Hey, Bug. You want hash browns?”
She shakes her head without looking at him. “No. I no hungry.”
Shit, that usually works.
“What about a cake pop?” he tries gently. “The pink one. We can go get one right now.”
She shakes her head again and burrows deeper into the blankets.
Okay. New angle.
“Dolls?”
“Tanks?”
“McQueen?”
“What if we go to Target?” he adds, voice soft but hopeful. “Anywhere you want. Literally anywhere.”
Nothing.
Then Dottie lets out a small, sad sigh. The kind that sounds too big for her chest.
“Daddy,” she says quietly. “I just wanna stay here.”
Jack swallows.
“And wait for Mama.”
There it is.
The thing he can’t fix.
He hesitates, then asks carefully, “Do you want a little space, Bug? You wanna be alone for a minute?”
The second the words leave his mouth, he knows.
Dottie looks at him, eyes glassy and wobbly. “You going too?”
Oh god.Why would you say that.Idiot.
“No—no, baby,” Jack says immediately, scooting closer. “Daddy’s not going anywhere. I just wanted to know if you need quiet by yourself, or if you want me to stay.”
She watches him for a long second, thumb still in her mouth.
“Stay,” she says softly.
She holds her hand out through the blankets.
Jack takes it without hesitation, wrapping his fingers around hers and lowers himself to the floor beside the fort, lying on his side so they’re level, hand still clasped in hers.
Breathing in the silence.
Waiting.
Together.
The bed is narrow, the sheets too rough, the IV taped neatly to your hand. You’re dressed in the gown now, hair braided back, legs tucked beneath the blanket.
Michael sits close with the chair pulled next to the bed. If you didn’t know him, you would think he was relaxed, but he’s watching the monitor like your vitals might tank if he steps away.
A soft knock breaks your thoughts
Dennis peeks his head in, eyes tired but kind. Your heart warms at the sight of him, he just finished a long ass shift and still stopped by to check in on you.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
You smile. “Hey, Den.”
He steps in, glancing between you and Michael. “I just wanted to check on you before I head out. Make sure you’re okay.”
Michael nods in greeting. “Appreciate it.”
You tilt your head. “Have you heard from Dottie?”
Dennis blinks. “Uh… no, actually.”
That surprises you.
He frowns, thinking. “Now that I think about it—she skipped our good morning FaceTime.”
Michael’s jaw tightens just slightly, but he doesn’t say anything
Dennis shifts gears easily, doctor-brain sliding into place. “So,” he says gently, “how long have you had these cysts?”
“A while,” you answer honestly. “They’ve been monitoring them.”
“Genetic?” he asks.
“Possibly. Still unclear.”
Dennis nods, filing it away. “Do they hurt?”
“Sometimes,” you admit. “Enough that I’m glad they’re dealing with it now.”
“And Dottie?” he asks, “Is this something she might have to worry about someday?”
You shrug softly. “Maybe. But not for a long time. And she won’t be alone.”
Dennis nods once. “Good.”
He studies you for a moment. “You seem pretty calm. When’s the last time you had this done?”
You laugh lightly. “Funny enough… my last surgery was Dottie’s delivery.”
Michael’s head snaps toward you sharply. “You never told me that.”
You grin. “I don’t make it a habit to traumatize the men I’m with.”
Dennis snorts. Michael raises an eyebrow. “Now I’m actually really curious.”
You sigh dramatically. “Welp. Miss Dorothea Lynn has always only done things on her own time.”
Dennis smiles faintly. “Of course she has.”
“My water broke,” you continue, “and we couldn’t progress. Nothing worked. Pitocin, peanut ball, walking, stretching. You name it, we tried it.”
Dennis nods immediately. “Maternal exhaustion.”
“Sure was,” you say, smiling softly. “But she was worth it.”
Michael is watching you closely now.
“I’d do anything for my girl,” you add softly.
Dennis lets that sit, then reaches out and gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “She’s lucky.”
“So are we,” Michael says.
Dennis steps back toward the door. “Alright. Well,I’m gonna head home and get some sleep. Text me if you need anything.”
“Thank you for checking in,” you say.
“Anytime,” he replies. “You’ve got this.”
The door closes softly.
Michael leans closer. “You really never told me.”
You huff a laugh. “How have you never noticed my C-section scar?”
He blinks. “Honestly? No clue. Let me see.”
You lift the blanket just enough to show him.
He squints, then relaxes, smiling. “Baby, it’s barely darker than your skin tone.”
You smirk. “Excuses.”
“My eyes aren’t the youngest,” he says, brushing his thumb gently over your hand, then he grins, "I'm usually looking for something else”
You snort smacking his arm, “You’re terrible” and he just chuckles as he continues gliding his thumb over the back of your hand.
Dennis expects Dottie to come running.
That’s the routine. He gets home, drops his bag, and before he can even say her name she’s there, arms around his legs, telling him something urgent that absolutely could have waited thirty seconds.
Today, however, he’s greeted by the empty entry way.
He pauses and tries to listen for her.
Nothing.
He showers fast and scrubs off the hospital smell. After, he exits his room, hair still damp, and heads straight for the playroom.
The fort is still up.
That’s his first clue.
He crouches and peeks inside. Dottie is curled on her side, back half-turned, stuffed animal tucked under her chin.
“Hey, baby girl,” he says softly.
She looks up at him, eyes sad.
“Hi, Den.”
No smile. No scramble toward him.
Dennis blinks. “Okay.”
He kneels. “What’re we doing in here? You wanna come take a nap with me? You can read me a story.”
She shakes her head once and rolls back onto her side.
“No.”
Dennis tries again, “Bro time?”
She sighs, long and dramatic.
“No, Den. I pressed.”
“Pressed?” he echoes.
She nods. “I sadness. From that movie. I blue.”
“Oh,” Dennis says softly. “You’re blue.”
She nods again, exaggerated. “big blue”
Dennis scoots closer. “Is it okay if I nap in here with you?”
She thinks about it and nods, scooting over just a smidge to make space.
Dennis’s shoulders loosen. “Okay,” he says gently. “I’m gonna get my stuff. I’ll be back.”
She watches him carefully as he stands.
Dennis smiles reassuringly. “I promise.”
Dennis is halfway down the hall with a pillow tucked under one arm and a blanket draped over the other when Jack stops him.
Jack nods at the pile. “What’s with the supplies?”
Dennis shifts, concern creeping into his voice. “Before that—what’s wrong with Dottie?”
Jack exhales, “She woke up wanting to be Mama’s girl today. Clingy, sweet, all of it. And then Mama had to leave.”
Dennis nods, listening.
“She tried to problem solve, so Mama could stay” Jack continued. “Thought I could fix it or that she could go with them. When neither of those worked… she shut down. Went quiet. Said she wanted to wait.”
Dennis’s mouth softens. “Yeah.”
“I tried everything,” Jack admits. “Food, toys, leaving the house. Nothing helped.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I feel helpless.”
Dennis meets Jack’s eyes. “You’re doing fine.”
Jack snorts, “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“You know how Dottie is,” Dennis says gently. “She feels everything times ten. When she hurts, she really hurts.”
Jack swallows.
“We’ll get through it together,” Dennis adds, more confident now. “All of us.”
Jack breathes out, some of the tension easing. “Thanks.”
He glances at Dennis’s armful again. “So… why the gear?”
Dennis’s mouth quirks. “Oh. This?”
Jack waits.
“She said I could nap in her fort with her.”
Jack stops short. “She what.”
Dennis lifts his chin, smug now. “Invited me in.”
Jack scoffs. “She wouldn’t even let me inside. Just stuck her little hand out like she was doing me a favor”
Dennis grins, unable to resist. “Well. I am her brother.”
Jack shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
Dennis sticks his tongue out. “Preferred.”
Jack laughs despite himself. “Okay, nerd.”
Dennis adjusts the blanket. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Jack nods, meaning it. “I know you will.”
Dennis heads toward the playroom.
Jack stands there a moment longer, listening to the silence, reminding himself that even when he can’t fix it, he’s not a terrible Daddy.
Dennis eases himself into the fort carefully, folding his long body to fit the small, blanket-soft space. He settles on his side, facing Dottie, who’s already curled up with her stuffed animal tucked under her chin.
After a moment, he murmurs, “Dot… will you hold me?”
She looks at him, eyes still a little swollen, thumb hovering near her mouth.
“Den,” she asks seriously, “you pressed too?”
He lets out a breathy laugh, “A little.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense.
“And,” he adds, gently teasing, “you skipped our good morning FaceTime. So I felt kinda sad.”
Her brows knit together. “Oh.”
She scoots closer immediately. “You right. I sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says quickly, smiling. “I figured something big was going on.”
She hesitates, then reaches out and rests her hand on his head, fingers sliding into his hair the way she’s seen Mama do a hundred times.
“I was scared,” she admits softly. “When Mama leaving.”
Dennis stays very still. “Yeah,” he says. “That makes sense.”
“I miss her,” Dottie adds, voice small.
“I know,” he replies gently.
She keeps playing with his hair, slow and absent. “Den?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“How you do it,” she asks, searching, “be way from Mama?”
Dennis thinks for a moment, choosing his words carefully.
“Well,” he says, calm and sure, “I remember she always comes back.”
Dottie looks at him.
“And when she’s gone,” he continues, “I stay with people who love me. Like you. And Daddy. And Papa.”
She considers that.
“Your Mama is really good at coming back,” he adds. “She always does.”
Dottie nods, reassured. “She da best.”
“She is,” Dennis agrees.
“I like when Mama read books,” Dottie says. “And when she sing. And when she make pancakes. And when she hold me like dis.”
She tightens her arm around him to demonstrate.
Dennis smiles softly. “Yeah. Those are good things.”
She leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his forehead.
“Den,” she says seriously, “go sleep. I protect you.”
He kisses her hand where it rests against his cheek. “I know you will.”
“Love you, baby.”
She smooshes a kiss into his hair. “Love you too.”
Dennis lets himself relax then, breathing evening out as the fort settles around them.
The bed rolls smoothly beneath you as the nurse steers, wheels squeaking against the tile. Michael walks beside you, fingers laced through yours.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “Yeah. Ready to be done with it.”
He smiles faintly. “Good. I’ll be right here when you’re back.”
The nurse slows near the double doors. “This is as far as visitors can go.”
Michael stops with the bed.
He leans down, careful of the IV, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Then another, to your cheek.
“This is it, sweetheart” he murmurs, “I love you”
You smile, eyes fogging from the sedatives in your system. “I love you”
He squeezes your hand once before letting go. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Later mikey” you echo.
The bed rolls forward.
Michael watches until you’re through the doors, then turns and heads back the way he came.
He sits in the chair beside the bed, it’s so uncomfortable his tailbone wants to protest.
Sets his phone down, just to pick it up again.
He scrolls through his photos, because he’s feeling emo.
You and Jack laughing over takeout boxes.
Dottie mid-sentence, hands flying.
A candid shot Dennis took when none of you were looking with all of you piled together, half-asleep on the couch.
Michael smiles, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” he mutters, fond. “I’m a lucky bastard.”
Michael is halfway through his photos when the phone buzzes.
He blinks, then answers without thinking. “Hey.”
Jack’s face fills the screen.
“Hey,” Jack says softly. “Just wanted to check on you.”
Michael exhales and leans back in the chair. “I was doomscrolling.”
Jack huffs. “Figured, how are you holding up?”
Michael considers it. “I’m okay. Just… waiting around.”
“How are you doing?” Michael asks
Jack shrugs. “I keep thinking I should’ve handled this morning better. Like there was some magical way to explain it that wouldn’t have wrecked her.”
Michael exhales. “Yeah. I keep thinking if I hadn’t gone with her, maybe—”
“Hey,” Jack cuts in gently. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” Michael says. “Doesn’t stop the guilt spiral.”
Jack huffs. “Nope. Welcome to loving a kid.”
Michael smiles faintly. “And her Mama.”
“And her Mama,” Jack agrees.
There’s a pause before Michael squints at the screen like he was reading a notification
“How’s Dottie?” he asks
“She’s still asleep,” Jack adds. “Curled up with Dennis. Won’t let go of him.”
Michael smiles, relief easing something in his chest. “Good.”
“She hasn’t eaten,” Jack says. “But she’s resting.”
Michael nods. “I’ll handle food when I get there.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You say that like she didn’t reject hash browns, a cake pop, and chocolate milk.”
Michael grins, confidence returning. “I have a different strategy.”
“Of course you do,” Jack says dryly.
Lovesick grins are on both of their faces.
“Hey,” Michael says softly. “Thank you for holding everything down.”
Jack shrugs. “We’re a team.”
“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “We really are.”
Jack huffs quietly. “Alright. I guess I’m gonna try to wake the beast and see if I can get her to eat.”
Michael smiles, fond. “Good luck.”
“I love you,” Jack says.
“I love you too, honey,” Michael replies. “I’ll see you soon.”
Jack waits a minute after the call ends before he heads back inside.
The playroom is dim, curtains half-drawn, Dennis is sleeping hard, exhaustion finally caught up with him. Dottie is curled against him, one arm slung across his chest, fingers twisted tight in his shirt.
Jack crouches slowly.
“Hey, Bug,” he whispers.
Nothing.
He brushes his knuckles lightly along her arm. She stirs, frowns, and presses closer to Dennis with a small, frustrated grunt.
“Dottie,” Jack murmurs. “Sweet girl.”
Her eyes flutter open, still puffy and sore from earlier. She blinks, confused.
“Daddy?” she whispers.
“I’m right here.”
It takes a moment before her brain catches up.
“No,” she says immediately, tightening her grip. “Stay.”
“I know,” Jack says softly. “But you need to eat something.”
She shakes her head hard. “No hungry.”
“Bug—”
“I not hungry,” she whines, voice rising. “Daddy why you no listen?”
Jack winces but stays steady. “I am listening.”
She kicks her foot slightly, frustration spilling over. “I DON’T HUNGRY.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
Jack lowers himself fully to the floor, bringing himself eye level. “I hear you. I know you don’t feel hungry.”
She sniffles, eyes filling again. “Mama gone.”
“I know,” he says gently. “And that makes everything harder.”
She presses her face into Dennis’s chest again, muffled. “I want Mama.”
“I know,” Jack whispers.
He waits a beat, before he tries again. “We’re not gonna do a whole meal. Just one bite. For your body.”
She peeks at him, suspicious. “One.”
“One,” Jack agrees immediately.
She hesitates, then looks down at Dennis like she’s afraid he’ll vanish.
Jack follows her gaze. “Dennis is gonna stay right here. I promise.”
Dennis shifts in his sleep, mumbling softly.
Dottie studies him, then finally loosens her grip, pouting and unhappy.
Jack exhales and scoops her up before she can change her mind. She goes limp in his arms, dead weight.
“I not hungry,” she mutters again.
“I know,” Jack says, kissing her temple. “We’ll go slow.”
She doesn’t fight him.
A win is a win.
Jack is not winning. A win was definitely not a win.
He starts small. Nuggets cut just right. Fries lined up neatly. He sits beside her instead of across the table. Slides the box closer.
“Bug,” he says gently, “just one bite.”
“I not hungry,” Dottie replies, unmoved.
He waits. Tries again a few minutes later.
“No.”
Jack grabs the sauce cup and holds it up like it’s a bargaining chip. “Okay, okay. Look. I got you spicy sauce.”
She squints at it. “Spicy?”
“Very,” Jack says seriously. “It’s buffalo. Basically dragon sauce.”
She considers this for half a second… before she shakes her head. “Still no.”
Jack sighs and eats a fry himself, exaggerated chewing and all. “Wow. These are really good.”
Dottie looks away.
“What about a sip of chocolate milk?” Jack offers.
“No,” she says, arms crossed tighter.
“Okay,” Jack says, measured. “How about a sip of water?”
“No.”
“Bug,” he says, keeping his voice calm even though his chest is getting tight, “just one bite.”
She glares at it. “I say no.”
Jack exhales through his nose. He can feel the frustration building.
It’s not that he’s upset with Dottie, more so he’s concerned for her wellbeing.
“Bug,” he says, and this time it slips just a little, “your body needs—”
“I SAID I DON’T HUNGRY,” she snaps, voice cracking. “You no listen!”
That does it.
Jack freezes.
Okay.Pause. Reset.
“Alright,” he declares, standing. “Daddy’s gonna take a quick breather.”
She shrugs, staring very hard at the table. “Okay.”
But her lip quivers anyway.
“I’ll be right back,” Jack adds.
The door clicks softly behind him as he stands outside.
Cool air hits his face and he sucks in a much needed breath. He pulls out his phone with hands that shake just a little.
Michael answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” he says immediately. “What’s wrong?”
Jack exhales, shoulders slumping. “I’m… frustrated.”
Michael softens. “Yeah?”
“I can’t make her feel better,” Jack admits, voice low. “I can’t fix it. And she hasn’t eaten all day and I know she’s tired and sad and I just—” He breaks off, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I feel like I’m failing her.”
Michael shakes his head gently. “Baby. We knew today was going to be hard on her.”
Jack leans against the wall.
“This is an uncomfortable lesson that she has to learn,” Michael continues. “She’s hurting. And she still has to take care of her body. That lesson sucks.”
Jack nods slowly.
“Breathe with me,” Michael says.
They do. Once. Twice.
Michael turns the phone. You’re asleep now, peaceful, color good, chest rising and falling steadily.
“She’s okay,” Michael says softly. “Out of surgery. Just resting.”
Jack’s shoulders finally drop. “Okay.”
“You’re doing good,” Michael adds. “Go back in.”
Jack nods. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Michael says. “I’ve got you.”
Jack goes back inside.
Dottie is still at the table, shoulders hunched, sniffling quietly.
He kneels beside her chair.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t look at him. “I no like you left.”
He smiles softly. “I know.”
Her voice wobbles. “It made my tummy buzzy.”
Jack’s heart twists. “Buzzy?”
She nods, eyes shiny now. “I thought you mad.”
“Oh, baby,” Jack says immediately, pulling her into his chest. She goes willingly, clinging to his shirt.
“I wasn’t mad,” he murmurs into her hair. “Sometimes Daddy just needs fresh air so he can help you the best.”
She sniffles. “You gonna leave again?”
“No,” he promises. “And if I do need air next time, you can come with me. Deal?”
She nods against his chest.
They breathe together. In. Out. In. Out.
After a moment, Jack pulls back just enough to look at her. “Bug… I know you’re sad. And upset. And today’s been really big.”
She nods.
“But you can’t neglect your body,” he says gently. “You gotta eat and drink your water so you can be a big strong girl.”
She pokes her belly. “My tummy not good today.”
Jack pauses.
Oh.
“That happens sometimes,” he says softly. “When you’re nervous or sad. And on those days, it’s even more important to eat a little bit.”
She looks at the happy meal box, considering his words.
He slides it to her again. “You wanna try that spicy sauce Daddy got you? We can take a few bites. And if you still feel icky after, we’ll take a break.”
She sniffs.
Then reaches for a fry.
Dips it.
Takes a bite.
Then another.
And another.
Jack blinks.
She devours the rest like an angry little pirrahana, nuggets disappearing, fries vanishing, sauce smeared on her fingers. She climbs into his lap mid-meal on instinct, eating with one hand while clutching his shirt with the other.
Jack laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“It never stood a chance,” he murmurs.
She hums happily, mouth full, still holding onto him, she just needed to ground herself.
For the first time all afternoon, Jack feels like he finally got his footing.
Waking up is disorienting.
The room feels like it’s been shifted while you were sleeping. You blink at the ceiling, frowning.
“Why am I here?” you mumble.
Your throat is dry. Your body feels heavy. Your stomach aches in a dull, uncomfortable way that makes you want to curl inward.
“…Mikey?” you call.
No answer.
Instant panic.
“Mikey?” you try again, voice wobbling.
The nurse smiles gently. “He stepped out for a moment, sweetheart.”
That does not help.
Tears well immediately. “Where did he go.”
Right on cue, the door opens.
Michael slips back in, phone still in his hand, eyes softening the second he sees your face crumple.
“Oh,” he murmurs. “Hey. Hey baby”
Confusion clouds your brain trying to remember everything before you woke up.
“Why am I here,” you ask. “Where did you go?”
“I was right outside,” he says quickly, sitting beside you carefully not to jostle the bed. “I was on the phone with Jack.”
You sniff. “Why isn’t Jack here.”
Michael exhales fondly. “Because he had to be with Dottie”
You frown. “I miss my babies.”
Michael wraps an arm around you carefully. “I know. I know.”
“Where’s Dottie,” you ask urgently. “And Dennis.”
“They’re home,” he says softly. “Jack’s got Dottie, remember? Dennis is with them, too.”
“Did she eat,” you ask.
Michael hesitates. “…Jack was working on that.”
You nod solemnly. “She gets like that when she’s nervous”
Michael smiles. “So do you.”
You huff. “Rude.”, before sniffing “My tummy hurts.”
“I know,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “Oh, my poor baby.”
He strokes your arm. “What do you need, sweetheart.”
You don’t miss a beat, “FaceTime.”
He laughs quietly. “Of course.”
Michael calls Jack.
Jack answers almost immediately, phone in one hand, steam fogging the background.
“I miss you,” you whine. “I want to see you.”
Jack’s face melts instantly. “Hey sweetheart, I’m right here.”
“I know but I miss you,” you insist.
Michael shakes his head fondly. “See what I’ve been dealing with.”
Jack grins. “She’s just like Dottie.”
He tilts the camera.
Dottie is in the bath, hair slicked back, cheeks pink, clutching a plastic cup.
“Mama!” she squeals.
You squeal harder. “Hi baby.”
“I takin’ bath,” Dottie announces.
“I see,” you sniff. “You’re so clean.”
Jack laughs softly. “You wanna see Dennis too?”
“Yes,” you say immediately. “Check on him.”
Jack walks out of Dottie’s bathroom, before he flips the camera.
The playroom fills the screen. The fort is still standing. Dennis is sprawled inside it, half-wrapped in a blanket. The movement wakes him and he blinks blearily at the phone.
“…Hey,” he mutters. Then his eyes focus. “Oh. You’re awake.”
You brighten instantly. “Den!”
He rubs his face. “You okay, Mom—”
He freezes. “I mean—”
Your lip trembles all over again.
“Oh, Den,” you cry, smiling through tears. “You’re my baby too.”
Dennis groans, embarrassed but smiling. “I walked right into that.”
Michael laughs outright.
Jack snorts. “You sure did.”
Dennis shifts, still waking up. “I was just… making sure you were okay.”
“I am now,” you say softly. “Did you sleep good.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “I did.”
“Good,” you whisper. “You needed it.”
Dottie, wrapped in her little robe, presses her wet face closer to the screen. “Mama come home soon?”
“Soon,” you promise. “Mama just resting.”
You relax back against Michael, feeling calmer, eyes heavy again.
“Okay,” you mumble. “I feel better.”
Michael kisses your temple. “Good.”
Jack smiles softly at the screen. “We’re gonna finish getting ready and let you rest, okay?”
You nod sleepily. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Jack says.
“Bye, Mama,” Dottie chirps,waving.
“Bye, baby,” you whisper. “Mama loves you.”
Dennis lifts a hand. “Get some rest.”
“I will,” you promise as the call ends.
Unsurprisingly, stopping at the store before heading to the hospital takes way longer than it should.
Dottie insists on picking the flowers herself, standing in the aisle with her hands on her hips, fingers hovering like she’s channeling her inner Michael.
“These ones,” she decides finally, grabbing a bouquet that looks like it was inspired by Lisa Frank.
Jack smiles. “OOO those are perfect baby.”
Dennis grabs a card and stares at it, “Is glitter okay,” he asks quietly, “or is that too much.”
Jack snorts. “There is no such thing as too much.”
As they head for the checkout, Dennis adjusts the takeout bag tucked carefully under his arm, sushi from your favorite place, neatly packed, every sauce you like included with the lid firmly taped down. He wasn’t making that mistake again.
“For later,” he says casually.
Jack pushes the door open.
The hospital room is calm when they arrive, curtains half-drawn, and evening light filtering in. Sitting propped up in bed, tired but okay. Michael beside you, hand resting over yours..
“There they are,” Michael murmurs.
You look up
“MAMA!” Dottie announces, wriggling with excitement.
Jack scoops her up. “Easy, Bug. Gentle.”
“I gentle!” she insists.
You laugh softly “Hi, baby.”
Dottie climbs carefully onto the bed and curls into your side, finally reclaiming her spot.
“I bring you flowers,” she says proudly, holding them up. “’Cause they pretty. Like you.”
You clutch your chest. “Thank you, baby. I love them!”
Jack sets the flowers down and hands you the stuffed animal he picked out.
“Figured now was a great time to add to your collection,” he says quietly. “Even if we already have too many”
You squeeze it instantly, laughing. “Jack that’s so sweet, thank you honey”
Dennis hangs back, suddenly shy, sushi bag dangling at his side.
You notice. “Den.”
He clears his throat. “Uh. I brought food.”
He lifts the bag slightly. “Sushi. Your favorite. All the sauces.”
Michael laughs. “Of course you did.”
You grin, eyes shining. “You’re an angel.”
Dennis shrugs, embarrassed. “Figured hospital food wasn’t it.”
“Bring it in,” you say, holding an arm out.
He steps forward, leaning into you carefully. You wrap him up, one hand rubbing his back.
“Thank you for taking care of my girl,” you murmur.
“Always,” he says quietly.
Jack kisses your temple. “How’re you feeling?”
“Sore,” you admit. “But better now.”
Dottie peers up at you. “You okay now?”
“Yes,” you promise. “Mama’s okay.”
She nods and snuggles closer anyway.
Jack pulls a chair closer to the bed. Michael takes his free arm and wraps it around his back.
Dennis sets the sushi bag down before distributing it out.
Michael feeds you a bite. Dottie insists on using chopsticks. Jack grabs his phone, taking a picture of the moment.
Just love wrapped up in flowers, plushies, and sushi rolls.
an: this fic took its sweet time getting here, sorry about that 😭
