🐞

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

A family affair

Langdon X Fem! Nurse! Reader

Summary: You’re married to Frank, and Robby is your uncle, but people in the ER don’t know this and it ends up causing some problems

Warnings: kissing, workplace romance, false cheating rumors, family relationships, workplace rumors, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.0K

Requested by @thecranberrypineapple

a/n: finally managed to get some writing done! I haven’t had much free time with the holidays, traveling, and everything else, but I promise I’ll get to all the requests in my inbox...eventually 🫠

You’ve known Frank for a long time—long before you ever stepped into the ER. You met in college, both bright and eager to learn. From the moment you first talked to him, you knew you wanted to keep him around, wanted to make him a constant part of your life.

Luckily for you, you managed to get your wish. 

Years of friendship slowly shifted into something more romantic, and before you knew it, it had turned into a lasting relationship. And when Frank finally got down on one knee, there was only one answer you wanted to give him.

That answer was yes.

You loved being Frank’s wife—loved knowing that at the end of the day, he was the one coming home with you. But there was one small issue: you both worked together.

Even though you’d started working in the same hospital back when you were just dating, and there was nothing that explicitly prohibited coworkers from being in a relationship as long as it didn’t interfere with their work in the ER, you and Frank had decided to keep your relationship quiet.

Not a secret exactly—more like something you simply didn’t mention at work. The moment the two of you stepped into the ER, you both slipped into your “professional mode,” only interacting with each other in ways that could be seen as two coworkers who happened to be friendly.

People knew you were married. Frank wore his ring on his finger every day, and you always had yours hanging on a chain around your neck—so yes, people knew you were married. They just didn’t know it was to each other.

It was kind of funny, actually. You and Frank had turned it into a sort of game. He would talk about his wife, always praising her, knowing you were close enough to hear. His eyes would find yours, giving you that knowing look that never failed to make you smile. And you did the same—talking about how amazing your husband was, your eyes often catching the soft smirk that would grace Frank’s features as you did. 

It was the way the two of you had found to still give each other love during your shifts without alerting the rest of the people at work that you were actually talking about each other.

But that wasn’t the only thing people didn’t know.

Frank turned off the car engine, the silence in the interior taking over for a moment. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath—this would be the last moment of peace and quiet you’d have until another twelve hours had passed, and you wanted to savor it.

Frank grabbed your hand, causing your eyes to open as you turned to look at him. You gave him a soft smile as he gazed back at you.

“Ready to march into battle?”

You nodded, giving his hand one last squeeze before reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something.”

You gave Frank a confused look, which made him pucker his lips, exaggeratingly tilting toward you.

“My goodbye kiss.”

You knew what he’d said, but with his puckered lips it sounded more like, “Mu gubye kisth.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before leaning over the center console and giving Frank a quick kiss.

“Come on, Langdon. We’ll be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As always, you and Frank walked in together. Nobody questioned the fact that you always arrived with each other—you’d given the bullshit excuse that you lived close by, and that it was easier for Frank to give you a ride than for both of you to drive to work. Plus, it was better for the environment. One less car on the streets.

Of course, people believed you. You gave them no reason not to.

When you made your way over to check the board, Robby caught sight of you. He smiled and made his way over with ease. You let him tug you into a quick side hug, your arm wrapping briefly around his waist.

“Hey, Honey. How you doing today?”

You pulled back so you could look him in the eyes.

“I’m doing good. How about you, Robby?”

Your eyes caught the bags under his eyes, and you immediately knew he hadn’t slept well the night before. But Robby hated people worrying about him, so when he said he was fine, you pretended to believe it.

“You searching for a target?”

At Robby’s question, your gaze flicked back to the board, briefly catching Frank disappearing into one of the rooms with Mel before settling on the writing on the screen.

“Gonna start easy, I think. A kid with a nosebleed might be ready for discharge. I’ll go check on him.”

“Alright then. The kid’s in good hands. See you around, Honey.”

You smiled as Robby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze before heading off, leaving you to make your way toward your first patient. You didn’t even notice the glances, didn’t hear the whispers as you moved through the ER. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

See, here’s the thing—people in the ER love to gossip. It keeps them entertained, helps keep the pain and sadness at bay as you all try to make it through your shifts. And when people don’t have all the information, they can come up with some pretty wild rumors.

The most recent one was that you and Robby were secretly married to each other. Which was absurd—not only because of the age difference, but because Robby was family. Literally family. He was your uncle. Biologically. As in, your father’s brother.

But people didn’t know that. Only a select few did—people who mattered, like Dana and Jack and the higher-ups. They knew either because they’d seen you grow up, in Dana and Jack’s case, or because they’d been responsible for hiring you and were aware of your family ties to Robby.

But everybody else?

Oh yeah. They had no clue.

Which ended up causing some… issues.

Because the Robby rumor was bad—but the Frank one was so much worse.

It started harmlessly. Frank bringing you coffee during a lull. Leaning against the counter beside you while you charted, shoulders brushing. A hand resting briefly at the small of your back as he passed behind you in a crowded hallway.

Normal things. Small things.

Things that meant everything to the wrong people.

They started noticing it one by one. Santos clocked the way Frank’s voice softened when he spoke to you. Javadi caught the way Frank’s eyes followed you across the ER when you laughed at something a patient said. Whitaker saw Frank step a little too close when you were visibly shaken after a bad case.

And then, to make matters so much worse, someone saw you and Frank in a very private moment.

You hadn’t thought anything of it—ducking into an empty break room, adrenaline still buzzing through you after a rough trauma. Frank followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, hands already finding your waist. “You did good in there.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, fingers fisting in his scrub top as he kissed you—slow at first, then deeper. Familiar. Safe. His hand slid up your back, grounding you.

You were so caught up in Frank that you didn’t hear the door hinges open slightly. Didn’t hear the soft gasp, or the door shutting a little too quickly.

Someone had seen you with Frank. And because they thought you were married to Robby—and didn’t know Frank was married to you—the speculation took a sharp turn, fast.

An affair. A scandal. A nurse cheating with a married attending.

And somehow—somehow—people thought they’d finally figured out the truth.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

And because you had no idea these rumors even existed, you ended up unintentionally feeding into them.

When a tough case got to you, Robby had pulled you to the side, giving you a bear hug as tears swelled in your eyes. And when he left the room to keep working, and you started to take a breather, Frank had slipped in, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke comforting words.

And people saw it. They saw these small, soft moments—and twisted them into something they weren’t.

But like everything in life, there was a final straw.

It came as an accusation.

You were hunched over the chart, scribbling notes after checking on your patient, when a voice from the nurses’ station broke the quiet.

“You know… you should really own up to it.”

You froze, pen in midair. “Excuse me?”

They leaned a little closer, a smirk playing at the corner of their lips.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be coy. We all know you’re… you’re cheating on Robby.”

Your hand dropped to the counter. “What?!”

Someone else, leaning over nearby, snickered. You blinked, utterly confused.

“Cheating? On… Robby?”

The first person shrugged, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah. I mean… it’s obvious. You and Frank, right? We see it all the time.”

You held up a hand. “Okay, whoa. You need to relax. You’ve got this all wrong. Completely wrong.”

By that point, movement in the hallway caught your attention. Robby and Frank had both emerged from different rooms, strolling in the general direction of the nurses’ station. Their heads tilted slightly, noticing you animatedly talking to someone, lips moving, hands gesturing.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

As they approached, you straightened, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay,” you said, raising your voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear, “let’s get something straight. For everyone.”

The staff fell quiet, leaning in curiously.

“I am married—to Frank,” you said slowly, letting it sink in. “Robby is my uncle. I am not cheating on anyone. And yes, we all work together, but none of what you’re imagining is actually happening.”

A pause. Some eyes widened. Some shifted awkwardly.

And then there was Dana.

Dana had appeared quietly, arms crossed, a grin spreading across her face.

“Oh my god,” she said, barely holding back laughter. “This is gold. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Robby calls you ‘Honey’ nonstop. What’s the deal with that?” the accuser jabbed.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. God, people really liked grasping at straws.

“‘Honey’ is my middle name. Robby’s been calling me that since I was a kid.”

The accuser froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, go back to work.” You turned to glance around at the people still gawking at you. “Everyone, back to work.”

The staff reluctantly returned to their tasks, whispers and smirks lingering just a little longer than usual. And Dana? Dana lingered a little longer too, clearly planning to tease you about this for weeks.

That’s when Frank appeared beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, smirk fully in place. 

“Well,” he said, glancing around at the still-whispering staff, “guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling. “I guess so.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone.

“So… what’s stopping me from kissing you right here? In the middle of everybody?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Decency? Since when have I ever been decent?”

Before you could answer, he tugged you gently toward him. Lips met yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You laughed against his mouth, and he grinned against yours before pulling back just enough to whisper:

“See? We should have told them about us ages ago.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours, “but you love me anyway.”

And you did.

You and Frank exchanged a look—quiet, silly, and utterly yours.

“Get back to work, Dr. Langdon.”

Frank gave you a mock salute. “Yes, Mrs. Langdon.”

You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head as he walked away. When he was finally out of view, you turned and stared at Dana.

“I hate you.”

She gave you a smile and pulled you into a hug.

“No, you don’t.”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that crept onto your face. Because yeah—you didn’t.

[belllllaaaaa]

the return of their goofy cat and the color palette that haunts me

[shadeofpeach]

Late night tears

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x toddler!daughter

Warnings: diabetes, hypoglycemia (low blood sugar), crying.

​Summary: Jack manages a scary midnight crash, holding his six years old daughter close through her tears until the danger passes.

Jack phone’s alert alarm shattered the quiet of the house at 1 AM.

He flipped his phone over. The screen glowed harshly displaying a bright red circle and a downward pointing arrow.

50 mg/dL

Jack threw the covers off in an instant. He didn't need to check the app twice to know how fast a six year old’s blood sugar could plummet when it was crashing in the middle of the night.

He grabbed a juice box from the bottom shelf of the fridge, tearing the plastic wrap off the straw as he hurried down the hallway to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Under a pile of cartoon blankets, a tiny mess of brown curly hair was sleeping.

"Hey, sweet girl," Jack murmured. He knelt by the side of the bed and set the juice on the nightstand, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Wake up for Daddy, please?"

She let out a tiny groan, pulling the blanket higher. When he gently pulled it back, he could feel the faint dampness on her forehead. She was clammy, her skin pale, and her little breaths were coming a bit too fast.

"Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me," Jack coaxed, slipping his arm under her back to help her sit up.

She felt like a ragdoll, her head rolling heavily against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with heavy sleep and low-sugar fog. "Daddy..." she mumbled. "'leepy."

"I know you are, baby. I know " Jack said. He grabbed the juice box, guiding the straw to her lips. "I need you to take some big sips of this, okay? Just a few big sips, and then you can go right back to sleep."

She shook her head weakly, whining and trying to turn her face into his chest to hide from the straw. "No. 'leepy."

"I know, I know, but you have to," Jack insisted gently but firmly. He kept his arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her upright against him while his other hand held the juice. "Just a little bit, sweetheart. For Daddy. Right now."

He nudged the straw against her lips again. Feeling the urgency in his voice, she finally relented, taking a few small sips.

But the fog of hypoglycemia combined with the sheer exhaustion of being woken up at one in the morning was too much for a six year old to handle.

As she swallowed the third sip, a huge tear spilled over her lashes, followed by a quiet sob.

"Don't want to," she cried softly, her little shoulders shaking as she buried her face into his neck, her hands clutching at his t-shirt.

The sound of her crying always tore him. Hearing his own daughter sob because her body was failing her in the middle of the night broke through every piece of armor he had.

He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest, rocking her back and forth in the quiet room. He pressed a warm kiss into her hair, his hand smoothing down her back.

"I've got you," he whispered. "I know it's hard, baby. I know you're tired but you're being so brave. I need you to be strong for just one more minute, okay? Just finish the juice so your tummy feels better."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He offered the straw again.

Sniffling and hiccuping, she looked at him with watery eyes. She nodded miserably, wrapped her small hands over his big ones around the juice box, and sucked down the rest of it until the straw rattled against the bottom.

"Good girl," Jack breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. "That's it. All done."

Instead of laying her back down against the pillows, Jack couldn't bring himself to let go just yet. Hearing her cry had left his own chest feeling thight.

He shifted his weight on the edge of the mattress and gently pulled her completely into his chest.

She didn't protest, too exhausted to do anything but collapse against him. She tucked her head right beneath his chin, her small face burying into the crook of his neck, while her little arms wrapped weakly around his torso. Jack bundled the cartoon blanket tightly around her small frame, sealing out the chill of the night, and held her close against his chest.

"I've got you," he murmured again against her hair. "Daddy’s got you."

He could feel the slight tremor in her small body from the low sugar, but as the juice began to hit her system, her breathing gradually started to slow down, losing its frantic edge.

Every few minutes, Jack glanced down at his phone screen resting on the nightstand. The app glowed in the dark, showing the red line finally starting to curve upward.

72 mg/dL.

He let out a long breath he felt like he’d been holding since the alarm first woke him.

She was fast asleep now, the tears entirely forgotten. Jack closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of her head. He knew he’d be exhausted when his day shift started in a few hours, but right now, there was nowhere else in the world he was going to be.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[traumatized-tiefling]

"Can you perform under pressure?" "No, but I can try Bohemian Rhapsody"

[onthepyre]

whitsantos roommateisms

- trinity let dennis drive to work once and never again ("you act like you're afraid of the other cars" "i am!" "oh my god.")

- they watch a lot of dumb reality tv -- dennis is partial to home renovation shows and trinity loves survivor. they are certified dating show haters, which is why they've seen every season of love is blind

- dennis isn't even making avocado toast. he steals them to put in salads. trinity thinks this should be a felony

- he trims her hair for her. she returns the favor by insisting he go to a real barbershop, because his mom shaved his head at home until he left, then he kept cutting it himself until she made him stop

- every time they get sunday off they make cinnamon rolls from scratch (once they wake up at noon)

- they are MASTERS of the "we'll talk later" stare. princess & perlah get in a fight in tagalog? robby makes a weird remark to mckay? patient comments about javadi checking out a new nurse? they have locked eyes. doesn't matter if they're three rooms away from each other. they are communicating telepathically

- their place has like. two tiny windows. it's a dark little cave and dennis tries to grow herbs on the windowsills anyway. trinity thinks it's stupid until he starts making homemade pasta sauce with his tiny basil harvests. she keeps telling him it's dumb but sometimes comes home with new planters. she likes how gently he handles the roots when he pulls them up to repot.

- trinity can't make it through a movie longer than 90 minutes without falling asleep on dennis's shoulder, but he lets her because she deserves the rest and the warmth. he'd never tell her that out loud because he doesn't want her to stop.

[inkpressedpetals]

[incorrect-the-pitt]

[shadeofpeach]

Wait for mama

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x girlfriend!reader

​Warnings: angst (+18), postpartum hemorrhage, fever, severe tremors, medical trauma, happy/comfort ending.

​Summary: As you fight for your life in emergency surgery, Frank clings to your newborn son, praying for the moment he can bring his family back together.

For hours, a chaotic agony was ripping through your lower back and abdomen.

Frank laced his fingers lightly through yours. He had explicitly stepped away from the charts today to just be your partner. Yet, you could feel the slight tremor in his hand, see the rigid set of his shoulders, and read the quiet dread masking his handsome features.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," he murmured. He used his free hand to brush a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

"Frank, something... something feels wrong," you gasped, your voice breaking as another contraction peaked. It wasn’t just the blinding pain of childbirth; a deep sickness was blooming in the pit of your stomach. A wave of intense nausea hit you, making your head spin violently. "I feel really sick. Like... I'm going to vo-vomit or pass out."

Frank’s eyes flicked briefly to the monitors, his medical brain instantly calculating, but he consciously forced it down. He was on boyfriend duty today. He had to trust his colleagues. "It’s the transition phase, baby. Nausea, feeling overwhelmed, thinking you can't do it, remember? Completely normal."

The attending nurse entered, checking the monitors and offering a comforting nod. "Dr. Langdon is right. It's totally normal to feel sick at this stage. You're doing great, mom."

But it didn't feel normal. It felt like your body was collapsing in on itself.

When the time came to push, the room was filled with sharp commands and agonizing effort. You cried out as the final wave of pressure took over. And then, the sharp cry of your baby cut through the room.

Frank let out a breath that sounded like a sob, leaning down to press a kiss to your sweating temple. "It's a boy, baby."

They placed the crying newborn on your chest, but instead of the overwhelming rush of warmth you had expected, a violent chill swept through your veins.

Your teeth began to chatter. Not a mild shiver, but an uncontrollable rattling.

"F- Frank..." you wheezed, your arms trembling so violently you could barely hold your son. The nurse quickly and gently took the baby from your chest, sensing the sudden shift in the room's energy.

"I've got him, it's okay," the nurse said, her voice losing its casual warmth.

"I'm... I'm cold," you whispered, your jaw locking as a severe tremor racked your entire upper body. Sweat was pouring down your face, but you were freezing from the inside out. Your vision began to vignette. "I, I don't feel well."

Frank’s hand went to your forehead. The instant his palm touched your skin, his expression shattered. You were burning up.

As a doctor, he knew exactly what the combination of severe tremors, a sudden fever, and your fading color meant. But as your boyfriend, as a new father, he was completely paralyzed by the sheer terror of it. He forced himself to step back physically, refusing to interfere with the attending medical team, knowing he was too emotionally compromised to touch a single instrument.

The attending doctor moved quickly, lifting the sheets. The moment they did, the atmosphere in the room turned to ice.

"We have a postpartum hemorrhage," the doctor announced sharply. "Get a new line open, hang oxytocin, and get me two units of packed red cells on standby. Now! Move!"

Your eyes fluttered, heavy and uncooperative. Through the fog, you saw Frank. Right now, he was a man staring down his worst nightmare, completely at the mercy of the doctors swarming around you.

"Frank? What is happening?" you whimpered, your body violently jerking from the tremors. You felt a terrifying emptiness spreading inside you, a numbness creeping up your legs.

"It's okay, I'm here," he said, his voice cracking as he leaned over you. He poured all of his energy into you.

"I'm scared."

"Hey, hey, they're taking care," he said but he squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, swallowing down the medical terminology screaming in his head, choosing instead to just hold you. "Let them do their jobs. Look at me. You're okay."

It was a nightmare: the clatter of medical instruments, the frantic shouting of orders from the medical team, the alarm of the vitals monitor as your blood pressure plummeted.

The chaos in the room escalated. Frank knew the meaning of the rapid shallow breaths you were taking. He knew what it meant when the monitor's alarm shifted from a warning beep to a continuous whine.

"Blood pressure is dropping!" the attending doctor called out, his voice tense. "We need to move. Call the OR, tell them we’re coming down right now. Postpartum hemorrhage, secondary to uterine atony, suspected shock."

The words floated over Frank, each one hitting him like a physical blow. He didn't argue. He just gripped your hand tighter, his knuckles stark white, his chest heaving as he tried to swallow down a sob.

"F-Frank..." your voice was barely a breath now. The violent tremors were starting to exhaust your muscles, leaving you weak and dangerously still. The fever burned against his palms. "Babyboy?"

"He's safe, sweetheart. He's right here in the nursery, he's perfect," Frank lied smoothly. He hadn't even looked at the bassinet; his eyes hadn't left your face for a single second. "He's okay but I need you to stay with me, okay? He's waiting for you."

The bed brakes clicked and made you flinch.

"Dr. Langdon, we have to move her now," a nurse said gently.

"I'm staying until the double doors," Frank said.

During the sprint down the hallway, Frank walked briskly alongside you, practically running backward, his body hunched over yours to stay in your line of sight.

"Hey, we'll be waiting for you," he said.

You tried to hold onto his gaze, but your eyelids felt like lead. And the fever made everything spin. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out just as the world began to completely fade.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Then came the sound of the double doors of the surgical suite. The doors swung shut, the small square windows offering a brief glimpse of the blue surgical scrubs before you were wheeled around the corner, completely out of sight.

The heavy double doors of the surgical suite remained firmly shut.

For a long moment, Frank stayed collapsed against the corridor wall.

Then, a distant cry echoed from down the hall, snapping him out of his trance.

Frank forced himself to his feet. He sanitized his hands automatically with the hand sanitizer outside the neonatal unit before stepping into the quiet lit of the nursery.

A nurse looked up, her eyes filled with deep sympathy. "Dr. Langdon... she’s in good hands down there. Do you want to hold him?"

Frank couldn't speak. He just nodded, numbed by the sheer weight of everything happening at once. The nurse gently lifted the small baby from the incubator and transferred him into Frank’s arms.

The moment the baby's weight settled against his chest, Frank’s breath hitched. He sat down in a nearby chair, his eyes locked onto the tiny pink face peering up at him.

The baby had stopped crying, settling instantly against his father's warmth, his tiny hands tucked up near his chin.

Frank looked at the baby’s features, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over him.

"Hey there," Frank whispered. He brought his shaking hand up, using the side of his index finger to gently stroke the baby’s impossibly soft cheek. "You're really beautiful... you know that?"

Frank let out a watery breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked closer.

"You got your mom's nose," he murmured, his voice cracking. He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against the baby’s tiny head, inhaling the sweet new scent of him. "The exact same nose. You look so much like her already."

The baby made a snuffling sound, shifting slightly in his grip. Frank tightened his arms around him, holding him close.

"Mom is in surgery right now," Frank whispered. "She... she got really sick, really fast. But she’s fighting. She’s so strong. And we're just gonna wait for her up here, okay? Just you and me. We’re gonna wait right here."

Frank looked back down into his son's eyes, his expression softening into some intensely fierce, fierce with a father's protective love.

"You're gonna be good to her, hm?" Frank said, his thumb gently caressing the baby's tiny hand. "When she gets back, we are gonna protect mama. No matter what. We're gonna take care of her, yeah?"

The baby let out a tiny sigh, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep, completely safe in his father's arms.

Frank kept rocking him, staring at the door, holding onto his son and praying with everything he had for the heavy double doors downstairs to open.

_

You slowly blinked your eyes open, the heavy fog of the anesthesia finally lifting. You still felt incredibly weak, your muscles sore and your body entirely exhausted from the trauma, but the burning fever and the chills were completely gone.

The first thing you felt was the warm of Frank’s hand holding yours.

He was sitting in the chair right beside your bed, hunched forward, his eyes fixed entirely on your face. He looked exhausted, but the moment he saw your eyes flutter open and focus on him, the crushing tension in his shoulders completely vanished.

"Hey," he whispered. "Welcome back, baby."

You looked up at him, then searched for your baby. He was beside your bed. Your eyes met Frank’s again. The relief on his face was palpable, but beneath it, you could still see the lingering shadows of the terror he had carried for hours.

"Hi, love," you whispered, your voice a little raspy. "What... what happened?"

"You had a postpartum hemorrhage," he explained. "Your uterus didn't contract down the way it was supposed to. It’s called uterine atony. Because of that, you started bleeding very heavily, very quickly."

You nodded slowly. "The shaking..."

"That was your body going into shock from the blood loss," Frank murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "It’s a systemic response. They moved you to the OR to stabilize you. The surgeons did an incredible job. They stopped the bleed, got your vitals back up, and made sure you were safe."

"Is... Is he...?"

"Our boy is perfect," Frank said quickly. He stood up and moved over to the clear bassinet beside the bed. With gentle hands, he lifted the swaddled bundle, supporting the baby's head as he brought him over to you. "Look at him. He’s just been waiting for his mama."

Frank carefully adjusted your pillows, helping you shift into a comfortable position, making sure not to strain your abdomen. He placed the baby gently into your arms, guiding your hand to hold him securely against your chest.

Meeting your son for the first time, a tear slipped down your cheek. He was so tiny, so perfect, completely unaware of the storm you had all just weathered.

He looked so much like Frank, but with the tiny features Frank had whispered about in the nursery.

A soft knock on the door broke the quiet and a nurse stepped into the room. "Knock, knock. I see mom is awake. How are we feeling?"

"Tired," you admitted weakly, looking down at the baby, who was starting to root around against your hospital gown. "Can I feed him? Although I'm.. weak."

"That is completely understandable given what your body went through," the nurse said gently, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. "And yes, you can."

Frank immediately moved to give the nurse room. He didn't step in with medical instructions; he just watched you with pure adoration, completely content to let the nurse guide you.

The nurse deftly used a few extra pillows to prop up your elbows, taking the weight of the baby off your exhausted muscles. "Let's try a cross cradle hold since you're resting," she murmured, gently showing you how to guide the baby's head. She helped you get your son positioned, showing you how to wait for him to open his mouth.

"There you go," the nurse encouraged softly as the baby latched on perfectly. A sucking sound filled the room. "He’s got a great latch. You're doing wonderful."

The nurse gave your leg a reassuring pat, smiled at Frank and quietly slipped out of the room to give you three some privacy.

You looked down at the tiny miracle cradled against you. Slowly, you raised your hand, your fingertips tracing the soft curve of his cheek.

"Hi, beautiful boy," you whispered, your voice laced with awe. "Hi... I'm your mama. I'm so sorry I scared you."

The baby made a tiny grunting noise, adjusting his latch, his little fist pressing firmly against your chest.

"You are so strong, aren't you?" you murmured softly, a tear of pure happiness escaping your eye and tracking down your face. "You waited for me. Thank you for waiting for me, sweet boy. We're gonna be okay now. I promise. Mama's right here."

Frank watched the two of you, his chest heaving as a wave of intense emotion hit him. Hearing your voice wrap around your son for the first time broke him. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away the tear that had traced down your cheek, before leaving his hand to rest against your face, his palm warm and steady.

"You''re so beautiful," Frank whispered, his eyes glassy as he looked between you and your son.

"I'm okay. We're okay," you whispered back, looking up into his eyes, seeing the dad and the partner who had held onto you through the worst of it.

"Yeah," Frank breathed, a smile finally breaking across his face as he looked down at his son nursing. "We've got her, buddy. We're gonna take care of mama."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[inkydelusions]

jack’s little secret

based on this request wc: 1.2k pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader summary: jack has always liked privacy, but one of his biggest secrets is revealed one random afternoon. c.warning: established relationship (married); mentions of minor injury and minor car accident; reader is a mother; no other warnings i think but if i missed something let me know! a/n: gooooood it's been so long since i last wrote for jack. i missed him so much! i hope you liked this!

masterlist | requests

for years, jack’s personal life has been locked inside a vault. of course he’d mention you, his wife, from time to time. but always in passing and never waiting too long for his coworkers to asks any personal questions. and it’s not because he doesn’t love you, god knows he’s obsessed with you. but a small, overprotective part of him thinks that by distancing himself from you and your kids when he’s at work he manages to keep you away from the hospital.

he has spent a decade building a wall between his grueling work and the life he cherishes waiting for him back home.

but tonight, the universe has different plans for him.

you sit on the edge of the crinkling paper of the examination table in exam room 4, a dull, throbbing ache radiating down the left side of your neck. every time you try to tilt your head, a sharp reminder of the sudden impact flashes through your muscles. a minor fender-bender on the way home from your daughter's hockey practice left you with a stiff, aching neck, but thankfully, nothing more. next to you, your twelve-year-old daughter is swinging her legs off a plastic chair, her hockey gear bag resting by her feet. she’s still wearing her team jersey and, next to her, your five-year-old son is entirely unbothered by the clinical surroundings, happily coloring on a piece of scrap paper. the minor accident had sent your heart into your throat, but as you look at your children, the overwhelming wave of maternal relief keeps you grounded.

"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."

"thank goodness," you sigh, reaching down to ruffle your son's hair. "i just wanted to be absolutely sure they were okay."

outside the glass doors of the exam room, jack is walking fast, clipboard in hand, listening to an intern rattle off a patient's vitals. 

“send for dr. fitz, he’ll know what to do. and call me when you get the results. what’s the state of the girl in bay one?”

jack turns then towards the intern as she starts listing the latest lab results on the young patient that just arrived a few minutes ago. he is in full doctor mode. focused, distant, and professional. 

that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail.

the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.

jack looks through the pale curtain, eyes widening. the clipboard in his hand feels suddenly too heavy. and it only gets worse once he notices a second head poking though the curtain, this time his baby boy. his entire world is sitting right now in exam room 4. 

he abandons the intern mid-sentence, pulling the curtain aside, his usual collected demeanor completely evaporating.

"jack?" shen looks up, surprised by his sudden entrance.

but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?"

"hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."

your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."

"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.

jack immediately drops to one knee, wrapping his strong arms around your son, burying his face in the boy's hair for a brief, fiercely protective second. he looks up at your daughter, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "you're sure you're both okay? nothing hurts?"

"we're totally fine, dad," she reassures him, giving him a warm smile.

only then does jack stand back up, turning his attention fully to you, eyes glowing with adoration and relief. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone.  "and you? your neck?"

"just a little stiff," you murmur, leaning into his touch, completely accustomed to how deeply he cares for his family, even if he keeps it hidden from the rest of the world. "dr. shen was just checking me out. he says we’re good to go."

speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor.

you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.

the great private dr. abbot is currently looking at you with a softness none of them knew he possessed, his hand resting tenderly on your waist while a local little league hockey player calls him dad.

jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague.

"john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."

shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”

“i do,” he says, smiling softly.

“and you didn’t think of sharing that information with the group.”

"i like my privacy," jack defends himself. he looks down at his kids, then back to you, the sheer relief of knowing you are all safe overtaking any awkwardness about his secret being out. he leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips right in front of the entire observation window. " i'm glad you're all safe."

"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home."

"consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.

as jack helps you down from the table and gathers your son into his arms, you know his quiet, mysterious reputation at the hospital is officially over, but seeing the proud, contented smile on his face as he walks his family out, it’s clear he doesn't mind one bit.

[satellite-evans]

hula hoop

Pairing: Jack Abbot x reader

Summary: After a violent patient attack leaves you critically injured, Jack is forced to confront what it means to almost lose the person he loves.

Word count: 12k+

Warnings: patience violence, severe injury, angst, fluff

A/N:

read part 2 here

hey guys !! i’m genuinely so excited to finally post my first jack abbot fic, and i’m so excited for you guys to read it 😭

because tumblr hates me and this fic apparently exceeded the block limit, i had to split it into two parts <3 but i really hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed emotionally ruining myself while writing it.

anyways !!! thank you so much for reading, and please be nice this is my first time writing for the pitt/jack hahahah. if i used any medical terms wrong, my apologies 🫶

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The rain had started sometime before dawn.

By the time you merged onto the interstate, the entire city looked washed out and miserable beneath sheets of gray rain and smeared headlights reflecting across wet pavement. Your windshield wipers moved at full speed and still barely kept up with the storm. The coffee sitting untouched in your cupholder had gone cold nearly an hour ago, though you were honestly too exhausted to care anymore.

The overnight shift had turned into fifteen hours instead of eight after two trauma admissions arrived back-to-back near the end of the night, and now every muscle in your body ached with the kind of exhaustion that settled deep into your bones. You genuinely could not remember the last time you slept more than four uninterrupted hours.

Traffic slowed suddenly ahead of you.

At first you assumed construction or flooding because of the weather, but then smoke curled upward through the rain and your stomach dropped immediately.

Cars sat mangled across three lanes of traffic at impossible angles. One SUV had spun into the median while another sedan looked almost folded around the back of a delivery truck, its front end crushed so badly it barely resembled a vehicle anymore. Hazard lights blinked weakly through the storm while people stumbled across the interstate in shock.

Your body moved before your brain fully caught up.

“Oh my God.”

You were already unbuckling your seatbelt before the car completely stopped.

Adrenaline sliced straight through your exhaustion hard enough to make your hands shake as you reached for the trauma bag in the passenger seat. Rain hit you instantly the second you shoved the door open, cold water soaking through your clothes within seconds while distant screaming echoed somewhere through the storm.

Someone yelled that a driver was trapped.

Another voice screamed for a medic.

A woman near the shoulder sobbed hard enough she could barely breathe, blood running down the side of her forehead while a man beside her stood completely frozen, staring blankly at the wreckage like his brain had stopped processing reality altogether.

You were already running.

“I’m a doctor,” you shouted over the rain. “Move back and give me some room.”

People listened immediately.

The trapped driver looked somewhere in his forties, pinned awkwardly behind the wheel of the crushed sedan. Blood streamed from a scalp laceration down the side of his face while the airbags hung deflated around him. His breathing came too fast beneath the sound of rain hammering against twisted metal, panic beginning to sharpen around the edges of every inhale.

You crouched carefully beside the shattered driver’s side window, ignoring the glass biting through your scrub pants into your knees.

“Hey,” you said, forcing calmness into your voice despite the adrenaline roaring through your chest. “Can you hear me?”

The man blinked slowly toward you, dazed. “Think so.”

“Good. That’s good.” You adjusted the flashlight between your fingers while quickly checking his pupils. “What’s your name?”

“Leon.”

“Okay, Leon. I’m Dr. Y/L/N.” Your voice stayed steady automatically, years of emergency medicine taking over before panic had a chance to settle in. “Don’t move your neck for me, alright?”

A shaky breath of laughter escaped him. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Despite everything, you smiled a little.

“You’re doing great,” you assured him quietly. “Stay with me.”

And he did.

His eyes kept finding yours every few seconds like you were the only stable thing left in the middle of the chaos.

Your hands moved automatically after that.

Pressure against the head wound. Monitoring responsiveness. Keeping him conscious and talking while you assessed what you could from outside the vehicle. Rainwater mixed with blood beneath your fingers while traffic backed up for what looked like miles behind you, headlights glowing dimly through the storm.

Leon kept looking at you every few seconds like you were the only stable thing left in the middle of the chaos.

“You work at the PTMC?” he asked weakly after spotting the hospital logo embroidered onto your soaked jacket.

“Unfortunately.”

That got a real laugh out of him, brief and pained but enough that relief loosened slightly in your chest.

“You always this calm when you see a car crash?”

You let out a tired breath through your nose. “No. I’m panicking beautifully internally.”

That made him laugh again.

Patients relaxed faster once they laughed. It was something you learned early in residency, fear loosened the second people felt human again instead of helpless.

So you stayed with him.

Even after the paramedics arrived.

Even after they started finishing the extrication, peeling back what remained of the driver’s side door while rain poured endlessly over the wreckage.

You stayed crouched beside him talking him through every step because shock was already creeping in around the edges of his expression, and every time panic threatened to overwhelm him again, his eyes found yours immediately.

“You’re okay,” you kept saying quietly. “Stay with me. You’re okay.”

The interstate blurred around you in streaks of red brake lights and flashing hazards. Rain soaked through your jacket and scrubs completely now, damp fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin while your hair stuck to the back of your neck. The adrenaline that had carried you through the crash scene was already fading, leaving behind an exhaustion so heavy it felt physical.

An EMT looked up from the stretcher and did a double take.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

You snapped back into focus automatically.

“Male, approximately forty-two. Restrained driver. Brief LOC reported by witnesses. GCS fifteen currently. Complaining of left-sided rib pain. Possible concussion. Neuro status intact for now, but keep an eye on him.”

The EMT nodded once while adjusting the cervical collar. “Got it.”

They moved quickly after that, securing straps, checking vitals, loading equipment through the rain while Leon tracked every movement with the wide-eyed focus of someone trying very hard not to think too much about what had almost happened.

Your knees ached from kneeling on broken glass. Your hands had started trembling slightly now that nobody urgently needed anything from you anymore.

But you stayed beside him anyway.

Leon caught your wrist weakly just before the paramedics closed the ambulance doors.

“Hey.”

You looked up immediately.

His face looked pale beneath the blood and rainwater, eyes glassy with pain and adrenaline, but there was something steadier there too.

Gratitude maybe.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

The words landed somewhere deeper than they should have.

You swallowed hard before giving his hand one quick squeeze.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Of course.”

For a second, you just stood there breathing.

The interstate still smelled like gasoline and smoke. Somewhere farther down the road another paramedic shouted instructions while tow trucks crawled through the rain toward the wreckage. Traffic in the opposite lanes slowed almost to a stop as people stared through fogged windows at what was left of the crash.

“You riding in with us?” one of the EMTs asked.

You glanced once toward your abandoned car still trapped in unmoving traffic nearly half a mile behind the accident scene. The thought of trying to get back to it right now felt impossible.

“Yeah,” you answered tiredly.

The ambulance doors shut behind you a second later, sealing you inside with the sharp smell of antiseptic, wet clothing, and adrenaline.

Leon talked for almost the entire ride to the hospital.

Nervous talking.

The kind trauma patients did when they were scared enough to fill every silence because silence meant thinking too hard about how close they came to dying. You’d seen it hundreds of times before. Some people cried. Some got angry. Some went terrifyingly quiet.

Leon talked.

So you let him.

He rambled about his job, about his daughter’s soccer game this weekend, about how his wife was going to kill him for wrecking the car because they still hadn’t finished paying it off. Every few sentences his voice shook slightly before he forced another joke out anyway.

You stayed beside him the whole ride, monitoring pupils and vitals while keeping him talking just enough to assess mental status without making it obvious you were doing it.

“You always pick up patients on the highway on your day off?” he asked weakly at one point.

You let out a tired breath of laughter. “Only the lucky ones.”

That earned another shaky smile from him.

The ambulance doors burst open, paramedics already rolling the stretcher down the bay entrance while rainwater dripped steadily from the wheels onto the floor.

By the time the ambulance rolled through the bay doors at The Pitt, you were freezing hard enough your teeth almost hurt. Your scrubs were soaked completely through, your shoes squelching against the floor while trauma staff moved around you in organized chaos.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Santos called across the ER the second she spotted you climbing out of the ambulance bay. “Always a pleasure seeing you this early, Iron Woman.”

You groaned immediately.

You earned the nickname after accidentally mistaking a patient for Robert Downey Jr. during a twenty-hour shift.

To be fair, the goatee had been identical.

“Dana,” you called immediately, falling into step beside the stretcher. “What’s open?”

Dana barely looked up from the nurses’ station. “Trauma Two’s clear.”

“Perfect.” You pushed damp hair back from your face before glancing toward the department. “Whitaker, Javadi, you’re with me. Perlah, can you help set up Two?”

Perlah nodded immediately and disappeared ahead of the group while Whitaker grabbed gloves from the wall dispenser on his way past.

“You look cold,” Whitaker informed you conversationally.

“Thank you,” you replied flatly.

Javadi appeared beside the stretcher while all of you pushed through the trauma bay doors together. “What happened?”

“Restrained driver, approximately forty-two,” you answered automatically. “High-speed MVA during the storm. Brief LOC reported by witnesses. GCS fifteen on arrival, complaining of left-sided rib pain and worsening headache. Possible concussion.”

“Vitals stable en route,” one of the paramedics added while helping transfer Leon onto the trauma bed.

Whitaker immediately started attaching monitors while Javadi pulled supplies from cabinets with the frantic efficiency of someone still trying very hard to look calmer than she actually felt.

Then Jack looked up from the computer station.

And somehow, in the middle of the packed emergency department, everything softened slightly around the edges.

You caught the exact moment recognition crossed his face. The exhaustion behind his eyes shifted immediately into concern as his gaze moved slowly over you. Soaked scrubs, blood smeared across your gloves, rainwater dripping steadily from your hair onto the floor beneath you.

Jack crossed the trauma bay almost immediately.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. “What happened? I thought you went home.”

His voice grounded you in a way almost nothing else could anymore.

Maybe it was because he always sounded calm even during chaos. Maybe it was because after years together your body recognized him before your brain consciously caught up. Or maybe it was simply that exhaustion hit harder the second somebody else arrived to help carry it.

“I’m fine,” you answered automatically while stripping off your soaked gloves and replacing them with clean ones. “Probably need a head CT.”

Jack’s expression tightened instantly.

“For you?”

You blinked at him before realizing what you’d said. “What? No. For the patient.”

Behind you, Perlah had already started cutting away Leon’s soaked shirt while Whitaker attached cardiac leads to his chest.

“BP’s holding,” Whitaker called.

“Sinus tach at one-ten,” Javadi added while checking another monitor. “Probably pain and adrenaline.”

“Good,” you answered automatically before stepping back beside the bed.

“Where’s Robby?”

“Overdose in Four,” Dana answered from the doorway.

You nodded once and reached for your penlight again, checking Leon’s pupils carefully while rain continued tapping faintly against the ambulance bay doors behind you.

Santos wandered into Trauma Two looking personally offended. “Why does huckleberry and crash get invited? I can help.”

“You can stand there and look pretty while actual doctors save lives,” you shot back immediately.

Santos gasped dramatically. “Dr. Abbot, your girlfriend is bullying me again.”

“She bullies everybody,” Jack muttered.

But there was no heat behind it.

His eyes lingered on you a second too long.

You knew that look by now.

Jack had spent years in emergency medicine learning how to bury concern beneath sarcasm and exhaustion, but you still caught it every time. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes. The slight tremor beginning in your hands now that the adrenaline was wearing off. The way your shoulders sagged whenever you thought nobody was looking.

“You’re freezing,” he said quietly.

“You are correct. I am freezing.”

Without another word, Jack pulled his hoodie off the back of the nurses’ station chair and draped it carefully around your shoulders before you could protest. It was still warm from him, smelling faintly like coffee, antiseptic, and the cologne he only remembered to wear maybe twice a month.

Something in your chest tightened stupidly at the gesture.

Behind him, Santos gagged theatrically. “Oh my God. Romance in the trauma bay. I’m going to throw up.”

“Go chart something,” Jack said flatly.

Whitaker looked up from the monitor leads. “Actually, I think it's very sweet."

“You’re all miserable,” you informed them while pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself.

“No,” Javadi corrected while checking Leon’s blood pressure. “You two are just aggressively in love in public.”

Jack looked genuinely offended. “Aggressively? I don't get it."

Despite yourself, you laughed softly while stepping back toward Leon’s bedside.

Leon noticed the interaction immediately.

“That your boyfriend?” he asked weakly from the trauma bed.

“Husband to the emergency department,” you corrected while snapping fresh gloves on. “Boyfriend in real life.”

Jack rolled his eyes while typing orders into the computer. “Don’t encourage her, Leon.”

Leon grinned despite the pain. “You guys are disgustingly cute.”

Under the brighter trauma lights, bruising had already started blooming dark purple across his ribs beneath the rain-soaked skin.

“Headache worse?” you asked while checking his pupils again.

“A little.”

“You nauseous?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” you answered. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Javadi palpated carefully along his left side while Whitaker adjusted the blood pressure cuff.

“There’s something strangely comforting about you people,” Leon admitted weakly after a moment.

“You say that now,” Javadi muttered.

That earned another tired laugh from him before he winced sharply afterward.

“There it is,” you said softly. “Still joking. Good sign, buddy.”

There was something oddly comforting about patients who stayed conversational. After years in emergency medicine, you learned to appreciate moments where humanity still existed between procedures and bloodwork and trauma assessments.

Sometimes those tiny conversations mattered almost as much as the medicine itself.

Jack stepped beside you while reviewing Leon’s vitals, his shoulder brushing yours briefly in the cramped trauma bay. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, damp fabric, and rainwater now that Leon’s soaked clothing had finally been cut away.

“You should change,” Jack murmured quietly while adjusting one of the monitor leads. “I got this, baby.”

You barely glanced at him, still focused on the chart. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive.”

A tired look crossed his face immediately.

“That’s usually what people say right before passing out.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, though exhaustion dulled most of the energy behind it. “You’re dramatic.”

“You’ve been awake how long now?”

“Eighteen hours.”

Jack stared at you flatly. “That’s not comforting.”

“You stopped at a major accident scene after an eighteen-hour shift?” Javadi asked incredulously.

You shrugged slightly.

And that alone made Jack’s jaw tighten, because that was exactly the kind of thing you always did.

The adrenaline carrying you through the crash scene had almost completely faded now, leaving behind exhaustion so heavy it felt physical. Your wet clothes clung coldly to your skin beneath Jack’s hoodie while every muscle in your body ached now that the immediate crisis had passed.

Jack exhaled softly through his nose before lowering his voice.

“You don’t always have to run yourself into the ground trying to save everybody.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

You focused instead on adjusting Leon’s blanket over his chest, smoothing the fabric carefully just to give your hands something else to do.

Jack knew you too well by now to push after saying something like that.

That was part of what made loving him dangerous sometimes. He noticed things you worked very hard to hide from everybody else.

He noticed the way your hands trembled after bad trauma calls once the adrenaline wore off. How you skipped meals without realizing it during difficult shifts. How every patient death stayed with you longer than you ever admitted aloud.

Jack had spent years in emergency medicine learning how to compartmentalize just enough to survive it, which somehow only made him better at recognizing when you weren’t doing the same.

His hand brushed briefly against the small of your back as he moved toward the monitors again.

“Don’t worry, Leon,” Jack said easily while checking the cardiac tracing. “You’re in good hands.”

Leon looked toward him before his gaze drifted back to you.

“I figured that out already,” he said softly. “She stopped on the interstate for me.”

You glanced up from the chart, slightly surprised by how steady his voice sounded now despite everything.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” Leon continued quietly.

You shrugged lightly, pushing damp hair away from your face. “Part of the job.”

“Maybe,” he answered softly, still watching you carefully. “But most people would’ve kept driving.”

Something warm and uncomfortable settled low in your chest at that.

Most patients never saw the moments in between all of this. They saw calm voices and steady hands. They saw competence because that was what they needed from you in moments like these.

They never saw the aftermath.

The exhaustion. The panic doctors swallowed in real time just to keep functioning. The way people occasionally locked themselves in supply closets for thirty seconds after bad cases just to breathe before walking back out like nothing happened.

But Leon had seen you kneeling beside twisted metal in freezing rain with blood on your hands while traffic screamed past only feet away.

He’d seen the human part too.

And somehow that felt far more exposing than expected.

Before you could answer, something shifted.

Subtle.

Small enough most people in the room probably would have missed it entirely.

But after years in emergency medicine, your body noticed changes before your brain consciously caught up.

Leon’s breathing changed.

One second it was slow and uneven with postictal exhaustion.

The next it caught strangely in his chest.

His eyes lost focus somewhere over your shoulder while every muscle in his body tightened beneath the blankets all at once.

Your stomach dropped instantly.

“Leon?”

Jack looked up from the monitor station at the exact same moment Leon’s entire body stiffened violently against the mattress.

“He’s seizing!”

Everything exploded into motion.

The seizure hit hard and fast, violent enough that the entire trauma bed rattled beneath him. His back arched sharply while his arms convulsed uncontrollably, knocking equipment sideways as monitors erupted into sharp screaming alarms throughout the room.

“Clock started,” Perlah called immediately.

“Two minutes on the seizure pads,” Whitaker added while grabbing suction.

“Turn him,” you ordered.

You and Javadi moved together automatically, carefully rolling Leon onto his side while his body continued jerking violently beneath your hands. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth where he’d bitten through his tongue while every breath came in horrible choking gasps between convulsions.

“Airway’s clear,” Javadi said quickly, though her voice still sounded tight with adrenaline.

Across the room Jack was already pulling medication from the crash cart while Dana called CT from the doorway ahead of transport.

Then finally, slowly, the seizure broke.

Leon’s body slumped heavily back against the mattress drenched in sweat while ragged breaths tore unevenly from his chest. The room fell briefly into that strange silence that always followed emergencies, where everybody still moved quickly even though the worst part had passed.

For now.

“Let’s get a CT stat,” Jack said immediately.

You nodded once, trying to ignore the tremor beginning in your hands now that the adrenaline spike was crashing again.

“I’ll stay with him until transport.”

Jack hesitated.

Only briefly, but long enough for you to notice.

Something unreadable crossed his expression while his eyes flicked from Leon back toward you.

Concern maybe.

The same quiet tension he always carried after particularly violent trauma cases.

“You sure?” he asked softly.

You frowned slightly. “Yeah.”

Whitaker glanced briefly between both of you like he noticed something too, but before he could say anything Dana appeared in the doorway again.

“Trauma Three needs help now.”

Jack’s jaw tightened.

His fingers brushed briefly against your wrist before he stepped away toward the hallway, disappearing almost immediately back into the noise and chaos outside the trauma bay.

The room quieted afterward.

Machines beeped steadily while rain tapped faintly against distant ER windows somewhere down the hall. Whitaker and Javadi had already been pulled into another room, leaving you alone beside Leon while he lay motionless in exhausted postictal confusion.

You dimmed the overhead light slightly before adjusting the blanket higher over his chest.

“Hey,” you said gently when you noticed him beginning to stir. “You’re okay. You had a seizure.”

No response.

His eyes stayed fixed upward, unfocused and confused.

Postictal.

You had seen it hundreds of times before. Disorientation. Confusion. Agitation sometimes. Patients waking terrified because their brains had not fully caught up to reality yet.

Your shoulder ached dully now that exhaustion was settling deeper into your body again. You reached absentmindedly for the chart at the foot of the bed, mentally running through differentials and imaging priorities while waiting for CT to call back.

You missed the shift in him by less than a second.

One moment Leon lay motionless against the mattress, the next his eyes sharpened violently.

Not recognition.

Fear.

Pure terrified instinct.

Your stomach dropped.

“Leon—”

He surged upright before you could finish the sentence.

His hand closed around your throat with terrifying force, slamming you backward into the cabinet hard enough to knock the air violently from your lungs. Pain exploded across the back of your skull as your head cracked sharply against metal.

“Leon!”

The sound came out broken and strangled.

But he wasn’t seeing you.

That was the horrifying part.

His eyes looked completely wild now—unfocused, terrified, empty all at once. Pure neurological panic stripped entirely of recognition.

For one terrible second, training overrode fear.

“Leon,” you gasped desperately, grabbing his wrists instinctively instead of striking him. “Listen to me. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”

Nothing reached him.

His grip tightened harder around your throat.

Air stopped.

Panic slammed through you instantly now, sharp and animal and overwhelming in a way you almost never allowed yourself to feel. Your vision flickered violently while you clawed uselessly at his hands, trying desperately to drag in even one full breath.

You needed help.

Safe word.

Your mouth opened automatically.

“H—”

Nothing came out except a rasp.

Leon shoved you backward harder, your skull slamming against the cabinet again hard enough that white exploded across your vision.

The hospital safe word.

You just needed to say it.

“Hula—”

The sound collapsed into another strangled gasp as his fingers crushed tighter against your airway.

Your lungs burned.

Tears blurred your vision from pain and lack of oxygen while movement echoed faintly somewhere outside the trauma bay. People were still moving through the ER completely unaware of what was happening behind the curtain.

Your body was weakening fast.

You forced one shredded breath into your lungs and screamed:

“HULA HOOP!”

The entire department reacted instantly.

The trauma bay doors burst open hard enough to slam against the wall while voices shouted over each other.

Hands grabbed Leon, trying to drag him backward while he fought wildly in blind confusion and terror.

But before anyone could fully pull him away, he shoved you violently across the room.

Your shoulder struck the edge of the cabinetry with a horrible crack before the rest of your body collapsed hard onto the tile floor.

Pain tore through your arm instantly, sharp and wrong enough it barely felt real.

You couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

The room blurred violently while alarms screamed overhead and people shouted your name somewhere nearby.

And through all of it, through the pain and chaos splitting apart around you, your brain found one thing instinctively.

Jack.

You thought about the way he always found you in crowded trauma bays without even trying. The way his hoodie still smelled faintly like coffee and antiseptic around your shoulders. The quiet brush of his hand against your back only minutes earlier.

You wondered irrationally if he was going to blame himself for leaving the room.

That thought hurt almost as badly as the pain itself.

Your eyes slipped closed just as the world dissolved completely into noise.

Jack was halfway through finishing a chart when he realized he had not seen you in several minutes.

He looked up automatically, scanning the department for you out of habit more than anything else. Usually he could spot you immediately no matter how crowded the ER became. You moved quickly when you worked, sharp and focused and impossible to miss once he knew what to look for.

But you were nowhere.

“Hey, Javadi,” he called while signing off medication orders. “Have you seen Dr. Y/L/N?”

Javadi looked up so quickly, like she was a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… no,” she answered quickly. Too quickly. “I haven’t seen her since I left Leon. Sorry.”

Then she disappeared almost immediately toward another patient before he could ask anything else.

He pushed himself upright from the workstation, the familiar ache radiating faintly through his prosthetic. Long shifts always made it worse. The socket rubbed raw after enough hours on his feet, especially during busy trauma nights when he barely sat down.

Normally he ignored it.

Right now he barely felt it at all.

“Dana,” he called, already moving toward the nurses’ station. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Dana barely looked up from the chart she was reviewing. “Pretty sure she’s still with Leon. Why?”

Jack turned the iPad slightly toward her. “They haven’t gone to CT.”

That got her attention.

Her eyes flicked quickly toward the tracking board before settling back on him. “They’re probably backed up upstairs.”

“Maybe.”

But something still felt wrong.

Dana sighed softly. “Jack, she’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

He knew that.

God, he knew that better than anybody.

You were one of the strongest people he had ever met. Smarter than most attendings twice your age. Calm during trauma activations that made residents freeze completely. You handled combative patients, pediatric codes, catastrophic MVCs, and grieving families with a steadiness that still amazed him after all these years.

But that feeling in his chest would not go away.

Dana pointed down the hallway. “I actually need you in Central Fourteen. Chest pain rule-out and Dr. Garcia wants another set of eyes before she calls cards.”

Jack exhaled through his nose, still staring at the tracking board.

“Right,” he muttered distractedly. “Yeah. Okay.”

He turned reluctantly toward the direction of Central Fourteen, adjusting his pace automatically as the prosthetic clicked softly against tile beneath his scrub pants. Fatigue had settled deep into the joint hours ago, making his gait slightly uneven now that the adrenaline from earlier trauma activations had worn off.

Then he heard it.

“HULA HOOP!”

Everything in his body stopped instantly.

The voice was barely recognizable.

Raw. Ragged. Strangled around obvious pain and panic in a way that made every hair on the back of his neck stand upright immediately. For one horrible second his brain refused to process it properly because it did not make sense. Not your voice. Not like that.

And then recognition hit him all at once.

The hospital safe word.

Trauma Two.

Jack’s heart dropped so violently it almost hurt.

No.

The thought hit him before anything else.

No no no.

Adrenaline detonated through his bloodstream hard enough to make him dizzy.

Then instinct took over completely.

“No,” he breathed aloud, already moving before the word fully left his mouth.

He pivoted so sharply pain shot violently through his prosthetic, the sudden turn grinding pressure through the socket hard enough that under normal circumstances it would have staggered him. But right now he barely felt it beneath the sheer overwhelming panic flooding his system.

Fear swallowed everything else whole.

Not the controlled fear he knew from trauma medicine. Not the clinical kind that sharpened your focus during codes and mass casualty calls.

This was different.

This was personal.

Jack shoved past a stretcher hard enough that the wheels screeched across tile while people all around him started reacting at the exact same time. Nurses turned toward Trauma Two instantly at the sound of the safe word. Dana’s head snapped upward from the nurses’ station. Santos was already running before half the department fully understood what was happening.

But Jack got there first.

The curtain outside Trauma Two jerked violently as shouting erupted from inside the room. Monitors screamed overhead loud enough to echo through the entire department while equipment crashed hard against the floor somewhere beyond the drapes.

“Get him off her!”

The words barely registered through the roaring in Jack’s ears.

His pulse was so loud now it drowned everything else out.

He hit the doorway hard enough that the curtain ripped halfway off the track as he shoved inside.

And then he saw you.

Lying on the floor.

Motionless.

For one horrifying second his brain simply stopped functioning.

You were crumpled unnaturally against the tile beside the cabinets, one arm twisted wrong beneath you while blood streaked across the side of your face from where your head had struck something hard enough to split skin open. Jack noticed everything all at once in the brutal hyperclarity trauma doctors developed after years in emergency medicine.

The bruising already forming around your throat.

The abnormal angle of your shoulder.

The way your chest barely moved.

And somehow that was the part that terrified him most.

You were not moving enough.

Leon was still screaming somewhere nearby while Ahmed and two nurses fought to restrain him against the opposite wall, his face wild with postictal confusion and terror. Somebody was yelling for sedation meds. The entire trauma bay had dissolved into complete chaos.

But Jack barely registered any of it.

Because you were on the floor.

And you were not getting up.

Something inside his chest seemed to cave inward violently.

“Oh, honey.”

Then he said your name, and the sound that came out barely resembled the steady, composed voice Jack used during traumas and codes and every impossible shift the hospital threw at him.

This was different.

There was no clinical calm left in him now.

Only fear.

Pure terrified fear.

He dropped beside you so fast pain tore sharply through his prosthetic as his knee hit tile, but he ignored it instantly. His hands shook hard enough he almost missed your carotid pulse the first time he checked.

Then finally.

There. Weak, but there.

Relief hit so hard it almost made him nauseous.

“Oh my God,” he whispered shakily, one bloodstained hand cradling the side of your face carefully while the other pressed against your neck searching for injuries. “Hey. Hey, stay with me. Come on.”

You did not respond.

Jack’s stomach turned violently.

Training forced itself back online in fragmented pieces despite the panic threatening to choke him alive. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Neuro. He assessed automatically even while his brain screamed at him that this was you beneath his hands.

Not a patient.

You.

Blood pressure crash from trauma? Concussion? Cervical injury? Shoulder dislocation? Fracture? Internal bleed?

His eyes flicked instantly toward your throat again and rage flooded him so suddenly it nearly stole his breath.

Finger-shaped bruises were already darkening against your skin.

He hurt you.

The realization nearly made Jack physically sick.

“Jack,” Dana’s voice cut sharply through the chaos as she dropped beside him. “We need to move.”

But Jack could barely hear her.

Your eyelashes fluttered faintly for half a second before falling closed again and something inside him broke completely at the sight.

“No no no,” he whispered frantically, brushing damp hair away from your face with shaking fingers. “Stay awake. Baby, stay awake for me.”

His voice cracked hard on the last word.

That terrified him almost as much as the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

Because Jack Abbot did not lose composure.

Not during traumas, not during mass casualties, not while pronouncing deaths.

But right now panic was tearing straight through him so violently he could barely breathe around it.

And for the first time in years, he had absolutely no idea how to separate being a doctor from being the man who loved you.

“What the hell happened?”

Robby’s voice cut sharply through the chaos as he pushed into Trauma Two with Mohan directly behind him, but for half a second, both of them stopped cold.

The room looked catastrophic. Leon was still fighting violently against security near the far wall, his movements frantic and disorganized while Santos shouted for more sedation. Equipment littered the floor around the trauma bay, overturned trays and scattered supplies crunching beneath people’s shoes as alarms screamed overhead loudly enough to make the entire room feel claustrophobic.

And in the middle of all of it, you were lying motionless on the floor with Jack kneeling beside you.

Blood streaked down the side of your face and disappeared beneath the collar of his hoodie still hanging around your shoulders. Bruising had already started darkening visibly around your throat, ugly fingerprints blooming beneath the fluorescent trauma lights, while your left arm rested at an angle that made Mohan’s stomach immediately drop.

“Jesus Christ,” Mohan breathed.

“Security’s got the patient,” Dana snapped, already dropping beside you with Santos. “Probably postictal aggression after the seizure. He went after her.”

Robby moved instantly after that, years of trauma medicine overriding shock the second he reached your side. “Get her on a gurney now. C-spine precautions. Santos, I need vitals. Dana, page CT and tell them we’re coming immediately. Mohan, get me neuro and ortho on standby.”

Everybody moved except Jack.

He stayed frozen beside you on the tile floor, one hand still cradling the side of your face like he physically could not force himself to let go.

“Jack,” Robby said.

No response.

Jack was staring at you with an expression Robby had never seen on him before. Not panic exactly. Worse than panic. Helplessness, maybe, like his brain had short-circuited somewhere between doctor and boyfriend and now could not figure out how to function as either.

“Jack,” Robby repeated more firmly.

That finally seemed to pull him back enough to blink.

“She isn’t breathing right,” he said hoarsely, voice rough enough it barely sounded like him anymore. “He had her by the throat. Her head hit the cabinet, probably. Possible LOC. Shoulder’s definitely dislocated, maybe fractured too.”

The words came out clipped and automatic, pure trauma assessment forced through panic, but his hands were still shaking.

Dana and Santos carefully slid a backboard beneath you while Mohan cut away the remains of the hoodie around your shoulder to assess the injury better. The second the fabric moved, Jack saw the full extent of the bruising spreading across your throat, dark purple already beneath your skin.

“He squeezed hard enough to leave petechiae,” Santos muttered quietly while examining your neck. “Shit.”

Robby’s jaw tightened immediately. “We need airway monitoring. Neck trauma protocol.”

You stirred weakly then, letting out a broken sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as Dana stabilized your shoulder. Jack moved instantly at the sound.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening so fast it almost hurt to hear. “Hey, don’t move. You’re okay.”

Your eyes fluttered halfway open for barely a second before unfocusing again.

“She’s awake,” Jack breathed.

“For now,” Robby answered grimly while checking your pupils with a penlight. “Possible concussion. We’re not ruling anything out yet.”

Jack knew that tone. It was the same one they all used when things might be much worse than they looked initially.

Around them, the room was finally beginning to settle into controlled chaos instead of outright panic. Security had Leon restrained now while Santos pushed sedatives through an IV line with tight, controlled movements. Leon’s terrified shouting dissolved into confused, exhausted mumbling as the medication began taking effect.

“He didn’t know what he was doing,” Mohan said quietly, mostly to fill the horrible silence hanging over the room.

Jack did not answer. Rationally, he already knew that. Postictal aggression, neurological confusion, severe agitation after seizure activity. They had all seen it before. But none of it mattered right now, because every time Jack blinked, he saw your body hitting the floor again.

“On my count,” Santos said firmly while positioning herself near your head. “One, two, three.”

They lifted you carefully onto the gurney, and the second they moved your shoulder, a sharp cry tore from your throat despite your barely conscious state.

Jack physically flinched.

Robby looked at him immediately. “Jack, I need you with me here.”

But Jack still looked frozen. His prosthetic locked slightly as he stood too quickly, pain shooting sharply through the joint while exhaustion and adrenaline crashed violently together inside his body. Normally, he compensated automatically for it. Years of physical therapy had taught him exactly how to move through pain without thinking.

Right now, he barely noticed it. All he could see was you strapped to a trauma gurney instead of standing beside one, and somehow that felt profoundly wrong in a way his brain could not fully process yet.

Dana squeezed his arm briefly as she passed him. “She’s alive,” she said quietly, firmly enough that it sounded almost like an order. “So stay with us.”

Jack swallowed hard, then finally nodded once.

The second the gurney locked into place beside the trauma bed, the room shifted fully into trauma mode. Controlled chaos. Fast hands. Sharply clipped orders. Monitor alarms blending into the constant noise of the ER outside while everybody moved around you with the kind of practiced coordination that only came from years of emergency medicine.

“BP dropping,” Santos called from the monitor station. “Ninety-two over fifty-six. Heart rate one-forty. Pulse ox ninety-four.”

Robby swore quietly under his breath before stepping beside the gurney. “Dana, I need another large bore IV. CBC, CMP, coags, type and screen, lactate. Full trauma panel.”

Dana was already moving before he finished speaking.

Mohan carefully stabilized your cervical spine while Perlah adjusted the collar more securely around your neck. Blood stained the side of your face now, dark against pale skin beneath the fluorescent trauma lights, while bruising continued spreading visibly across your throat.

“She’s tachycardic from pain and adrenaline,” Mohan said quickly while palpating carefully along your ribs and clavicle. “Left shoulder deformity obvious. Could be anterior dislocation, maybe proximal humerus fracture too.”

“She hit hard,” Dana added grimly while cutting away the sleeve of your scrub top completely. “Look at the swelling already, poor baby.”

Jack forced himself closer finally, though every instinct in his body screamed at him to stop looking entirely.

Your shoulder looked wrong. Not subtly wrong, catastrophically wrong. The joint sat visibly displaced beneath skin already darkening with bruising while your arm rested protectively against your torso in unconscious guarding. Even barely responsive, your body was trying to protect the injury.

“Y/N?” Robby called firmly while shining the penlight into your eyes again. “Hey, stay with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, and your lips parted slightly before a small broken sound escaped you, more pain than words.

“There you go,” Dana said softly. “That’s good, hey sweetie.”

“She’s responsive,” Mohan confirmed. “Pupils reactive bilaterally.”

“Any obvious neuro deficits?”

“Hard to assess until she’s more alert.”

Jack swallowed hard. Normally those words would have sounded clinical. Routine. Hearing them about you made him feel sick.

Robby’s fingers moved carefully along your scalp before stopping near the back of your head. “She’s got a laceration here. Probably where she hit the cabinet.”

“How bad?” Jack asked immediately.

Robby looked up briefly. “Needs staples. I’m more concerned about intracranial bleed.”

Jack felt the room narrow sharply around him as his brain supplied every possibility instantly. Subdural. Epidural. Contusion. Diffuse axonal injury. Years of trauma medicine suddenly felt less like a skill and more like torture because now he knew exactly how bad this could become.

“BP’s still dropping,” Santos called sharply.

“Hang another liter.”

Dana connected fluids immediately while Mohan checked your abdomen carefully for rigidity and tenderness.

“She guarding?”

“Little bit.”

“Could just be pain response.”

“Or internal injury,” Robby answered grimly.

Jack closed his eyes briefly. Only twenty minutes ago, he had been teasing you for refusing to change out of wet scrubs. Twenty minutes ago, you had been standing beside him alive and exhausted and rolling your eyes at him. Now you were strapped to a trauma gurney while your coworkers discussed possible brain bleeds.

The trauma bay doors pushed open again.

“What do we have?”

Garcia entered already pulling gloves on, clearly expecting another routine consult before her eyes landed on the gurney. Then she froze.

“Is that...?”

Nobody answered immediately because suddenly saying it aloud made everything feel horrifyingly real.

Garcia moved closer automatically, surgical instincts taking over even while shock still flickered visibly across her face. Her eyes swept quickly across your injuries, taking in the bruising around your throat, the unstable shoulder, and the blood matted into your hair.

“Oh my God.”

Jack looked away sharply at the sound in her voice. He could handle panic, trauma, blood, failed resuscitations, and catastrophic injuries. But he could not handle hearing pity directed at you.

“What happened?” Garcia asked quietly.

“Postictal assault,” Robby answered while reviewing your vitals. “Patient seized after MVC. Became combative during recovery.”

Garcia’s jaw tightened immediately. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Jack, and somehow that made everything worse. Everybody in the hospital knew about the two of you. Not because either of you talked about it much, but because some things became obvious after enough years working together. The way Jack unconsciously searched for you in crowded rooms. The way your voice softened around him even during impossible shifts. The way both of you somehow always ended up side by side during difficult traumas without discussing it first.

And now everybody was watching him try not to fall apart while you lay bleeding in front of him.

“Y/N,” Garcia said gently while stepping closer to assess your airway. “Can you hear me?”

Your brow twitched faintly at the sound of your name.

“Good,” she murmured softly. “Stay with us.”

Jack finally moved closer again until he stood directly beside the gurney. For a second, he just stared at you. Really stared. At the bruises darkening beneath your jaw, at the trembling rise and fall of your breathing, at the blood drying against your temple.

Then very carefully, he reached down and took your hand.

Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm almost immediately.

Tiny movement. Huge relief.

“Okay,” Robby said firmly, forcing the room back into focus. “Let’s move. I want CT angio head and neck immediately. We’re ruling out intracranial bleed and carotid injury.”

Garcia nodded once beside him, already assessing your airway with practiced hands. “Neck swelling’s getting worse.”

Jack saw it too now that she said it aloud. The bruising around your throat had spread darker beneath the fluorescent lights while swelling gathered visibly beneath your jawline. Every breath you took sounded wrong now. Wet. Shallow. Strained enough to make every survival instinct in his body start screaming.

“Pulse ox is dipping,” Santos called sharply. “Ninety-one.”

“Jaw thrust,” Garcia ordered immediately.

Dana repositioned carefully at your head while Garcia leaned closer, studying the bruising around your airway with growing concern. “She may need to be intubated before CT if the swelling progresses.”

The word hit Jack like a physical blow. Intubated. His brain immediately supplied images he did not want. Ventilator settings. Sedation drips. ICU monitors. Neurological checks every hour.

“No,” he said automatically before he could stop himself.

Everybody looked at him.

Jack swallowed hard immediately, realizing too late he had said it aloud.

Robby’s expression softened slightly. “Jack.”

He hated the way Robby said his name right now. Carefully. Like he was one bad second away from falling apart completely.

“I know,” Jack muttered quickly, dragging a shaky hand down his face. “I know.”

But he didn’t. Not really. Because his brain kept splitting violently between two impossible realities. One side of him catalogued injuries automatically. Airway trauma after strangulation. Possible cervical instability. Hypoxia. Concussion. Internal bleeding. Shoulder fracture-dislocation. The other side could barely process the fact that you were lying here at all.

Your breathing suddenly hitched sharply.

Jack’s head snapped toward you instantly.

Your eyes fluttered weakly before opening. Confusion crossed your face immediately while you tried weakly to move, but pain flashed across your expression so fast it made Jack physically tense.

“Don’t,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “Baby, don’t move.”

Your gaze drifted slowly around the trauma bay like you were trying to understand where you were. The bright lights. The people surrounding you. The monitors beeping overhead. Then finally, your eyes landed on Jack.

Relief flickered there instantly. Small. Barely there. Enough to nearly destroy him.

“Hey,” he said softly, gripping your hand tighter without realizing it. “Hey, I’m right here.”

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out at first except a weak breath.

Jack leaned closer immediately. “What?”

Your brow pinched faintly in confusion.

“...Leon?”

The room went quiet for half a second.

Even now, barely conscious and injured and terrified, your first instinct was still the patient. Something inside Jack cracked painfully at that.

“He’s restrained,” Robby answered gently before Jack could. “You’re safe.”

Your eyes shifted again, slower this time.

“Hurts,” you whispered faintly.

Jack looked immediately toward your shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly, voice finally cracking despite how hard he tried to control it. “I know, sweetheart.”

Garcia’s eyes flicked sharply toward him at the sound. Jack almost never lost composure at work. Not like this.

You tried to swallow and immediately winced.

Garcia noticed too. “Throat pain?”

A tiny nod.

“Difficulty breathing?”

Another weak nod.

Garcia looked immediately toward Robby. “Airway’s worsening.”

Robby swore quietly under his breath. “We tube here or risk losing it in CT.”

The room shifted instantly again. More movement. More urgency. Dana reached for airway equipment while Santos prepared sedation meds with visibly tighter movements now. Mohan adjusted oxygen flow quickly while Garcia moved toward the head of the bed.

Jack felt suddenly frozen all over again.

Your eyes moved back toward him weakly, panic beginning to flicker beneath the pain now that you were awake enough to understand pieces of the conversation around you.

“Jack,” you whispered hoarsely.

His chest tightened violently. “I’m here.”

Your fingers curled weakly against his hand.

“Don’t...” Your breathing hitched painfully. “Don’t leave.”

That finally broke him.

Because you sounded scared. You, the person who stayed calm during pediatric arrests and mass casualty incidents and catastrophic traumas that made residents physically sick afterward.

Jack leaned down immediately, pressing his forehead briefly against yours despite the blood and chaos surrounding both of you. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered shakily. “Okay? I’m right here.”

Then your heart rate spiked sharply.

“One-fifty,” Santos warned.

Your oxygen dipped again.

“Eighty-eight.”

Garcia looked up instantly. “That’s it. We’re securing the airway.”

Panic flashed visibly across your face, and Jack felt your hand tighten weakly around his.

“Hey,” he said immediately, brushing damp hair carefully away from your forehead. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

Your unfocused eyes found his again.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, even though his own heart was pounding hard enough to make him nauseous. “Just keep breathing for me.”

Garcia stepped beside him carefully. “Jack,” she said quietly. “I need room.”

And suddenly he realized there was nothing else he could do. No medication to order. No procedure capable of fixing this himself. No trauma protocol separating him from the overwhelming terror flooding his chest.

All he could do was let go of your hand and watch other people try to save you, and somehow that felt worse than anything he had seen in his entire career.

And somehow that felt infinitely worse than any injury he had seen in his entire career.

The intubation blurred together afterward in fragments Jack knew would probably stay with him for the rest of his life.

Garcia’s voice turned sharp and clinical the second she stepped fully into procedure mode. “Etomidate ready?”

“Ready.”

“Succinylcholine?”

“Ready.”

“Pulse ox?”

“Eighty-seven and dropping.”

The room moved quickly around you after that. Packaging tore open, monitors screamed softly overhead, and Santos pushed medications through your IV with controlled precision while Dana stabilized your cervical spine at the head of the bed.

Jack stood rooted beside the wall, feeling completely fucking useless.

He had watched hundreds of intubations in his career. He had performed them himself during impossible traumas, with blood filling airways and families screaming outside the room. Usually, the procedure grounded him. Medicine always grounded him because medicine made sense. Algorithms. Protocols. Airway, breathing, circulation. Find the problem and fix it.

But this was you, and suddenly none of it felt clinical anymore.

Your eyes found his one last time before the sedatives fully took effect. Fear still flickered there beneath the exhaustion and pain, but so did trust. Complete trust. The kind that made his chest ache violently because you were still looking at him like he could somehow fix this.

Then your body relaxed beneath the medication.

Garcia moved immediately. “Going in.”

The room fell quieter for a second except for the ventilator alarms and the sound of Jack’s own pulse hammering violently in his ears. He watched Garcia guide the laryngoscope carefully while Robby monitored your vitals from beside the bed.

“Visualized.”

“Tube.”

“Advancing.”

Jack swallowed hard enough that it hurt.

You looked so small suddenly. That was the thought that kept repeating in his head while he stared at your motionless body beneath trauma lights that suddenly felt much too bright. You had always seemed larger than life somehow. Loud when you wanted to be. Brilliant. Sharp-edged. Impossible to intimidate. The kind of doctor residents followed instinctively because even during disasters, you carried yourself like you could handle anything thrown at you.

Now you were lying completely still while somebody else breathed for you.

“Tube’s in,” Garcia confirmed.

Relief swept through the room instantly, subtle but collective.

“End tidal color change confirmed.”

“Breath sounds bilateral.”

“Secure it.”

Dana taped the ET tube carefully into place while the ventilator connected with a soft mechanical hiss. Your chest finally began rising in slow, controlled breaths afterward, steady and artificial and horrifyingly impersonal.

Jack hated the sound immediately.

The ventilator transformed you from injured into critical in a way his brain could no longer avoid.

Robby was already moving again. “Okay, we transport now. I want CTA head and neck, cervical spine imaging, chest CT, trauma series. Somebody call ortho and tell them she’s likely got a fracture-dislocation.”

“She’s still hypotensive,” Santos warned while adjusting fluids.

“Pressure?”

“Ninety systolic.”

“Hang another liter.”

Everything continued moving around him after that, but Jack could barely process any of it fully anymore. The room had narrowed into snapshots burned violently into his memory. Blood staining the collar of your scrub top. Finger-shaped bruises spreading darker around your throat. Your hand slipping weakly from his when they rolled the gurney toward the doors.

He followed automatically beside the bed while they rushed you toward imaging. His prosthetic protested immediately beneath the sudden pace, sharp pain radiating through the socket with every uneven step, but he barely registered it now. His entire body had narrowed itself into one singular instinct.

Stay close. Do not lose sight of her.

Hallway lights blurred overhead while the gurney rattled violently across tile. Nurses moved aside instantly when they recognized who was lying on the stretcher, and somehow that silence hurt worse than panic would have.

People stopped talking when they saw you.

A respiratory therapist physically froze near the elevators before whispering, “Oh my God.”

Jack looked away immediately. He could not handle watching other people realize how bad this was.

Then suddenly, he was left standing alone in the hallway.

The silence hit him all at once.

He stared numbly at the closed doors for several long seconds before finally turning back toward Trauma Two because he genuinely did not know what else to do with himself.

By the time he returned, the room was mostly empty again. The chaos was over. Only the aftermath remained.

One overturned tray still sat abandoned near the wall where it had been kicked over during the struggle. Wrappers and syringes littered the floor beside shattered plastic packaging while a monitor continued beeping pointlessly beside an empty bed.

And blood.

Your blood was still everywhere.

Jack stopped walking.

For a second he just stood there staring at it. Tiny streaks across the tile floor. Smears against the cabinets where your head had hit. Dark fingerprints dried against the bedrail.

His stomach twisted so violently he thought he might actually throw up.

Because the only thing left of you in this room now was blood.

Not your laugh echoing across the nurses’ station during overnight shifts. Not your sarcasm when Santos annoyed you on purpose. Not the warmth of your body curled against his after impossible shifts when both of you were too exhausted to even speak properly anymore.

Just blood.

Jack looked down slowly at his own hands. There was still dried blood caught beneath his fingernails from where he had held your face trying to keep you conscious. More stained the sleeves of his scrub top in dark rust-colored smears that made his chest tighten painfully every time he looked at them.

You were intubated upstairs while trauma surgeons searched your brain for bleeding.

The thought cracked something open inside him.

If he had stayed. If he had trusted his instincts. If he had checked sooner.

“Jack.”

Dana’s voice came softly from the doorway behind him.

He did not turn around immediately. For a second, neither of them spoke while she took in the scene around him. Dana had worked in emergency medicine long enough to understand what trauma aftermath looked like, not just physically, but emotionally too.

Jack looked wrecked. Not outwardly hysterical. That almost would have been easier. Instead, he looked hollowed out from the inside.

“You should sit down,” she said gently.

“I’m fine.”

The answer came automatically, immediate and empty.

Dana almost sighed because they both knew it was complete bullshit. She stepped further into the room slowly, careful with him now in the same way people approached trauma patients who had not realized how badly they were injured yet.

“You’re shaking.”

His hands were trembling badly now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, small uncontrollable tremors moving through his fingers no matter how tightly he clenched them into fists.

“I left her,” he said quietly.

Dana’s expression softened immediately. “Jack.”

“I left her alone with him.”

The guilt in his voice nearly hurt to hear.

Dana moved closer. “You could not have predicted postictal aggression escalating like that.”

“But I should’ve checked sooner.”

Jack laughed once under his breath, but there was absolutely no humor in it. Just panic and exhaustion and guilt twisting together so tightly he could barely breathe around it anymore.

“She sounded scared,” he whispered roughly. “Do you know how bad it has to be for her to sound scared?”

Dana’s chest tightened painfully because she did know. Everybody in that hospital knew how terrifyingly calm you usually were under pressure. You were the person comforting other people during disasters. The doctor residents looked for during bad traumas because your voice never shook.

But tonight it had.

Dana stepped directly in front of him then and reached up without hesitation, gripping the back of his neck firmly enough to ground him.

“Listen to me,” she said softly but seriously. “She is alive.”

Jack swallowed hard. “She squeezed my hand before CT.”

“Then hold onto that.”

His eyes burned immediately at the words.

For a second, he looked terrifyingly close to falling apart completely.

“She was looking at me like she thought she was dying.”

Dana’s face crumpled slightly at the crack in his voice because Jack Abbot almost never sounded fragile. Not after everything life had already put him through.

But this was different.

This was you.

“You know her,” Dana said quietly. “You know how hard she fights.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly because somehow that made this hurt even worse. He did know. He knew the exact stubborn determination living inside you, the way you worked through exhaustion and grief and pain because your body physically did not know how to stop caring about people.

And suddenly, the idea of losing you felt so catastrophic he genuinely could not imagine surviving it.

When you woke up, the first thing you felt was pain.

Not sharp at first. Not localized enough to understand. Just heavy.

A crushing ache spread through your entire body like every bone had shattered somewhere deep beneath your skin. Awareness dragged itself slowly upward through layers of medication and exhaustion while fluorescent hospital light glowed faintly red through your eyelids. For one blissfully empty second, your brain stayed blank enough that you did not remember anything at all.

Then your chest tightened violently around the ventilator tube lodged in your throat.

Panic hit instantly.

Your eyes snapped open as your body reacted on pure instinct, trying desperately to fight the foreign object forcing air into your lungs. The movement sent agony ripping through your throat and jaw so violently it nearly knocked you unconscious again. A horrible choking sound escaped around the tube while pain exploded across the side of your head hard enough to blur your vision immediately.

The monitors beside your bed erupted into sharp alarms.

Then suddenly Jack was there.

He moved so quickly the chair beside your ICU bed nearly tipped backward onto the floor. One second the room felt empty and terrifying and unfamiliar, and the next his hands were hovering carefully near your face like he wanted to touch you everywhere at once but was terrified of hurting you more.

“Hey, hey, don’t fight it,” he said immediately, voice low and urgent. “You’re okay. Breathe with it.”

You could see his mouth moving. Could see panic written all over his face.

But you could not hear him properly.

Everything sounded distorted beneath the ringing in your ears, voices muffled and warped together like you were trapped underwater. The ventilator hissed rhythmically beside you while your chest rose mechanically against your will, and the sensation was horrifying enough to send another wave of panic crashing violently through your body.

Jack kept talking anyway.

You recognized the cadence of his voice more than the words themselves. Calm. Steady. But underneath it there was something rawer now, something desperate he usually hid much better than this.

Your entire body hurt.

Your throat burned every time the ventilator pushed another breath into your lungs. Your jaw ached violently from the intubation while your left shoulder throbbed with deep nauseating pain that radiated all the way down your arm. Even breathing hurt despite the machine doing most of the work for you.

Then memory came back all at once.

The trauma bay. Leon seizing. Hands crushing around your throat. Your head slamming violently against the cabinet. The floor.

You started crying before you even realized it was happening.

Tears slipped silently sideways into your hair while panic clawed straight up your chest hard enough to blur your vision again. You could not stop shaking. Every instinct in your body still screamed danger even though logically you knew you were safe now.

Jack’s entire expression broke the second he realized you were crying.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered hoarsely.

At least you thought that was what he said.

He sat carefully on the edge of the chair beside your bed before reaching for your hand, avoiding IV lines and bruises with practiced gentleness. The second his fingers touched yours, you grabbed onto him desperately enough that pain shot violently through your injured shoulder again.

You did not care.

Jack was here.

And somehow that meant alive. Safe.

Your grip tightened harder around his hand while your breathing turned ragged around the tube again. Jack immediately leaned closer, his thumb brushing shakily across your knuckles while he tried to calm you before you exhausted yourself further.

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Only then did you really look at him.

And God.

He looked awful.

Dark bruising sat beneath his eyes like he had not slept once since this happened. His hair looked messy in a way that suggested he had spent hours dragging anxious hands through it, and there was something hollowed out in his expression now that made your chest tighten painfully.

You mouthed the question anyway despite the ventilator.

What happened to you?

Jack watched your lips carefully before understanding finally crossed his face. His throat worked once visibly while emotion flashed so openly across his expression it almost scared you more than the pain itself.

He still looked terrified.

Even now.

Instead of speaking, he carefully turned your hand over in his and began tracing slow letters against your palm with his thumb.

Patient attacked you.

The memory crashed back completely after that.

The pressure around your throat. Leon’s empty unfocused eyes. Your body hitting the wall. The terrifying realization that he genuinely did not recognize you anymore.

You jerked violently on instinct before you could stop yourself, panic surging through your bloodstream so fast your vision blurred instantly while the cardiac monitor erupted into another wave of alarms beside the bed.

Jack reacted immediately.

“Hey, hey, look at me.”

You could not fully hear the words, but you knew his voice. Knew the shape of it. The desperation underneath it.

Your breathing turned frantic around the ventilator while terror clawed violently through your chest again. You remembered thinking you were going to die. Not abstractly. Not distantly.

Really die.

And for one horrifying second, lying in this ICU bed unable to speak or breathe on your own, that feeling came rushing back all over again.

Jack kept one hand wrapped tightly around yours while the other hovered uncertainly near your face. He looked like he wanted to pull you against him and protect you from everything all at once but knew touching you too much would only hurt you further.

“You’re safe now,” he kept saying quietly. “He can’t hurt you. You’re safe.”

Safe.

Your eyes darted weakly around the ICU room instead. Machines. IV poles. Bandages. Your leg elevated and immobilized beneath blankets. Soft restraints loosely secured around your wrists so you would not accidentally pull the ventilator tube out while disoriented.

You felt trapped inside your own body.

The panic became unbearable.

Then your eyes landed on the PCA pump beside the bed.

Jack noticed immediately.

His entire face fell.

“Baby…”

You reached weakly toward the button anyway with trembling fingers.

Jack looked absolutely shattered watching you press it. Not angry. Not disappointed.

Heartbroken.

Because he understood immediately what you were doing.

You could not stop the fear. Could not stop the pain.

So you were choosing unconsciousness instead.

Medication flooded slowly through your bloodstream almost immediately afterward. Warmth spread outward in gradual waves, softening the sharp edges of panic first before the pain finally began loosening its grip around your body. The terror still lingered somewhere deep beneath everything else, but it no longer felt sharp enough to suffocate you alive.

Your grip weakened slightly around Jack’s hand as exhaustion dragged heavily at your eyelids again.

Jack stayed exactly where he was.

You could barely keep your eyes open anymore, but you still saw the way he looked at you while the medication slowly pulled you back under.

Completely devastated.

Like watching you choose sedation over consciousness hurt him almost as much as the attack itself.

Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm before your eyes finally slipped closed again.

The last thing you felt before unconsciousness dragged you under completely was Jack lifting your hand carefully toward his mouth and pressing one shaking kiss against your bruised knuckles.

The second time you woke up was somehow worse because this time you stayed conscious long enough to understand what had happened to you.

Pain existed everywhere now.

Not sharp anymore. Not even severe enough in one specific place to focus on. It had settled deeper than that, heavy and constant, wrapping itself around your entire body until even breathing felt exhausting. Every inhale pulled painfully against bruised ribs while your jaw throbbed in slow aching pulses that spread all the way into your skull. The medication dulled the edges enough to keep panic from swallowing you whole again, but not enough to make you forget.

Nothing let you forget for very long.

Garcia stood beside your ICU bed when your eyes finally opened again, flashlight moving carefully across your pupils while monitors hummed steadily around the room. The overhead lights had been dimmed sometime while you slept, leaving everything washed in pale blue-gray shadows that made the hospital feel strangely unreal.

“Hey,” Garcia said softly the second she noticed you were awake. “Welcome back.”

Your hearing still came and went in fractured bursts after the concussion. Some sounds arrived painfully sharp while others disappeared completely beneath the relentless ringing inside your ears. Voices felt warped and distant, like everybody speaking stood underwater somewhere far away from you.

You blinked slowly toward the doorway and spotted Santos hovering there awkwardly holding a bouquet of flowers that looked aggressively stolen from the hospital gift shop. Half the stems bent sideways beneath crinkled plastic wrap while one of the price tags still dangled visibly from the bouquet.

You stared at them for a second before a weak breath of laughter escaped you despite the pain immediately punishing the movement.

Santos looked so relieved at the sound she nearly seemed close to crying herself.

“You scared the absolute shit out of us,” she said quickly, like humor was the only thing keeping her from saying something genuinely emotional instead.

The ghost of a smile tugged weakly at your mouth.

Garcia stepped back after finishing the neuro assessment while Santos moved a little closer to the bed, still clutching the flowers awkwardly against her chest.

“Abbott threatened like six people,” she muttered after clearing her throat.

Your eyes shifted toward her slowly.

“He almost went through security trying to get back to Leon.”

Your stomach twisted instantly.

Leon.

For one horrible second you saw him again exactly as he looked before the attack happened. Pale and exhausted beneath ambulance lights while rain hammered against the windows around both of you. Laughing weakly through pain. Asking if you were always that calm. Looking at you like you were safe.

You swallowed hard against the sudden nausea crawling into your throat.

“What happened to him?” you asked quietly, each word dragging painfully through the ache in your fractured jaw.

Santos’ expression changed immediately. The sarcasm disappeared first. Then the humor.

“He’s okay,” she answered after a moment, voice softer now. “Physically, I mean.”

You closed your eyes briefly.

Santos hesitated before continuing more carefully. “He doesn’t remember anything after the seizure started. Robby thinks it’s the postictal state mixed with the head trauma.”

The room fell quiet after that.

Not awkward quiet.

Heavy quiet.

The kind that settled directly into your ribs and stayed there.

Because the worst part was that you believed her completely.

You knew exactly what postictal violence looked like. You understood the neurological confusion, the blind panic, the total loss of recognition that sometimes followed severe seizures. Rationally and medically, every part of your brain understood exactly what had happened inside Trauma Two.

But emotionally, it still hurt in ways you did not know how to untangle yet.

A strange grief wrapped itself around the fear sitting inside your chest because less than an hour before the attack, Leon had been sitting beside you in the back of an ambulance talking about his daughter and his wife and soccer games and stupid jokes while rain pounded against the windows. You remembered thinking he seemed kind, the sort of patient who apologized too much for being in pain.

You had liked him.

And then suddenly he became the person who nearly killed you.

Emergency medicine was cruel like that sometimes. One second somebody was human to you. The next they became trauma.

Santos stepped closer quietly before squeezing your foot gently through the blanket. “We’ll come back later, okay?”

You nodded weakly.

After they left, the ICU room felt unbearably quiet again. Machines hummed softly around you while rain tapped faintly against distant windows somewhere beyond the hallway. Pittsburgh looked gray outside the narrow ICU window, the city blurred beneath another storm rolling slowly across the skyline.

You drifted in and out for hours after that.

Sometimes nurses came in to check vitals and neuro responses. Sometimes transport arrived to wheel you toward imaging. Sometimes you only woke long enough to register pain before medication dragged you under again.

Then sometime deep into the night, consciousness returned slowly enough that you realized somebody was sitting beside your bed.

Jack.

At first you thought he was asleep.

His head rested bowed carefully against your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, broad shoulders slumped forward like exhaustion had physically crushed him downward into the chair. The dim ICU lighting softened the edges of him enough that for one brief second he looked strangely fragile.

Then you noticed he was shaking.

Your heart cracked instantly.

Jack was crying.

Quietly. Almost silently. But hard enough that his shoulders trembled every few seconds beneath the dim blue ICU lights.

The sight hurt worse than any fracture in your body.

You had seen Jack exhausted before. Angry. Burned out after impossible shifts and mass casualty nights and pediatric codes that left entire departments emotionally gutted afterward.

But you had never seen him like this.

Very slowly, ignoring the pain shooting through your ribs and shoulder, you lifted your fingers weakly toward his hair.

The movement alone was enough.

Jack lifted his head immediately.

His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed beneath exhaustion so deep it looked painful. There was stubble shadowing his jaw now like he had not even thought about himself since this happened, and the healing cut near his cheekbone stood out harshly beneath fluorescent light.

Destroyed.

That was the only word your exhausted brain could find for the way he looked.

Jack Abbott was always the steady one. The person everybody else leaned on during disasters because he never seemed to break no matter how catastrophic things became around him.

Until now.

“I should’ve stayed.”

The words came out rough enough they barely sounded like him at all. Raw. Torn open somewhere deep inside.

You frowned weakly despite the pain. “No.”

“I knew something was wrong.”

“You couldn’t know.”

“I did.”

Jack stood abruptly then, pacing once across the small ICU room before turning back toward you like he physically could not force himself to stay still anymore. His prosthetic clicked sharply against the tile beneath his scrub pants while one trembling hand dragged hard through his hair again.

“I left you alone in there.”

“Jack.”

His face crumpled so suddenly it stole what little breath your bruised ribs could manage.

“When they pulled him off you...” His voice broke completely for one horrible second before he forced himself to continue anyway. “You weren’t moving.”

Your own eyes filled instantly.

Jack pressed shaking fingers hard against his mouth, trying desperately to regain control of himself and failing anyway.

“There was so much blood,” he whispered finally.

The confession hollowed the entire room out around both of you.

You reached toward him carefully despite the pain.

Jack moved back to your bedside immediately this time, like he physically could not tolerate distance from you anymore, and leaned down slowly until his forehead rested carefully against yours.

For a long time neither of you spoke.

Machines hummed softly around the room while rain tapped gently against the windows again. Jack’s breathing still shook every few seconds no matter how hard he tried controlling it, and you realized with sudden aching clarity that he had been holding himself together by force ever since the attack happened.

Probably for everyone else.

For the department.

For you.

Until now.

Finally, through the ache in your jaw and throat, you whispered softly, “You saved me.”

Jack closed his eyes immediately like the words hurt almost as much as the memory itself.

For a long moment he did not say anything at all. His forehead stayed pressed carefully against yours while his breathing shook unevenly every few seconds, and you realized suddenly that he was trying very hard not to completely fall apart in front of you. The effort of it sat visibly in every tense line of his body, in the way his fingers curled tightly around yours like letting go might physically destroy him, in the way his shoulders remained rigid even now like some part of him still expected another disaster to happen the second he stopped bracing for it.

“You almost died.”

The words came out so quietly you nearly missed them beneath the hum of machines surrounding both of you.

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you again, and the expression on his face made something ache deep inside your chest because he looked terrified still.

Not panicked anymore. Not frantic.

Just deeply, genuinely terrified in a way you had never seen before.

“I couldn’t get to you fast enough,” he admitted roughly, eyes fixed on your face like he needed constant proof you were still here. “I heard the safe word and I ran, but by the time I got there...” His throat tightened visibly. “You were on the floor.”

You swallowed painfully.

Bits and pieces still came back in flashes more than complete memories. Leon’s hands around your throat. The cabinet slamming against the back of your skull. The overwhelming certainty that your body was beginning to give out beneath you.

Then Jack.

Your eyes drifted slowly across his face now, taking him in properly for the first time since waking up. The exhaustion. The fear. The sleepless hollowing beneath his eyes. He looked like somebody who had been surviving on adrenaline alone for far too long.

“You did get to me,” you whispered carefully.

Jack laughed once under his breath, but the sound cracked painfully in the middle. “Barely.”

“That’s not true.”

His jaw tightened immediately.

You knew that look. The same one he got after bad outcomes. After losses he carried around long after everybody else moved on. Jack had always been harder on himself than anyone else could ever be, especially when the people he loved were involved.

And God, he loved deeply.

Even when he pretended not to.

You shifted your hand weakly against his, ignoring the ache radiating through your shoulder and ribs.

“Jack.”

His eyes lifted back to yours instantly.

“I’m here.”

Something inside him seemed to break completely at those words.

Jack lowered his head again, pressing one trembling kiss carefully against your bruised knuckles before holding your hand against his chest. His heartbeat pounded hard and uneven beneath your fingers, fast enough that you could still feel the leftover adrenaline vibrating through him.

For a while neither of you spoke again.

The ICU remained dim and quiet around you while rain continued tapping softly against the windows outside. Nurses’ footsteps echoed faintly somewhere down the hallway, distant enough that it almost felt like the rest of the world existed somewhere very far away from this room.

Your eyelids had started growing heavy again by the time Jack finally spoke.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly.

The confession sounded small somehow. Honest in a way that made your chest ache more than the injuries did.

You looked at him for a second before squeezing his hand as tightly as your exhausted body would allow.

“I know,” you whispered.

Jack nodded once, eyes never leaving your face.

Then very carefully, like he was handling something impossibly fragile, he leaned closer and pressed a kiss against your forehead while exhaustion slowly began pulling you back under again.

This time, when sleep finally took you, Jack’s hand never left yours.

taglist : @kittykaylat1987

[shadeofpeach]

4 am

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x girlfriend!reader Warnings: diabetic reader (type 1), hypoglycemia, minor shaking, tremors, exhaustion. Summary: A quiet night is interrupted when a sudden hypoglycemic crash sends you stumbling into the kitchen at 4:00 AM.

A/N this happened to me last night I was so frustrated I just wanted to sleep 😩

Frank woke to the empty space beside him, his intuition sparking before his eyes even opened. He found you sitting on the kitchen floor in the glow of the open fridge, a carton of orange juice at your side and a bowl of yogurt topped with a mountain of honey in your lap.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he knelt beside you. He didn't need to see the glucose monitor to know; he could see it in the slight tremor of your hands and the way your skin looked unnervingly pale. "You’re crashing pretty hard, aren't you?"

You didn't really answer, just gave a faint nod. You looked small in his oversized sweatshirt, your hair a wild halo of tangles. Every movement seemed to happen in slow motion; you chewed like it was an exhausting chore.

Your focus was entirely on the food, your eyes heavy and glazed. When you tried to bring the spoon to your mouth, your hand shook just enough that a drop of honey landed on her sleeve. You stared at it for a long beat, looking like you might cry from the sheer effort of existing.

"I've got it," Frank said softly. He reached out, steadying your hand with his own and guiding the spoon the rest of the way. "Let’s get you some water."

He moved quietly, filling a glass and swapping it for the spoon you were still holding. You took a sluggish sip, your eyes drifting shut as you leaned your forehead against his chest. You didn't have the energy for sentences, just a frustrated sound that vibrated against him.

You were too tired for this, you just wanted to sleep.

"Just a few more bites," he encouraged, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. He stayed there on the floor with you, patient and unmoving, acting as the quiet strength you didn't have in that moment.

Slowly, the fog seemed to lift. The shivering stopped, and the color began to creep back into your cheeks.

You blinked, finally looking at him.

"Frank," you whispered.

"I'm here," he promised, taking the empty bowl and setting it on the counter. "You feel stable enough to move?"

"Bed," you managed to croak out, the first word you’d spoken all night.

"Yeah, bed sounds like a plan."

You gave a small smile, reaching out for him. Frank didn't hesitate; he hooked his arms under you and lifted you easily, carrying you back toward the warmth of the bedroom. You were a dead weight in his arms, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you drifted off before they even reached the door.

He tucked you in gently, pulling the duvet up to your chin and lingering a moment to press a kiss to your temple.

Frank lingered for a moment, checking your sensor one last time.

"Sleep, baby," he quieted, sliding back in beside her and pulling her close. "I'll keep watch."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

What almost was

Frank Langdon X fem!reader:

Warnings: graphic medical scenes, severe blood and injury, emotional trauma, intense hospital emergency, near-death experiences, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort vibes, happy ending, established relationship, suggestive language, possible inaccurate medical terms

Word count: 3.4K The Pitt masterlist

a/n: this was requested by a lovely anon

You were pulled out of your dream by the shrill screeching of your alarm. Your body flinched out of sleep, a groan escaping your lips as the noise continued to blare.

For some reason, Frank liked to be woken by what he referred to as “sounds of nature,” which meant that for the past four years you’d been waking up to the sound of roosters cawing.

You’d tried to tell Frank that people hadn’t woken up to that sound since maybe the 1800s, but he didn’t seem to care.

Frank liked waking up like he was living on a farm, and you liked seeing him wake up happy, so you sacrificed your earbuds in the name of love.

It did not, however, mean you enjoyed it.

You didn’t like the alarm in general — it meant peeling yourself out of bed and dragging your body toward what was sure to be a grueling shift — but you disliked Frank’s alarm even more.

You tugged your pillow from beneath your head and pulled it over your face to dull the sound.

“Make it stop,” you groaned into the pillow, your voice muffled.

After a second, the screeching finally stopped, and the bedroom was swallowed by silence once again. You sighed softly, grateful for the lack of noise.

Warm hands wrapped around your waist as Frank burrowed his nose under the pillow you were hiding beneath, his head settling in the crook of your neck. His nose bumped against your ear, tickling you and drawing out a soft laugh.

“Morning, baby,” Frank whispered against your ear.

You tugged the pillow off your face, turning your head so you could press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Morning,” you whispered against his smile.

You turned your body around, letting Frank pull you tight against his chest. You breathed in, savoring that familiar scent that just seemed to come with Frank. You wanted to stay like this for the rest of the day—unfortunately, you had work.

The alarm started blaring again. You groaned, which only made Frank laugh. He reached back blindly for his phone and shut it off.

“We better get up before we’re late.”

You slapped a hand over your face.

“Oh God. No. I refuse.”

Frank laughed again and tugged you even closer as you let your body sink deeper into the mattress. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Just think—tomorrow we’re both off. No alarms. No trauma bays. No patients throwing up on my shoes.”

His lips dragged along your cheek.

“We can stay in bed as long as we want… go to Altius for dinner… and then I’m taking you home, and you’re gonna be screaming my name all night long.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Frank.”

He kissed that spot just under your ear—the one he knew turned you into absolute putty. 

“What? I’m motivating you.”

When he pulled back, you brushed your nose against his, leaning in for another kiss.

“First we have to work twelve hours,” he whispered against your mouth.

You moved back with a dramatic groan.

“Way to ruin the moment.”

The smell of stale coffee and antiseptic hit as soon as you walked through the double doors. You and Frank ended up standing shoulder to shoulder at the board, your name already splattered under three cases.

“Looks like I’ve got a possible radius and ulna fracture,” you said. “What’d they give you, Frankie?”

He squinted at his line. “A fuckin’ abscess drainage. I swear they’re assigning me the boring ones on purpose.”

You bumped your elbow into him. “That’s because you need to be nicer to people.”

Frank turned like he was ready to protest, then your offer sank in. “You’re taking the abscess?” he said, eyes brightening.

You shrugged, casual. “Sure. You can take the fracture. Grab Mel and knock it out.”

He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.

“God, you’ve never been sexier. I’m tempted to bend you over the nurses’ station right now.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly.

“Calm down, cowboy. This just means you owe me. Next case I don’t want? You’re taking it. No complaints.”

He backed away with that stupid wink.

“You got it, baby.”

As you walked toward Dana, she shook her head at the sight of Frank disappearing into the hall.

“You are way too nice to him,” she muttered.

“It’s my weakness,” you said, because… yeah. It was.

You found Javardi triple-checking her pockets like she’d misplaced her entire existence.

“Javardi!” you called. “Have you seen an abscess drainage before?”

She perked up. “Not in the ED. I’ve only seen videos.”

“Perfect. You’ll observe this one with me. Ask whatever you need. And then I’ll have Dana assign us the next abscess that comes in — that one’s yours. Deal?”

Her eyes widened like you’d just handed her a Christmas bonus.

“Yes! Thank you!”

The patient was in his late fifties, a big guy, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His chart said thigh abscess. The swelling under the blanket confirmed it.

“Hello, Mr. Bernstein,” you said warmly. “I’ll be your doctor today, and this is Dr. Javardi — she’ll be observing. I understand you have an abscess. How long has this been going on?”

“A week and a half,” he grunted. “Hurts like hell. I don’t even know what I did.”

“They can be really painful,” you said gently. “Today we’ll numb the area, drain it, and get you started on antibiotics and pain control. You may need to come back in a couple days for a dressing change. Any questions?”

“No. Let’s do it.”

You pulled the instrument tray closer. Behind you, Javardi laid out the supplies with careful precision.

“Alright, I’m going to disinfect the area and then inject lidocaine for numbing,” you explained. “The lidocaine burns — I’m sorry in advance.”

As you swabbed the skin, Bernstein glanced at Javardi.

“You a student doctor?”

She smiled shyly. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s impressive. Congrats. What year are you?”

You weren’t paying much attention to the exchange — just focusing on getting this guy fixed up and out of the room as fast as possible. There were other people who needed the bed.

Maybe if you had been listening, you would’ve noticed how he wasn’t even looking at Javardi as she chattered nervously about being a student doctor. Maybe you would’ve caught the exact moment his eyes flicked to the scalpel. The precise second his body leaned forward to grab it.

But you weren’t paying attention.

So you didn’t notice any of it until white-hot pain exploded in your side.

Everything happened at once.

Javardi’s scream tore through the room. The sound that came out of you wasn’t even a scream—more like the air had been punched out of your lungs all at once. Your hand flew to your side, warm blood already slicking your fingers.

Dana burst through the doorway, eyes wide as she searched for the source of the scream. When she saw you slumped on the floor, your palm stained red, she didn’t hesitate.

“Code white! Security — I need security!”

Robby and Ahmed barreled in behind her, going straight for Bernstein. The room detonated into chaos: shouting, the crash of a rolling cart, Bernstein snarling something incoherent as he fought them.

But all of it felt… weirdly distant. Your vision wasn’t focusing the way it should. Your ears rang. The pain was white-hot, stabbing—and then somehow ice-cold underneath.

Dana dropped to her knees beside you, eyes huge. “Jesus—okay, okay—pressure, we need pressure on that wound—Javardi, get Langdon, now!”

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Dana pressed down on your side, and you let out a raw, broken groan.

“I know, hon. I’m sorry, I know. I have to keep you from bleeding out.”

Frank barreled into the room like someone had launched him from a canon. He didn’t even look at Bernstein or the chaos around him — his eyes found you instantly.

He froze.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Then he dropped to the floor beside you, hands cupping your face, his voice too calm to be real.

“Hey, baby. I’m here. Look at me. Don’t worry.”

His gaze flicked down to where Dana’s hands were drenched in your blood. His eyes snapped back up, meeting Dana’s — her expression mirroring exactly what he felt.

You swallowed hard, tasting metal.

“Frankie…”

“Stay with me, baby,” he blurted, breath shaking. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, okay?”

“We need to move her, Frank — if we don’t, she’ll—” Dana stammered.

“I know!” Frank snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him.

But it wasn’t anger that made him raise his voice — it was fear. Dana knew that, so she didn’t take it personally.

Javardi was talking to Robby, stumbling through an explanation about how she hadn’t seen it coming, how there were no signs of distress. Robby called for Princess, asking her to take Javardi somewhere else — the girl was clearly in shock. Princess nodded, guiding her out by the shoulders. As they passed you, you could hear Javardi sobbing apologies the whole way out.

Someone touched Frank’s shoulder, snapping his attention upward. Mel crouched beside him, her expression sharp and focused.

“What do you need?” she asked.

Frank didn’t hesitate.

“You’re gonna take over pressure. You have to be aggressive. I don’t care if she screams — she’ll bleed out otherwise.”

You barely inhaled before Mel and Dana switched hands.

The scream tore out of you before you could stop it.

Frank gathered you into his arms, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

“We’re going to the trauma bay. Mel — keep that pressure. Don’t stop. One, two, three—”

He stood, muscles tensing as he carried you out while Mel kept her hands clamped to your side.

People jumped out of the way. You heard gasps, someone calling for a crash cart, a nurse shouting to prep a trauma room.

Frank’s breath was hot and ragged against your hair.

“Stay awake,” he kept saying. “Baby, stay awake. Don’t do this.”

Bright lights. Cold air. Too many hands.

They lowered you onto the bed, and you cried out when Mel’s pressure shifted for even a second. Perla grabbed scissors, slicing open your scrubs and exposing the full wound. It wasn’t small. A sickening amount of blood pooled beneath you.

Frank’s voice cracked.

“Fuck.”

Robby rushed in beside you.

“I need TXA on board now! Give me ketamine, two bags of O-neg STAT! Langdon, keep her with you!”

Frank cupped your cheek with blood-soaked fingers, forcing your gaze up to his.

“Hey. I’m right here. Stay with me. Stay calm.”

Your vision shimmered. Your ears buzzed.

Frank tried to smile.

“You always said if you were ever hurt you’d want Robby as your doctor instead of me. That’s still kinda rude, by the way.”

You actually felt a weak flicker of amusement.

Your hand — slippery with blood — lifted halfway before you could stop it. Frank caught it instantly, pressing it to his mouth.

“Frankie…” you gurgled.

His breathing faltered.

Behind him, a monitor beeped erratically.

Then— It didn’t.

A flat, continuous tone filled the room.

Everyone froze.

Frank’s head whipped toward the monitor.

“No,” he whispered.

The world went silent.

Robby shouted from somewhere far away, “Push epi! Start compressions! Now!”

Frank snapped back into motion and climbed onto the gurney, starting compressions himself. A sickening crack echoed—your sternum giving way.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered raggedly as he pumped your chest. “But you’re not leaving me. You don’t get to leave.”

Minutes stretched—endless, brutal.

Twenty minutes later, Robby’s voice was quiet.

“Frank… it’s time.”

“No!” Frank barked, still compressing. “We keep going! She’s not gone!”

He leaned down, forehead pressing to yours.

“Tomorrow—I was gonna propose. The ring’s hidden in my locker, top shelf. You can’t miss that. You promised me a lifetime, baby—don’t you dare—”

Dana’s voice broke. “Frank… she’s gone.”

His entire body trembled. Tears streamed down his face as he choked, “We’re supposed to get married. Have kids. Grow old. I love her. I love her—”

Robby placed his hands on Frank’s. “Frank… time of death is 11:42.”

Frank collapsed over you with a raw, broken sound no one in the room would ever forget.

Mel never stopped applying pressure.

And then—

A blip on the monitor.

Another.

Robby turned. “Dana—pulse check!”

“I have something!” Dana gasped.

“Dr. King—on the gurney. DO NOT lift your hand. Hang another liter. Push norepi. OR, now!”

Frank kissed your forehead before they raced you out of the room. He stood there shaking, covered in your blood.

Robby took his shoulders. “We got her back. She has a shot. Garcia will take care of her. She’s a fighter.”

Frank sobbed. “This was my case. She switched with me.”

“No,” Robby said firmly. “Don’t do that. You saved her. Those compressions saved her.”

Frank broke, pulling Robby into a hug. “Thank you for not giving up on her.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking. Mel’s the one who kept pressure even after we called it. She’s the one who gave her a chance.”

Robby patted Frank’s back as he finally pulled away from the hug.

“She’s gonna make it, Frank.”

He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the door they’d wheeled you through. Robby left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts for a moment.

He felt exhausted all of a sudden, the adrenaline that had been pumping through him finally draining from his body. He stumbled out of the room, his eyes immediately finding Mel talking to Robby. Her scrubs and hands were covered in blood.

Your blood.

Frank’s stomach lurched at the sight, but he forced himself to walk toward her anyway. Mel’s head snapped over to him at the sound of his shoes against the floor.

“Dr. Langdon, they’ve started the procedure, she’s—”

But before she could finish, Frank stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, desperate hug. Mel let out a startled sound. Frank’s voice broke against her shoulder.

 “God, you saved her, Mel. You fuckin’ saved her. I can’t thank you enough.”

Mel awkwardly patted his back, still clearly unsure of what to do.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Langdon.”

When he finally let her go Dana was at his side, her hand moving to rest on his back as she gave him a soft look.

“Frank. Go shower. I promise—if we hear anything, I’ll come get you myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, like leaving the hallway meant abandoning you somehow—but Dana just held his stare. Eventually his shoulders dropped, and he nodded.

The locker room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too normal. Frank stripped out of his blood-soaked scrubs with shaking hands. When he stepped under the water, the red spiraled down the drain in thin, diluted streams. He pressed his palms to the tile and let the water hit the back of his neck. His chest hurt. His eyes burned. His breath kept catching in that half-sob way he couldn't stop.

By the time he walked out, hair still dripping, fresh scrubs clinging to him, Javardi was waiting. Her face crumpled as soon as she saw him. Frank could tell just from looking at her that she'd been crying just as much as he had. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I froze. I got in the way. I should’ve—”

Frank let out a sigh, his hand moving to rest gently on Javardi’s shoulder as her face twisted into a deep frown.

“This wasn’t your fault, Javardi. You couldn’t have known what he was going to do—there weren’t any signs. You said so yourself.”

Javardi stared at him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? Just go home. Get some rest.”

She nodded, crying even harder, and backed away down the hallway.

Hours later, you slowly slipped into consciousness.

Everything hurt. A deep, throbbing, full-body ache that made your breath stutter. When you tried to shift—even a little—a sharp stab tore through your side, and you let out a groan.

Frank jerked awake instantly.

His head had been resting on the mattress beside you, his fingers tangled with yours. His eyes shot open—red, puffy, glassy. He looked wrecked.

You blinked at him, your voice scratchy. “Frankie… you look terrible.”

He let out a weak laugh—half relief, half broken sob. “You literally died, and that’s the first thing you say?”

You tried to laugh, but the motion made your voice twist in pain. Frank immediately shushed you, lifting from his seat so he could press a soft kiss to your temple.

“God, I love you,” he whispered against your skin—skin that, thankfully, was no longer cold and clammy like it had been the last time he kissed you.

“I love you too.” You squeezed his hand as best you could as he settled back into his seat.

For a long moment he just stared at you, drinking in the fact that you were alive—breathing—talking. The adrenaline was gone, but the terror still clung to him.

“What… what happened?” you whispered.

Frank swallowed thickly.

“We almost lost you.” His voice cracked. “We did lose you. For a minute.” He dropped his forehead to your hand. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ll try my best.”

Frank let out this shaky little laugh at your words — the kind of sound someone makes after almost drowning. It lasted all of two seconds before the smile fell right off his face.

He went quiet. Completely still. And then his chin wobbled. His breath hitched. His eyes filled again, overflowing before he even tried to stop it.

“Frank…” you whispered.

He shook his head like he was mad at himself for breaking. A tear hit the blanket near your hip. You squeezed his hand weakly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

His shoulders caved inward, like everything he’d been holding back finally punched through.

“I was so fucking scared,” he choked out. “I thought—God, I thought I lost you for good.”

You dragged in a slow breath, ignoring the ache that lanced through your ribs. 

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked at you, like he still didn’t quite believe it. Then he let out this humorless little scoff.

“Life’s too fucking short, isn’t it?”

You blinked, confused. “Frank…?”

He inhaled sharply, sat back just a bit, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand. Then his gaze softened in this heartbreaking way, and he shook his head.

“I was gonna wait,” he said quietly. “Better circumstances, you know? Something romantic. Something… not this.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly.

He swallowed hard. “But after today? After watching you—after hearing that monitor—” His voice cracked again. “You never know what’s gonna happen. So I’m done waiting. I’m done pretending I’m not ready.”

He reached into the pocket of his scrub pants — the new pair Dana forced him into — and pulled out a small, black velvet box. His hand shook.

Your breath caught, and pain flared in your torso. You let out a soft gasp.

 “Frank—are you seriously proposing to me while I’m lying in a hospital bed?”

He gave a watery laugh. 

“Yeah. I guess I am.” His thumb brushed the lid of the box. “So… what do you say?”

You stared at him — at his wrecked face, his trembling lip, his desperate, hopeful eyes — and your heart swelled painfully in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Frank let out a relieved, broken laugh that instantly dissolved into more tears. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to yours, careful of all your lines and bandages.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God.”

He kissed your hand — over and over — whispering your name each time like a prayer.

Frank slid the ring onto your finger with hands that were still trembling, letting out a shaky breath like he’d been holding it for hours. His eyes flicked up to yours, still glossy but finally… lighter.

“So,” he murmured, giving you that crooked, exhausted smile, “how’s it feel to be Mrs. Langdon?”

You blinked, took the smallest inhale — and immediately regretted it.

“Honestly?” you rasped. “Like shit.”

There was half a beat of silence before Frank barked out a laugh, trying to smother it against your arm.

You groaned, “No—don’t make me laugh, it hurts—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, absolutely not sorry, still laughing through what might’ve been lingering tears.

You started laughing too, breathy and pained but real, and reached over to squeeze his hand. “God, we’re a disaster.”

Frank dropped his forehead against your arm, still smiling. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smiled at him, nose bumping into his as you gave him a soft kiss before whispering, “Me neither.”

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

What almost was

Frank Langdon X fem!reader:

Warnings: graphic medical scenes, severe blood and injury, emotional trauma, intense hospital emergency, near-death experiences, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort vibes, happy ending, established relationship, suggestive language, possible inaccurate medical terms

Word count: 3.4K The Pitt masterlist

a/n: this was requested by a lovely anon

You were pulled out of your dream by the shrill screeching of your alarm. Your body flinched out of sleep, a groan escaping your lips as the noise continued to blare.

For some reason, Frank liked to be woken by what he referred to as “sounds of nature,” which meant that for the past four years you’d been waking up to the sound of roosters cawing.

You’d tried to tell Frank that people hadn’t woken up to that sound since maybe the 1800s, but he didn’t seem to care.

Frank liked waking up like he was living on a farm, and you liked seeing him wake up happy, so you sacrificed your earbuds in the name of love.

It did not, however, mean you enjoyed it.

You didn’t like the alarm in general — it meant peeling yourself out of bed and dragging your body toward what was sure to be a grueling shift — but you disliked Frank’s alarm even more.

You tugged your pillow from beneath your head and pulled it over your face to dull the sound.

“Make it stop,” you groaned into the pillow, your voice muffled.

After a second, the screeching finally stopped, and the bedroom was swallowed by silence once again. You sighed softly, grateful for the lack of noise.

Warm hands wrapped around your waist as Frank burrowed his nose under the pillow you were hiding beneath, his head settling in the crook of your neck. His nose bumped against your ear, tickling you and drawing out a soft laugh.

“Morning, baby,” Frank whispered against your ear.

You tugged the pillow off your face, turning your head so you could press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Morning,” you whispered against his smile.

You turned your body around, letting Frank pull you tight against his chest. You breathed in, savoring that familiar scent that just seemed to come with Frank. You wanted to stay like this for the rest of the day—unfortunately, you had work.

The alarm started blaring again. You groaned, which only made Frank laugh. He reached back blindly for his phone and shut it off.

“We better get up before we’re late.”

You slapped a hand over your face.

“Oh God. No. I refuse.”

Frank laughed again and tugged you even closer as you let your body sink deeper into the mattress. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Just think—tomorrow we’re both off. No alarms. No trauma bays. No patients throwing up on my shoes.”

His lips dragged along your cheek.

“We can stay in bed as long as we want… go to Altius for dinner… and then I’m taking you home, and you’re gonna be screaming my name all night long.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Frank.”

He kissed that spot just under your ear—the one he knew turned you into absolute putty. 

“What? I’m motivating you.”

When he pulled back, you brushed your nose against his, leaning in for another kiss.

“First we have to work twelve hours,” he whispered against your mouth.

You moved back with a dramatic groan.

“Way to ruin the moment.”

The smell of stale coffee and antiseptic hit as soon as you walked through the double doors. You and Frank ended up standing shoulder to shoulder at the board, your name already splattered under three cases.

“Looks like I’ve got a possible radius and ulna fracture,” you said. “What’d they give you, Frankie?”

He squinted at his line. “A fuckin’ abscess drainage. I swear they’re assigning me the boring ones on purpose.”

You bumped your elbow into him. “That’s because you need to be nicer to people.”

Frank turned like he was ready to protest, then your offer sank in. “You’re taking the abscess?” he said, eyes brightening.

You shrugged, casual. “Sure. You can take the fracture. Grab Mel and knock it out.”

He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.

“God, you’ve never been sexier. I’m tempted to bend you over the nurses’ station right now.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly.

“Calm down, cowboy. This just means you owe me. Next case I don’t want? You’re taking it. No complaints.”

He backed away with that stupid wink.

“You got it, baby.”

As you walked toward Dana, she shook her head at the sight of Frank disappearing into the hall.

“You are way too nice to him,” she muttered.

“It’s my weakness,” you said, because… yeah. It was.

You found Javardi triple-checking her pockets like she’d misplaced her entire existence.

“Javardi!” you called. “Have you seen an abscess drainage before?”

She perked up. “Not in the ED. I’ve only seen videos.”

“Perfect. You’ll observe this one with me. Ask whatever you need. And then I’ll have Dana assign us the next abscess that comes in — that one’s yours. Deal?”

Her eyes widened like you’d just handed her a Christmas bonus.

“Yes! Thank you!”

The patient was in his late fifties, a big guy, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His chart said thigh abscess. The swelling under the blanket confirmed it.

“Hello, Mr. Bernstein,” you said warmly. “I’ll be your doctor today, and this is Dr. Javardi — she’ll be observing. I understand you have an abscess. How long has this been going on?”

“A week and a half,” he grunted. “Hurts like hell. I don’t even know what I did.”

“They can be really painful,” you said gently. “Today we’ll numb the area, drain it, and get you started on antibiotics and pain control. You may need to come back in a couple days for a dressing change. Any questions?”

“No. Let’s do it.”

You pulled the instrument tray closer. Behind you, Javardi laid out the supplies with careful precision.

“Alright, I’m going to disinfect the area and then inject lidocaine for numbing,” you explained. “The lidocaine burns — I’m sorry in advance.”

As you swabbed the skin, Bernstein glanced at Javardi.

“You a student doctor?”

She smiled shyly. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s impressive. Congrats. What year are you?”

You weren’t paying much attention to the exchange — just focusing on getting this guy fixed up and out of the room as fast as possible. There were other people who needed the bed.

Maybe if you had been listening, you would’ve noticed how he wasn’t even looking at Javardi as she chattered nervously about being a student doctor. Maybe you would’ve caught the exact moment his eyes flicked to the scalpel. The precise second his body leaned forward to grab it.

But you weren’t paying attention.

So you didn’t notice any of it until white-hot pain exploded in your side.

Everything happened at once.

Javardi’s scream tore through the room. The sound that came out of you wasn’t even a scream—more like the air had been punched out of your lungs all at once. Your hand flew to your side, warm blood already slicking your fingers.

Dana burst through the doorway, eyes wide as she searched for the source of the scream. When she saw you slumped on the floor, your palm stained red, she didn’t hesitate.

“Code white! Security — I need security!”

Robby and Ahmed barreled in behind her, going straight for Bernstein. The room detonated into chaos: shouting, the crash of a rolling cart, Bernstein snarling something incoherent as he fought them.

But all of it felt… weirdly distant. Your vision wasn’t focusing the way it should. Your ears rang. The pain was white-hot, stabbing—and then somehow ice-cold underneath.

Dana dropped to her knees beside you, eyes huge. “Jesus—okay, okay—pressure, we need pressure on that wound—Javardi, get Langdon, now!”

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Dana pressed down on your side, and you let out a raw, broken groan.

“I know, hon. I’m sorry, I know. I have to keep you from bleeding out.”

Frank barreled into the room like someone had launched him from a canon. He didn’t even look at Bernstein or the chaos around him — his eyes found you instantly.

He froze.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Then he dropped to the floor beside you, hands cupping your face, his voice too calm to be real.

“Hey, baby. I’m here. Look at me. Don’t worry.”

His gaze flicked down to where Dana’s hands were drenched in your blood. His eyes snapped back up, meeting Dana’s — her expression mirroring exactly what he felt.

You swallowed hard, tasting metal.

“Frankie…”

“Stay with me, baby,” he blurted, breath shaking. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, okay?”

“We need to move her, Frank — if we don’t, she’ll—” Dana stammered.

“I know!” Frank snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him.

But it wasn’t anger that made him raise his voice — it was fear. Dana knew that, so she didn’t take it personally.

Javardi was talking to Robby, stumbling through an explanation about how she hadn’t seen it coming, how there were no signs of distress. Robby called for Princess, asking her to take Javardi somewhere else — the girl was clearly in shock. Princess nodded, guiding her out by the shoulders. As they passed you, you could hear Javardi sobbing apologies the whole way out.

Someone touched Frank’s shoulder, snapping his attention upward. Mel crouched beside him, her expression sharp and focused.

“What do you need?” she asked.

Frank didn’t hesitate.

“You’re gonna take over pressure. You have to be aggressive. I don’t care if she screams — she’ll bleed out otherwise.”

You barely inhaled before Mel and Dana switched hands.

The scream tore out of you before you could stop it.

Frank gathered you into his arms, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

“We’re going to the trauma bay. Mel — keep that pressure. Don’t stop. One, two, three—”

He stood, muscles tensing as he carried you out while Mel kept her hands clamped to your side.

People jumped out of the way. You heard gasps, someone calling for a crash cart, a nurse shouting to prep a trauma room.

Frank’s breath was hot and ragged against your hair.

“Stay awake,” he kept saying. “Baby, stay awake. Don’t do this.”

Bright lights. Cold air. Too many hands.

They lowered you onto the bed, and you cried out when Mel’s pressure shifted for even a second. Perla grabbed scissors, slicing open your scrubs and exposing the full wound. It wasn’t small. A sickening amount of blood pooled beneath you.

Frank’s voice cracked.

“Fuck.”

Robby rushed in beside you.

“I need TXA on board now! Give me ketamine, two bags of O-neg STAT! Langdon, keep her with you!”

Frank cupped your cheek with blood-soaked fingers, forcing your gaze up to his.

“Hey. I’m right here. Stay with me. Stay calm.”

Your vision shimmered. Your ears buzzed.

Frank tried to smile.

“You always said if you were ever hurt you’d want Robby as your doctor instead of me. That’s still kinda rude, by the way.”

You actually felt a weak flicker of amusement.

Your hand — slippery with blood — lifted halfway before you could stop it. Frank caught it instantly, pressing it to his mouth.

“Frankie…” you gurgled.

His breathing faltered.

Behind him, a monitor beeped erratically.

Then— It didn’t.

A flat, continuous tone filled the room.

Everyone froze.

Frank’s head whipped toward the monitor.

“No,” he whispered.

The world went silent.

Robby shouted from somewhere far away, “Push epi! Start compressions! Now!”

Frank snapped back into motion and climbed onto the gurney, starting compressions himself. A sickening crack echoed—your sternum giving way.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered raggedly as he pumped your chest. “But you’re not leaving me. You don’t get to leave.”

Minutes stretched—endless, brutal.

Twenty minutes later, Robby’s voice was quiet.

“Frank… it’s time.”

“No!” Frank barked, still compressing. “We keep going! She’s not gone!”

He leaned down, forehead pressing to yours.

“Tomorrow—I was gonna propose. The ring’s hidden in my locker, top shelf. You can’t miss that. You promised me a lifetime, baby—don’t you dare—”

Dana’s voice broke. “Frank… she’s gone.”

His entire body trembled. Tears streamed down his face as he choked, “We’re supposed to get married. Have kids. Grow old. I love her. I love her—”

Robby placed his hands on Frank’s. “Frank… time of death is 11:42.”

Frank collapsed over you with a raw, broken sound no one in the room would ever forget.

Mel never stopped applying pressure.

And then—

A blip on the monitor.

Another.

Robby turned. “Dana—pulse check!”

“I have something!” Dana gasped.

“Dr. King—on the gurney. DO NOT lift your hand. Hang another liter. Push norepi. OR, now!”

Frank kissed your forehead before they raced you out of the room. He stood there shaking, covered in your blood.

Robby took his shoulders. “We got her back. She has a shot. Garcia will take care of her. She’s a fighter.”

Frank sobbed. “This was my case. She switched with me.”

“No,” Robby said firmly. “Don’t do that. You saved her. Those compressions saved her.”

Frank broke, pulling Robby into a hug. “Thank you for not giving up on her.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking. Mel’s the one who kept pressure even after we called it. She’s the one who gave her a chance.”

Robby patted Frank’s back as he finally pulled away from the hug.

“She’s gonna make it, Frank.”

He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the door they’d wheeled you through. Robby left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts for a moment.

He felt exhausted all of a sudden, the adrenaline that had been pumping through him finally draining from his body. He stumbled out of the room, his eyes immediately finding Mel talking to Robby. Her scrubs and hands were covered in blood.

Your blood.

Frank’s stomach lurched at the sight, but he forced himself to walk toward her anyway. Mel’s head snapped over to him at the sound of his shoes against the floor.

“Dr. Langdon, they’ve started the procedure, she’s—”

But before she could finish, Frank stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, desperate hug. Mel let out a startled sound. Frank’s voice broke against her shoulder.

 “God, you saved her, Mel. You fuckin’ saved her. I can’t thank you enough.”

Mel awkwardly patted his back, still clearly unsure of what to do.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Langdon.”

When he finally let her go Dana was at his side, her hand moving to rest on his back as she gave him a soft look.

“Frank. Go shower. I promise—if we hear anything, I’ll come get you myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, like leaving the hallway meant abandoning you somehow—but Dana just held his stare. Eventually his shoulders dropped, and he nodded.

The locker room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too normal. Frank stripped out of his blood-soaked scrubs with shaking hands. When he stepped under the water, the red spiraled down the drain in thin, diluted streams. He pressed his palms to the tile and let the water hit the back of his neck. His chest hurt. His eyes burned. His breath kept catching in that half-sob way he couldn't stop.

By the time he walked out, hair still dripping, fresh scrubs clinging to him, Javardi was waiting. Her face crumpled as soon as she saw him. Frank could tell just from looking at her that she'd been crying just as much as he had. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I froze. I got in the way. I should’ve—”

Frank let out a sigh, his hand moving to rest gently on Javardi’s shoulder as her face twisted into a deep frown.

“This wasn’t your fault, Javardi. You couldn’t have known what he was going to do—there weren’t any signs. You said so yourself.”

Javardi stared at him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? Just go home. Get some rest.”

She nodded, crying even harder, and backed away down the hallway.

Hours later, you slowly slipped into consciousness.

Everything hurt. A deep, throbbing, full-body ache that made your breath stutter. When you tried to shift—even a little—a sharp stab tore through your side, and you let out a groan.

Frank jerked awake instantly.

His head had been resting on the mattress beside you, his fingers tangled with yours. His eyes shot open—red, puffy, glassy. He looked wrecked.

You blinked at him, your voice scratchy. “Frankie… you look terrible.”

He let out a weak laugh—half relief, half broken sob. “You literally died, and that’s the first thing you say?”

You tried to laugh, but the motion made your voice twist in pain. Frank immediately shushed you, lifting from his seat so he could press a soft kiss to your temple.

“God, I love you,” he whispered against your skin—skin that, thankfully, was no longer cold and clammy like it had been the last time he kissed you.

“I love you too.” You squeezed his hand as best you could as he settled back into his seat.

For a long moment he just stared at you, drinking in the fact that you were alive—breathing—talking. The adrenaline was gone, but the terror still clung to him.

“What… what happened?” you whispered.

Frank swallowed thickly.

“We almost lost you.” His voice cracked. “We did lose you. For a minute.” He dropped his forehead to your hand. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ll try my best.”

Frank let out this shaky little laugh at your words — the kind of sound someone makes after almost drowning. It lasted all of two seconds before the smile fell right off his face.

He went quiet. Completely still. And then his chin wobbled. His breath hitched. His eyes filled again, overflowing before he even tried to stop it.

“Frank…” you whispered.

He shook his head like he was mad at himself for breaking. A tear hit the blanket near your hip. You squeezed his hand weakly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

His shoulders caved inward, like everything he’d been holding back finally punched through.

“I was so fucking scared,” he choked out. “I thought—God, I thought I lost you for good.”

You dragged in a slow breath, ignoring the ache that lanced through your ribs. 

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked at you, like he still didn’t quite believe it. Then he let out this humorless little scoff.

“Life’s too fucking short, isn’t it?”

You blinked, confused. “Frank…?”

He inhaled sharply, sat back just a bit, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand. Then his gaze softened in this heartbreaking way, and he shook his head.

“I was gonna wait,” he said quietly. “Better circumstances, you know? Something romantic. Something… not this.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly.

He swallowed hard. “But after today? After watching you—after hearing that monitor—” His voice cracked again. “You never know what’s gonna happen. So I’m done waiting. I’m done pretending I’m not ready.”

He reached into the pocket of his scrub pants — the new pair Dana forced him into — and pulled out a small, black velvet box. His hand shook.

Your breath caught, and pain flared in your torso. You let out a soft gasp.

 “Frank—are you seriously proposing to me while I’m lying in a hospital bed?”

He gave a watery laugh. 

“Yeah. I guess I am.” His thumb brushed the lid of the box. “So… what do you say?”

You stared at him — at his wrecked face, his trembling lip, his desperate, hopeful eyes — and your heart swelled painfully in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Frank let out a relieved, broken laugh that instantly dissolved into more tears. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to yours, careful of all your lines and bandages.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God.”

He kissed your hand — over and over — whispering your name each time like a prayer.

Frank slid the ring onto your finger with hands that were still trembling, letting out a shaky breath like he’d been holding it for hours. His eyes flicked up to yours, still glossy but finally… lighter.

“So,” he murmured, giving you that crooked, exhausted smile, “how’s it feel to be Mrs. Langdon?”

You blinked, took the smallest inhale — and immediately regretted it.

“Honestly?” you rasped. “Like shit.”

There was half a beat of silence before Frank barked out a laugh, trying to smother it against your arm.

You groaned, “No—don’t make me laugh, it hurts—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, absolutely not sorry, still laughing through what might’ve been lingering tears.

You started laughing too, breathy and pained but real, and reached over to squeeze his hand. “God, we’re a disaster.”

Frank dropped his forehead against your arm, still smiling. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smiled at him, nose bumping into his as you gave him a soft kiss before whispering, “Me neither.”

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

A family affair

Langdon X Fem! Nurse! Reader

Summary: You’re married to Frank, and Robby is your uncle, but people in the ER don’t know this and it ends up causing some problems

Warnings: kissing, workplace romance, false cheating rumors, family relationships, workplace rumors, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.0K

Requested by @thecranberrypineapple

a/n: finally managed to get some writing done! I haven’t had much free time with the holidays, traveling, and everything else, but I promise I’ll get to all the requests in my inbox...eventually 🫠

You’ve known Frank for a long time—long before you ever stepped into the ER. You met in college, both bright and eager to learn. From the moment you first talked to him, you knew you wanted to keep him around, wanted to make him a constant part of your life.

Luckily for you, you managed to get your wish. 

Years of friendship slowly shifted into something more romantic, and before you knew it, it had turned into a lasting relationship. And when Frank finally got down on one knee, there was only one answer you wanted to give him.

That answer was yes.

You loved being Frank’s wife—loved knowing that at the end of the day, he was the one coming home with you. But there was one small issue: you both worked together.

Even though you’d started working in the same hospital back when you were just dating, and there was nothing that explicitly prohibited coworkers from being in a relationship as long as it didn’t interfere with their work in the ER, you and Frank had decided to keep your relationship quiet.

Not a secret exactly—more like something you simply didn’t mention at work. The moment the two of you stepped into the ER, you both slipped into your “professional mode,” only interacting with each other in ways that could be seen as two coworkers who happened to be friendly.

People knew you were married. Frank wore his ring on his finger every day, and you always had yours hanging on a chain around your neck—so yes, people knew you were married. They just didn’t know it was to each other.

It was kind of funny, actually. You and Frank had turned it into a sort of game. He would talk about his wife, always praising her, knowing you were close enough to hear. His eyes would find yours, giving you that knowing look that never failed to make you smile. And you did the same—talking about how amazing your husband was, your eyes often catching the soft smirk that would grace Frank’s features as you did. 

It was the way the two of you had found to still give each other love during your shifts without alerting the rest of the people at work that you were actually talking about each other.

But that wasn’t the only thing people didn’t know.

Frank turned off the car engine, the silence in the interior taking over for a moment. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath—this would be the last moment of peace and quiet you’d have until another twelve hours had passed, and you wanted to savor it.

Frank grabbed your hand, causing your eyes to open as you turned to look at him. You gave him a soft smile as he gazed back at you.

“Ready to march into battle?”

You nodded, giving his hand one last squeeze before reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something.”

You gave Frank a confused look, which made him pucker his lips, exaggeratingly tilting toward you.

“My goodbye kiss.”

You knew what he’d said, but with his puckered lips it sounded more like, “Mu gubye kisth.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before leaning over the center console and giving Frank a quick kiss.

“Come on, Langdon. We’ll be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As always, you and Frank walked in together. Nobody questioned the fact that you always arrived with each other—you’d given the bullshit excuse that you lived close by, and that it was easier for Frank to give you a ride than for both of you to drive to work. Plus, it was better for the environment. One less car on the streets.

Of course, people believed you. You gave them no reason not to.

When you made your way over to check the board, Robby caught sight of you. He smiled and made his way over with ease. You let him tug you into a quick side hug, your arm wrapping briefly around his waist.

“Hey, Honey. How you doing today?”

You pulled back so you could look him in the eyes.

“I’m doing good. How about you, Robby?”

Your eyes caught the bags under his eyes, and you immediately knew he hadn’t slept well the night before. But Robby hated people worrying about him, so when he said he was fine, you pretended to believe it.

“You searching for a target?”

At Robby’s question, your gaze flicked back to the board, briefly catching Frank disappearing into one of the rooms with Mel before settling on the writing on the screen.

“Gonna start easy, I think. A kid with a nosebleed might be ready for discharge. I’ll go check on him.”

“Alright then. The kid’s in good hands. See you around, Honey.”

You smiled as Robby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze before heading off, leaving you to make your way toward your first patient. You didn’t even notice the glances, didn’t hear the whispers as you moved through the ER. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

See, here’s the thing—people in the ER love to gossip. It keeps them entertained, helps keep the pain and sadness at bay as you all try to make it through your shifts. And when people don’t have all the information, they can come up with some pretty wild rumors.

The most recent one was that you and Robby were secretly married to each other. Which was absurd—not only because of the age difference, but because Robby was family. Literally family. He was your uncle. Biologically. As in, your father’s brother.

But people didn’t know that. Only a select few did—people who mattered, like Dana and Jack and the higher-ups. They knew either because they’d seen you grow up, in Dana and Jack’s case, or because they’d been responsible for hiring you and were aware of your family ties to Robby.

But everybody else?

Oh yeah. They had no clue.

Which ended up causing some… issues.

Because the Robby rumor was bad—but the Frank one was so much worse.

It started harmlessly. Frank bringing you coffee during a lull. Leaning against the counter beside you while you charted, shoulders brushing. A hand resting briefly at the small of your back as he passed behind you in a crowded hallway.

Normal things. Small things.

Things that meant everything to the wrong people.

They started noticing it one by one. Santos clocked the way Frank’s voice softened when he spoke to you. Javadi caught the way Frank’s eyes followed you across the ER when you laughed at something a patient said. Whitaker saw Frank step a little too close when you were visibly shaken after a bad case.

And then, to make matters so much worse, someone saw you and Frank in a very private moment.

You hadn’t thought anything of it—ducking into an empty break room, adrenaline still buzzing through you after a rough trauma. Frank followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, hands already finding your waist. “You did good in there.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, fingers fisting in his scrub top as he kissed you—slow at first, then deeper. Familiar. Safe. His hand slid up your back, grounding you.

You were so caught up in Frank that you didn’t hear the door hinges open slightly. Didn’t hear the soft gasp, or the door shutting a little too quickly.

Someone had seen you with Frank. And because they thought you were married to Robby—and didn’t know Frank was married to you—the speculation took a sharp turn, fast.

An affair. A scandal. A nurse cheating with a married attending.

And somehow—somehow—people thought they’d finally figured out the truth.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

And because you had no idea these rumors even existed, you ended up unintentionally feeding into them.

When a tough case got to you, Robby had pulled you to the side, giving you a bear hug as tears swelled in your eyes. And when he left the room to keep working, and you started to take a breather, Frank had slipped in, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke comforting words.

And people saw it. They saw these small, soft moments—and twisted them into something they weren’t.

But like everything in life, there was a final straw.

It came as an accusation.

You were hunched over the chart, scribbling notes after checking on your patient, when a voice from the nurses’ station broke the quiet.

“You know… you should really own up to it.”

You froze, pen in midair. “Excuse me?”

They leaned a little closer, a smirk playing at the corner of their lips.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be coy. We all know you’re… you’re cheating on Robby.”

Your hand dropped to the counter. “What?!”

Someone else, leaning over nearby, snickered. You blinked, utterly confused.

“Cheating? On… Robby?”

The first person shrugged, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah. I mean… it’s obvious. You and Frank, right? We see it all the time.”

You held up a hand. “Okay, whoa. You need to relax. You’ve got this all wrong. Completely wrong.”

By that point, movement in the hallway caught your attention. Robby and Frank had both emerged from different rooms, strolling in the general direction of the nurses’ station. Their heads tilted slightly, noticing you animatedly talking to someone, lips moving, hands gesturing.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

As they approached, you straightened, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Okay,” you said, raising your voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear, “let’s get something straight. For everyone.”

The staff fell quiet, leaning in curiously.

“I am married—to Frank,” you said slowly, letting it sink in. “Robby is my uncle. I am not cheating on anyone. And yes, we all work together, but none of what you’re imagining is actually happening.”

A pause. Some eyes widened. Some shifted awkwardly.

And then there was Dana.

Dana had appeared quietly, arms crossed, a grin spreading across her face.

“Oh my god,” she said, barely holding back laughter. “This is gold. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Robby calls you ‘Honey’ nonstop. What’s the deal with that?” the accuser jabbed.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. God, people really liked grasping at straws.

“‘Honey’ is my middle name. Robby’s been calling me that since I was a kid.”

The accuser froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, go back to work.” You turned to glance around at the people still gawking at you. “Everyone, back to work.”

The staff reluctantly returned to their tasks, whispers and smirks lingering just a little longer than usual. And Dana? Dana lingered a little longer too, clearly planning to tease you about this for weeks.

That’s when Frank appeared beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, smirk fully in place. 

“Well,” he said, glancing around at the still-whispering staff, “guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling. “I guess so.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone.

“So… what’s stopping me from kissing you right here? In the middle of everybody?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Decency? Since when have I ever been decent?”

Before you could answer, he tugged you gently toward him. Lips met yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You laughed against his mouth, and he grinned against yours before pulling back just enough to whisper:

“See? We should have told them about us ages ago.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours, “but you love me anyway.”

And you did.

You and Frank exchanged a look—quiet, silly, and utterly yours.

“Get back to work, Dr. Langdon.”

Frank gave you a mock salute. “Yes, Mrs. Langdon.”

You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head as he walked away. When he was finally out of view, you turned and stared at Dana.

“I hate you.”

She gave you a smile and pulled you into a hug.

“No, you don’t.”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that crept onto your face. Because yeah—you didn’t.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

fatal flaw

summary: when you start feeling unwell, frank manages to convince you to stop by the ER, much to his co-workers delight.

pairing: lawyer!reader (fem) x frank langdon (established relationship)

warnings/tags: reader being stubborn, abby and kids do not exist in this universe, established relationship, part of the er ken & lawyer barbie series, the pitt crew lowkey being thirsty af for the reader, flirting, fluff, reader is sick in this fic, swearing, usual medical descriptions that you’d expect from the pitt!

notes: this is part of an ongoing series but can be read on its own as well!

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍

series masterlist

You knew you were sick the second you woke up.

Sleep glued your eyes shut, your throat was scratchy and your lungs felt heavy - like you had an anchor placed onto your chest.

It was a feeling that you had grown accustomed to.

The combination of constant sleep deprivation, terrible nutrition and a caffeine intake that bordered on medical concern, meant your immune system was practically non-existent.

All your co-workers were in the same boat, which meant you all were in a constant cycle of catching each others colds - passing them around like shared stationary.

So, like always, you pushed through.

You got dressed, dry-swallowed a couple of painkillers on your way out the door, and told yourself it would pass.

As your day progressed, what you’d assumed was another typical cold had given way to something worse.

You’d developed a nasty cough, mucusy enough that even your hardened co-workers had started given you looks.

“Holy mother of mary you look like shit.”

You dragged your head up, which was starting to feel like a bowling ball, to find Amy leaning in your doorway.

“Hello to you too.”

“No seriously.” She pushed off the frame and walked in, heels clicking with purpose. “You like, look really unwell. Are you ok?”

“Never better.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“It’s just a cold.” You added, glancing back at your screen.

“I’ve seen you with a cold.” Amy shook her head. “This is not a cold.”

She studied you for a moment longer.

“Have you told hot doctor?”

You shot her a look. “No, I have not told Frank.”

“Why not? Isn’t that why he exists? To aid people… medically.”

You managed to huff out a laugh, although it sounded more like a cat being strangled.

"Because I don’t want him to worry, especially when it’s nothing serious.”

“Ok.” Amy placed her hands on her hips. “You need to do two things.”

She pointed one perfectly manicured finger up in the air. “Firstly, you need to go home.”

A second finger joined.

“Secondly, call your hot doctor boyfriend and get him to give you some serious pain meds.”

You blinked at her. “Or... I do none of those things and finish this advice which is due tomorrow.”

Amy folded her arms in front of her chest. “You literally insisted on dragging me to the ER when I fell and sprained my ankle.”

You stared at her blankly.

“So, this is me returning the favour.”

“Ames I can’t-“

“- you can.” She insisted. “Or I'll rat you out to Keith.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Her expression turned smug. “Oh, I would.”

Keith was one of the most senior partners in the firm, and a notorious germaphobe.

He’d infamously once fired an intern in the middle of a firm wide meeting for sneezing without covering their mouth.

Amy, unfortunately for you, had him in her back pocket, dubbed by him as the most proficient (and clean) paralegal in the whole firm.

You held her gaze for a moment longer. You blinked as your vision started to blur.

“Fine.” You relented.

Amy hovered the whole time you packed up your things, like you might decide to sit down and keep typing if she didn’t.

“Call hot doctor boyfriend!” She called out to you as you stalked down the hallway, earning curious looks from half the floor.

You just waved her off without looking back.

-

By the time you got home, your symptoms had worsened.

Breathing felt tighter - each inhale catching slightly, each exhale ending in a faint wheeze. You could feel your body start to ache and shiver with a chill.

You collapsed onto your bed without changing, reluctantly pulling out your laptop.

You swore you had just closed your eyes to blink, and then you were waking up.

A damp patch of drool soaked into your pillow, your neck stiff from the angle.

“Fuck.” You cursed when you glanced at the time to see it was nearly 5pm.

You grabbed your phone from beside you to see endless emails and calls from work.

Frank’s missed call and text stood out like a sore thumb.

No need to call back, just had a break so wanted to see how your day was going.

Your chest tightened slightly - though whether from guilt or illness, you weren’t sure.

You typed back quickly.

Sorry I missed your call, I fell asleep :(

You were still typing out your next text when his contact photo lit up your screen.

You hesitated. He was going to clock that you were sick instantly, but not answering would be even more suspicious.

You pushed yourself upright, swallowing against the thickness in your throat, hoping that it might make a difference.

“Hey.”

“Hey you.” You could hear his smile as he spoke. “Did I misread your text or are you seriously telling me you fell asleep at your desk?”

“No, I left early.” You said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

There was a pause.

“You left work… early?”

“Yeah, I'm not feeling great." You admitted. "But it’s not a big deal." You added quickly.

“What are your symptoms?” You could hear the switch in his tone, going from boyfriend to doctor in a matter of seconds.

“Uh.. headache, cough, fatigue, I think maybe a fever?”

“And when did they start?”

“This morning but it’s gotten a bit worse.”

Silence met you.

“I’m fine really I-“

The sentence dissolved into a coughing fit you couldn’t suppress. It tore out of your chest, sharp and ugly, leaving your lungs burning.

“Baby.” Frank said gently after a moment, concern laced through his tone. “That sounds terrible.”

“I sound worse than I feel.”

Lie. And Frank knew it too.

“Look." He said after a moment, gentler now but firm underneath. "I know you won’t want to, but I think you should stop by so I can check on you.”

Panic coiled in your chest. Your relatively new boyfriend seeing you pale, sweaty and wheezing wasn't exactly on the top of your list of priorities.

“No no no-" You began. “I can’t take up a bed in the ER Frank, this isn’t an emergency.”

“I’ll have you in and out in under an hour.” He assured you. “I’ll just run a few tests and give you a physical.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

“I’ll be able to prescribe you something stronger than your over the counter meds, which will have you back to work much quicker.”

That idea put you on the fence.

As if he sensed your hesitation, he went in for the kill.

“And-“ he said softly. “It will put my mind at ease. Please."

You sighed. Why did he have to know you so well?

“You sure I won’t be in the way?”

“That's literally impossible.”

You relented. “Fine. I’ll have a shower and head over.”

“Thank you." Relief slipped into his voice. "Come in through the ambulance bay entrance."

He paused. "I think you’re familiar with it.”

Despite how shit you felt, you smiled. “I am.”

-

By the time you got a taxi to the ER, your whole body felt like lead.

Your chest had gotten heavier, your breathing tacky. A chill had settled deep into your bones, making your hands tremble despite the warmth of the evening.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked through the doors from the ambulance bay - spitting you into the department that never slept.

Dana was the first to notice you, doing a double take when she saw you shuffling over in a loose t-shirt and sweats.

“Hey sweetheart.” She called, already moving toward you. “Langdon said we’d be seeing you today.”

“Hey Dana.”

“He’s just with a patient.” She frowned as she watched you shiver. “Come with me, why don’t we get you to a bed so you can lie down in?”

“Oh no that’s really-“

Before you could finish your sentence she had your shoulders in a surprisingly strong grip as she firmly guided you down the hall.

“Lay down.” She said gently once you reached the bed.

You found your body complying with surprising ease, like it was desperate to conserve energy.

“I’ll get someone to bring you some water, Langdon won’t be long.”

“Ok, thanks.” You shot her a weak smile.

A few minutes later, Robby walked past your room, slowing mid-stride as he looked in through the glass.

“I thought room 4 was free.” He thumbed over his shoulder towards your room.

“It is.” Perlah answered.

“Then why is someone lying in there?”

“Langdon’s girlfriend is in there.” Dana answered, not looking up from her chart.

Robby and Perlah blinked in unison.

Javadi’s head shot up.

“The lawyer?”

“Yes, the lawyer.” Dana finally looked at Robby over her glasses. “She looks in rough shape. Langdon said he convinced her to come in to get checked out.”

Robby scoffed. “This is an emergency department, not a GP.”

Dana’s expression hardened. “Why don’t you go look at her yourself before you make assumptions? The poor thing could barely keep herself upright.”

Robby muttered something under his breath, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Langdon!” Dana called out across the pitt just as Frank emerged from another room.

She inclined her head. “Your girlfriend’s here. Room 4.”

“Oh, thanks.” He was already moving.

“Woah woah woah.” Robby stepped into his path. “Where are you going?”

“Just to go check-“

“You’re her boyfriend, you can’t be objective if you treat her.”

“I know that.” Frank said tightly, already trying to look past him.

“Dr King's assessing her.”

Robby studied him for a moment, like he was trying to find a reason to scold him.

“Can I at least go and say hello?”

“After Dr King’s done her initial assessment. Prevents her from being influenced by any observations you might be inclined to make.”

Frank held his gaze for a moment, jaw tightening like he was debating whether to push it.

“Fine.”

Mel, who had been hovering nearby, stepped in quickly.

“I’ll go check on her now.” She reassured Frank, shooting him a small smile.

Frank exhaled, “ok, thanks.”

-

You glanced up as the door opened.

“Frank honey, you look different.” You teased, your voice croaky.

Mel let out an awkward laugh as she stepped inside. “I’m Dr King.”

Your eyes brightened. “I’ve heard a lot about you Dr King.”

Mel watched as you feebly tried to sit up.

“And I've heard a lot about you.” She smiled kindly. "And I mean a lot.. Langdon never stops-" She cut herself off. "I probably shouldn't be telling you that. Sorry."

"No, no keep going." You said. "Good for the ego."

That earned a genuine laugh as she adjusted her glasses, before she slipped right back into professional mode.

“I’m going to be examining you today because Frank can't treat you given he has a personal relationship with you. Is that alright?”

You smiled faintly. “If Frank trusts you, I trust you.”

She nodded curtly, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks at your praise.

Mel listened attentively as you listed your symptoms. Then, she gently examined your throat, feeling around your glands, before pressing her stethoscope to your back.

“Take some deep breaths for me.”

Her brow furrowed as you inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Mel glanced toward the window just in time to catch Frank watching. His expression had shifted - tight, alert, already reading her face.

“Ok.” She moved to stand in front of you, blocking your sight of the window. “By the sound of your breathing, it looks like maybe a viral infection or the flu but I’m going to get your bloods taken and a chest x-ray just to be sure.”

Your brow furrowed. “A chest x-ray? Should I be worried?”

“No no.” She assured you. “I just want to be thorough, Dr Langdon will want to make sure we check every possibility.”

That seemed to settle you.

“Ok.”

She moved to leave before pausing at the door. “Are you ok with me sharing your medical information with Dr Lang- Frank?”

You huffed faintly. “Ah yes, confidentiality.”

“Something I'm sure you’re familiar with.”

“Very.” You coughed, wincing as your chest tightened.

You would usually have made a witty remark, but you just found yourself nodding. “That’s fine.”

“Ok, one of the nurses will be in shortly. They'll give you some fluids and take your bloods."

The door clicked shut behind Mel, and for a moment, the room was quiet again - save for the soft, ugly rattle in your chest every time you breathed.

You sank back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way each inhale felt… wrong. Too tight. Too shallow.

Maybe this wasn’t just a cold.

The thought barely had time to settle before the door opened again.

This time, it was Frank.

You didn’t even realise how tense your body had been until you saw him - until something in your chest loosened that had nothing to do with your congested lungs.

"Hey." You rasped.

He was at your side in seconds, eyes scanning you like he was cataloguing every symptom all at once.

"Hey." He echoed softly, but the smile you were expecting didn’t quite land.

His hand came up to your forehead, then your cheek, then gently under your chin, tilting your face toward the light.

"You look worse than you sounded." He murmured.

"Wow, romantic."

That earned you the smallest huff of amusement - but it didn’t reach his eyes.

A knock interrupted you both.

“Hi, I’m Donnie. Dr King sent me in to do your bloods.”

You mustered up a smile as you introduced yourself.

“Oh I know who you are.” He grinned like the concept of you having to explain who you were was a novelty.

“I’m a big fan.”

“Fan?”

“Anyone who can make ER Ken here this whipped has my total and utter admiration.”

Frank went to shoot him a glare but stopped when he saw the smile on your face.

“I like you already Donnie.” You answered before breaking out into a coughing fit.

Frank reached for your hand, squeezing tightly as your lungs settled and Donnie set to work.

Another nurse, who introduced herself as Princess came in not long after to take you to get your x-ray.

“McKay's looking for you.” She added to Frank.

Frank glanced down at you, his grip on your hand tightening.

“I’ve got her Langdon.” She reassured him, her usual humour gone from her face when she saw the panic in his eyes.

“Go.” You urged him, squeezing his hand back. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Ok baby.”

And then, like he forgot where he was - who was watching - he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

Princess watched as he left the room, shaking her head slightly.

-

By the time you were back in the room after your x-ray, the chills had worsened. Your teeth were chattering, your vision blurring at the edges.

Frank was leaning against the counter when you came back in, arms crossed, but the second he saw you - he straightened immediately.

"Oh sweetheart." He murured, stepping closer as he helped you back into bed.

You barely had the energy to respond.

"Cold?" He asked, already reaching for another blanket.

You nodded, too tired to argue when he tucked it around you himself.

Frank adjusted it.

Then adjusted it again.

Then frowned like it personally offended him.

"It’s uneven."

"It’s a blanket." You mumbled.

He ignored that, tucking the corner in with unnecessary, surgical precision.

Only when he was satisfied that you were adequately comfortable, did he finally glance back at you, brushing a piece of hair from your face.

"I've got to go check in on my other patients."

"Ok." You murmured, your eyes drooping.

"I'll be back." He placed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Man." Princess said after a moment, watching him go. "That boy loves you.”

You smiled sleepily “I know.”

-

By the time Mel came back, you had started drifting in and out of sleep, so you had no real sense of how much time had passed.

Frank was not far behind her.

“How are you feeling?”

You forced yourself to open your eyes, although they quivered like they were threatening to drop at any moment.

“Peachy.”

Frank leant forward, brushing a hand over your forehead, his touch cool against your burning skin.

“She’s burning up.”

Mel glanced at you first, then at Frank.

"I've had a look at the x-ray of your chest. There are white spots showing up on your lungs. Which indicates the presence of an infection - where pus and fluids have replaced air."

Your brain lagged.

“Meaning?”

Frank’s hand found yours before Mel answered.

“You’ve got pneumonia.”

You blinked slowly.

“…like,” you swallowed, throat dry. “Pneumonia pneumonia?”

Mel gave a small, sympathetic nod as she wringed her hands together.

“I thought that was something people got from like... standing in the rain too long. Or...back in the bubonic plague times.”

They both offered you a laugh at your attempt at humour.

“It’s more common than you think.” She reassured you. “Have you had a cold recently?”

You offered a weak shrug. “I’ve always got something on board.”

“Right. Well, pneumonia is often triggered by a cold or flu. You’re more vulnerable if you’ve got a weakened immune system which of course can be exacerbated by stress, lack of sleep, improper nutrition…”

“Gee." Frank murmured, glancing down at you. "I wonder who that reminds me of?” There was no bite to it, only concern.

“We caught it early, which is good. But you’re going to need antibiotics, fluids and lots of rest.”

Your head lolled back against the pillow.

“How long do the antibiotics take to kick in?”

Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Uh- it can depend. We usually recommend coming back after 5 days if your symptoms haven’t improved.”

“So I’ll be ok to go to work tomorrow?”

Frank closed his eyes briefly.

“Baby-“

“What? I’m just asking.”

“You’re not going to work tomorrow.”

“I have a deadline.”

“You have pneumonia.”

“I’ll take the antibiotics-“

“You can barely sit upright.”

“I’m sitting right now.”

“You’re horizontal.”

You gestured weakly. “…semantics.”

Mel pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to smile.

“I’ll give you two a minute.” She said, slipping out.

The second the door shut, Frank turned back to you fully.

“Did you drive here?”

You shook your head.

“Ok.” He nodded. “You’re staying at mine tonight.”

This time there was no room for negotiation in his tone.

“You don’t need to do that.” You shot back weakly. “I just need meds and I’ll be fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“I’ve worked through worse.”

“That’s not something to be proud of.”

“It’s reality.”

“And this." He gestured to you, to the oxygen monitor now clipped to your finger, to the way your chest rose unevenly, “is also reality.”

You hesitated.

Just for a second, but he caught it.

His expression shifted, something softer breaking through the control.

“Hey." He said quietly. "Look at me.”

You did.

And there it was - that shift again. Not doctor. Not entirely.

Just… Frank. Your Frank.

“I’m not going to be able to sleep if I don’t know you're ok.”

Your throat tightened, and not from the infection.

“You just want to make sure I’m not working.” You muttered.

“Absolutely." He said without missing a beat. "I’ll be hiding your work phone the second we get home.”

You huffed weakly.

"…I wasn’t going to-"

"-Liar."

"...maybe a little."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“Let me look after my girl.” He murmured. “Please.”

You held his gaze for a long moment.

Then sighed.

"...ok."

Relief flickered across his face so quickly it almost hurt to see.

“Thank you.”

You broke out into a coughing fit before you could say anything else. Frank's grip on your hand tighter instinctively, waiting patiently as your body worked through it.

“Sexy, huh?”

His mouth curved faintly, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person on the planet who can make pneumonia look sexy.”

“You flatter me.”

“Just stating facts."

He pressed a kiss to your brow, almost reverently.

“Rest. I’ll be finished soon.”

-

Like most gossip in the pitt, word that you were here had spread like wildfire.

Staff suddenly found themselves with urgent, completely necessary reasons to pass by your room - each one conveniently slowing just enough to peer through the glass at the woman who had reduced Frank Langdon to a love sick puppy.

Dana was walking and writing at the same time when she happened to glance up.

"Hey!" She roused.

A cluster of nurses froze mid-creep outside your door.

They turned slowly.

“Leave her alone for Christ's sake. This isn’t a zoo!”

They exchanged glances before sheepishly dispersing.

“Unbelievable.” Dana muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she kept walking.

Whitaker and Santos both looked up as Dana passed.

“So what’s the matter with lawyer barbie?” Santos remarked after a few moments.

Mel didn't even look up from her screen. “Pneumonia.”

McKay paused behind her, leaning slightly to get a better look toward your room.

“She had pneumonia and still looks like that?” She let out a scoff. “Why do I even fucking bother.”

“They are so cute.” Javadi added dreamily, still staring at your door.

“Princess said that he called her baby.”

Santos’ nose wrinkled. “Gross.”

“And-“ Princess chimed in, stepping closer. “You guys should have seen the way he tucked her in. Honestly it was like he was nesting.”

Perlah and Javadi let out matching awws.

“That is quite sweet.” Whitaker murmured, causing Santos to shoot him a glare.

“Traitor.” She grumbled.

But even she couldn’t completely hide the way her expression softened.

“Should we start a betting pool on how many times he’s going to go check in on her between now and the end of his shift?” Donnie grinned.

“Guys." Mohan interjected. "We should show him some grace. He’s really worried about her.”

Robby, who had of course been eavesdropping, shifted slightly at his desk.

Guilt pawed at his chest as he thought about his interaction with Langdon earlier, the clear distress that had been evident on his features.

“Mohan's right.” He said without looking up.

Everyone turned to him.

“Be nice to Langdon.”

In turn, they all blinked, then exchanged glances to confirm if they had all collectively misheard.

“What the fuck?” Santos whispered under her breath.

Whitaker just shrugged. "I'm not even going to ask."

—

When you came to, you were completely disorientated.

For a split second, panic surged through you as you tried to sit up too quickly, disoriented by the unfamiliar room.

Then, your brain caught up. The hospital, Frank, pneumonia.

You stilled.

Frank had pulled a chair up beside your bed, one arm resting near yours, like he needed the proximity just as much as you did.

He’d changed out of his scrubs, the soft glow of his phone illuminating the shirt you’d helped him pick out a few weeks ago.

You shifted slightly, wincing.

His head snapped up the second he registered your movement, his phone discarded in his lap.

“Hey sleepyhead.”

You let out a soft groan as you rubbed your eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s about 9 pm.”

Two hours since his shift finished.

Your gaze lingered on him. “You should have woken me up.”

It came out half-scolding - but the warmth in your voice gave you away.

“I wanted you to get as much sleep as possible.”

“What if I hadn’t woken up until tomorrow?”

“Then I’d have stayed right here all night.” He said it immediately, simply, like there was no other option that existed.

You felt an insurmountable amount of love threaten to burst out of your chest.

You just looked at him for a moment, something quiet and overwhelming settling between you.

“Come on." He said gently as he stood. "Let's get you home."

The teasing you’d expected as Frank all but carried you out of your room towards his car was non-existent.

Instead, the night shift and day shift stragglers offered you their ‘hope you feel betters’ and goodbyes as you passed.

Voices continued to follow you down the corridor, softer than usual, threaded with something that sounded suspiciously like fondness.

“Rest up lawyer barbie.” A doctor you hadn't met before said as he passed, iced coffee in hand.

Your brow knitted. “What did he just call me?”

Frank huffed under his breath, adjusting his grip on you.

“I think it’s better I explain that when you’re feeling better.”

-

By the time you got to Frank’s apartment, you were exhausted.

Not just tired - bone-deep, heavy, the kind of exhaustion that settled into your body and refused to let go.

With no fight left in you, you gave in to Frank’s wishes without complaint - finally finding yourself letting him fuss over you.

He guided you through a quick shower, steadying you when you swayed, before helping you into one of his shirts and a pair of track pants that hung loose on your frame.

You had no appetite, but he hovered just enough that you managed a few reluctant spoonfuls of leftovers from his fridge.

Then, he got you into bed.

A warm compress rested against your forehead, and by the time you blinked your eyes open again, your bedside table had been transformed - water, tea, pain meds, everything lined up within easy reach.

You shifted slightly.

Frank was there instantly, adjusting your pillows with quiet precision, movements gentle, practiced.

You watched him for a moment in the dim light.

“You’re good at this.”

He glanced at you, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Occupational hazard.”

As your eyes started to droop, you patted the bed next to you.

“Will you lie with me?”

You didn’t have to ask twice. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even pretend to. Frank didn’t think he was capable of denying you anything, ever.

You turned just enough to face him.

“Thank you for all of this. Taking care of me.” You murmured.

Frank smiled softly. “Thank you for letting me.”

You could see it - the lecture sitting right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to go. About rest, about burnout, about how you ran yourself into the ground like it was something to be proud of.

But he swallowed it.

A conversation for a later date. You let your eyes flutter shut.

“I think I’ve found your one flaw you know.” He said after a few moments.

You peaked an eye open. “Just one?”

He studied you, something warm and tired in his eyes.

“You’re a terrible patient.”

You let out a weak laugh at that.

“Pretty fatal flaw for someone dating a doctor.”

Frank shook his head. “Somehow you make it endearing.”

Your lips curved faintly, your eyes drifting shut again.

“I love you.”

The words slipped out easily. Soft. Unguarded. Like they’d been there for a while. Like you hadn’t just shifted the course of his life.

Frank froze beside you momentarily.

You didn’t see it - the way it landed. The way his eyes turned glassy. The way his breath caught. The way something in his chest shifted all at once.

He’d been holding onto those words for weeks. Turning them over, waiting for the right moment - worried he’d say them too soon, that he’d scare you off.

And you just… said them.

Like it was simple, obvious, something that was inevitable between the two of you.

Frank supposed it was.

“I love you.” He whispered back. “So much.”

You hummed softly, already half asleep.

“Get some rest baby.”

Your fingers curled loosely around his.

And for once, you listened.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

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[fiastomatocheek]

‘HAPPINESS IS A WARM BLANKET’

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader genre: fluff, family, romance. warnings: none.

fia’s note: i honestly hadn’t planned to make this a dad!luke series… but you guys loved it so much (and honestly, i’m kind of obsessed with it too) that i decided, why not make it a series!! so here’s your official dad!luke masterlist, grab a snack, get cozy, and prepare for all the fluff, and pure happiness that comes with snoopy, little luce, and their little family. i don’t do a taglist for this series, but if you want to be tagged just for this one, there’s a spot on my general taglist form that asks ‘are there specific series you want to be tagged in?’ just let me know you want to be tagged for ‘happiness is a blanket’ and you’ll get notifications for new chapters in this series only.

fia’s masterlist | taglist | yap.

( BEFORE LUCY )

I WANT YOU! NOT YOUR BROTHER.

SNOOPY’S BIGGEST FAN.

SNOOPY’S SICK DAY.

SNOPPY AND THE SUMMER GIRL.

SNIFFLES AND SNOOPY SNUGGLES.

MOMMY, DID YOU LOVE SNOOPY AT FIRST SIGHT?

IT’S OKAY, YOU’RE STILL LEARNING.

THREE MONTHS IN.

SNOOPY KISSED SOMEONE THAT WASN’T MOMMY?

MOMMY, WHAT IF… ?

RAINBOW BABY.

SNOOPY CUTS ALL OF HIS CURLS OFF!

SHH DADA SHH!

BIG GIRL BACKPACK

DID YOU STOP LOVING MOMMY?

LITTLE LUCE, BIG NEWS

TO FOREVER

✷ — drabbles ‘

detective lucy joy hughes.

[rosemaryswritingg]

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader

❀ jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor

❀ jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him

❀ jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted

❀ jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them

❀ jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work

❀ jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)

❀ jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)

❀ jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom