M

Hi, I write and obsess over people! Welcome to the shitshow, friends.

[clocksamiright]

Hi lovely people!

About me

call me M • 21 • she/her

obsessed with old men that could probably kill me!

writer on wattpad (same user as this) • have 3 fics published • 1 complete and 2 ongoing

this blog is strictly for Shawn Hatosy and his weirdly wonderful roles!

Jack Abbot • Pope Cody • Titus Danforth

Masterlist!

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ᴀʙʙᴏᴛ ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Stress Reliever

(Doctor Abbot is always around when you need a bit of stress relief, that is until you overhear a conversation that was definitely not meant for you.)

Part 1, Part 2

ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴡ ᴘᴏᴘᴇ ᴄᴏᴅʏ ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━💥

Nothing yet, coming soon..

ᴛɪᴛᴜꜱ ᴅᴀɴꜰᴏʀᴛʜ ⁶⁶⁶𖤐𐕣🜏

Nothing yet, coming soon..

do not copy, steal or translate any of my work.

[keytomylockhart]

don't fear the reaper

Jack Abbot x Reader

summary: working at the hospital morgue didn't exactly endear you to the emergency room staff, especially when you're always cracking jokes. you think Jack might be warming up to you, but are quickly proven wrong when he berates you in front of the department after an ill-timed joke.

tags/warnings: sfw just a steamy kiss, big time angst, morgue technician!reader, socially awkward reader, discussions of death and grief (seriously, a lot of talk about death and grieving), mean Jack :(, age gap (not specified, but i wrote her as being between 28-30), mean girl nurses, medical inaccuracies probably

wc: 8.9k

a/n: baby's first request!!! feeling very nervy about this one as its my first time writing angst so please be kind <3 it turned into much more of a meditation on death than i expected but i hope you enjoy the jack angst!! also please go read @nightpitt's take on this request!!! it was incredible <3 (and in the future please don't send me requests that you've sent to multiple other authors, it makes me uncomfy)

credits: gif credits to @vanillarot <3

Majorie Deacons, 83. Survived by her husband, Harold, of 62 years, her three children–Mary, Thomas, and Steven–and 10 grandchildren. Worked as a paralegal for 48 years before retiring to the Poconos with Harold. Moved back to Pittsburgh when she got sick. Died from sepsis as a result of her cancer-weakened immune system.  

That was all you knew of the woman laying in front of you, her skin pale and body unnaturally still. You thought about her life as you removed her engagement and wedding ring, the crucifix pendant around her neck, the diamond bracelet around her frail wrist–all logged securely for the family to pick up at their convenience. 

You thought about her life, about the 83 years she spent on this earth. Where did she grow up? Was Harold her high-school sweetheart, or did they meet in college, or a bar? Did they travel? What sights did they see, how many sunsets did they share? Did she remember exactly where she was when Kennedy was assassinated, like most older folks did? Did she like red lipstick or pink? When did her hair turn white–did she hate it or did she embrace it? 

Did she feel welcomed by death, or did she fight it kicking and screaming? 

83 years, such a long life and yet still not long enough for the people who loved her. 

You spent a lot of time grieving people you’d never met before as a morgue technician. It was a tough job–one spent with people on the worst days of their lives. Sure, you weren’t the one responsible for saving lives–didn’t have a relationship with the patient while they were living–but sometimes you thought maybe it was worse in a way. You learned about these people from their families, from the people so deeply grieving their loved one that often all you felt was gut-wrenching sadness for the hole that now lived in these people’s hearts. You didn’t get the benefit of seeing them interact with their loved ones, didn’t get to know their personality or see their quirks. All you experienced was the grief their loss wrought, not the joy their life had created. 

You liked being there for people, though. Death is not something Americans are accustomed to talking about openly, the aftermath of losing a loved one often impersonal and shrouded in mystery. Especially at the hospital, it often felt more clinical than anything else, with procedure and policy often taking center stage over the deceased.  

You liked bringing a sense of humanity to the process; liked to have the families reminisce about their loved ones, liked getting to know them through the people who cherished them the most despite the deep ache it sometimes left in your chest. 

You learned about Marjorie upstairs, from the family as you collected the body, and you’re looking forward to learning more about her when the family comes to collect her effects. You found that getting people to talk about the person they lost made it easier to discuss funeral and transport arrangements. You didn’t want them to feel like they were just another box to check off your to-do list. 

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

“Hey, we got another one upstairs. Transport’s been taking forever tonight,” Elise, your boss, said, rolling her eyes. “They have one job: get the body from point A to point B. What gives?” 

You shrugged, sighing as you finished cataloging all of Marjorie's effects. “I’ll be back soon,” you said, squeezing her hand gently before making your way to the elevators, up to the emergency department. 

Transport was supposed to, well, transport the body. But they were often backed up for one reason or another, and delays in moving the body meant a valuable room remained occupied when it could otherwise be used for another patient. So, more often than not, Elise sent you up to grab the body and bring it back down for processing. It was faster that way, and often gave the family some peace knowing that their loved one wasn’t just sitting in the emergency room. 

You didn’t mind, exactly. As much as you enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the mortuary, you liked peaking your head up in the ED and seeing the hustle and bustle there, the way it teemed with life as well as death, even at night.  

And it didn’t hurt that the senior night shift attending was perhaps the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d had a crush on him since you met him, your introduction being maybe one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. 

It was your first time up in the emergency department, the incessant beeping and constant chatter a stark difference to the quiet morgue–if people were talking down there, something was seriously wrong. 

You’d been taken on a brief tour by the charge nurse, Lena, who gave you a rundown of the transport procedure. You met a few of the residents, Dr. Ellis and Dr. Crus, and a handful of nurses, all of whom seemed nice enough.  

But you almost stopped dead in your tracks when you met the kind hazel eyes of the graying, curly-haired man standing at the nurses station. 

“And this is Dr. Abbot, senior night shift attending. You’ll need his or Dr. Shen’s signature whenever you transport a body,” Lena introduced you, “Dr. Abbot, this is the new morgue technician. She graciously offered to help with transport.” 

You held your hand out, brain nearly turning to mush when he shook it. His palm was rough, calloused from many years of working with his hands, and unbelievably warm. His hand also dwarfed yours, which sent a tingle down your spine. 

“New morgue technician?” he asked, “Well, no offense, but I hope we don’t see you too much around here,” he joked with an easy smile on his face.  

“I guess that remains to be seen,” you said, and followed it up with a ‘ba dum tss’ sound effect and finger guns. Yes, you really did that. 

The joke didn’t land; they never did. Jack cocked his head to the side, an almost-smile gracing his lips, and shot you an inquisitive look, like he was trying to figure you out. 

His intense stare made your cheeks heat and your tummy swirl. You weren’t sure if you were aroused or uncomfortable, or some combination of both.  

You couldn’t get out of there sooner. 

It felt like you could never get your foot out of your mouth when Jack Abbot was around. And so the cycle began: get called up to retrieve a body, make an ill-timed joke, embarrass the hell out of yourself, and return back to the safety of the morgue as quickly as possible. 

You never made jokes in front of patients or families; you knew that it was something strictly reserved for your peers, people you thought understood the challenges you all face in healthcare–and deathcare. 

You weren’t sure why it seemed physically impossible for you not to use humor as a defense mechanism. Part of it was the nature of your job–gallows humor was a coping mechanism you latched onto and couldn’t seem to shake off. It was the same way some people laughed when they were nervous or panicked–a reaction to pent up emotions and stress that manifested as humor instead of as tears. 

But you’d also always been like this, trying to diffuse uncomfortable situations with humor instead of meeting them head on, or making a joke at your own expense before someone else could. It hurt less that way, if you could subvert something painful into something lighthearted.

You’d always been admonished for it, by your parents, friends, partners. Had been told that it was inappropriate and that you were too crass, too loud, too much. Which was probably true. It confused you, though, how some people did bond over humor, in the occasional callousness of it, when you were criticized for it. That was something you’d never been able to work out, how it was always wrong when you did it; why you’d never been able to bond with people the same way others did. Well, there was a reason you worked the night shift at a morgue, after all. 

You pushed those thoughts away and instead tried to talk yourself up as you stood in the elevator, willing yourself not to be weird. 

“Hey, Lena, heard you got another customer for me?” you grinned at her, leaning against the nurses station. 

“Sure do, sweets. Her name is Cary West,” she replied with a soft smile. Lena, at least, seemed to like you. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

She pointed you to the correct room, where Mateo was cleaning up the body. You stood silently as he finished, taking a moment to honor the person they were and the people they’re leaving behind. These moments always felt weird–liminal, in a way. No longer a patient, but not yet ready for the funeral home–they were entrusted in your care in the meantime. 

There was no family in the room, which wasn’t abnormal for night shift. Folks had gone home, to sleep or cry or do whatever else one does to process the grief. You always hope you’ll meet the family of the deceased, but you’re not holding on hope on this one. It was 4am, the family would likely be back during the day to take care of funeral arrangements and Ms. West would be long gone by then. Still, though, you thought about her life, her wants, her dreams–tried to insert some humanity where it had been lost.  

“Sorry you had to come back up so soon, I know you just got down there with Ms. Deacons,” Mateo said quietly, pulling the sheet over her head. 

“Oh no worries, I don’t mind. It's not like she’s gonna talk my ear off.” 

He just shook his head at your joke, unimpressed and unamused. 

“Looks like Dr. Abbot is at the nurses station. C’mon, and we’ll get the transfer paperwork signed,” he said, holding the door open for you to push the gurney through. 

Dr. Abbot looked worn out. His eyes were tired, and the kind smile he usually sported was replaced by a slight frown and a furrow between his brows. His shoulders were drawn up tight, the tension built up there almost looking painful. It must have been a rough night. 

You greeted him with a soft smile, and handed over the clipboard for his signature, which he promptly filled out. 

He handed you the clipboard before turning his attention back to the gurney. His jaw was clenched tight, a pained look on his face as he squeezed Ms. West’s hand peeking out from the blanket. 

“Treat her well for us, please,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Always do, I wouldn’t want to know what the reaper-cussions would be if I didn’t,” you joked before you could think better of it, cringing internally at your lack of tact. 

There was a split second of silence, the tension simmering hotly before fully boiling over. 

“Jesus fucking christ, can you be serious for one fucking second? This is a hospital, not a fucking comedy club. There are people grieving here. You need to learn to be an adult and keep your fucknig mouth shut,” he boomed, his face red and chest heaving. 

He was looming over you now as he spit out, “get the fuck out of my ED.” 

Your ears were ringing. You weren’t sure if the department had actually fallen silent or if you’d just temporarily lost the ability to hear.

You couldn’t breathe, oxygen not flowing properly into your lungs. It felt like you’d been punched in the gut, all the air sucked out and replaced with lead.  

“S-sorry,” you stuttered out, cheeks burning and throat closing in on itself. Tears were building up quickly in your eyes, but you weren’t going to cry in front of these people; you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

You gripped the edge of the gurney and pushed ahead, desperate to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. No one stopped you, no one offered any apologies or sympathies, just watched your humiliated form disappear into the elevator. 

The minute the elevator doors closed the tears fell, the hot trails burning your face as you tried to conceal your sobs. 

“I’m s-sorry, Ms. West, I shouldn’t be crying like this. I don’t really have much to be upset about in comparison,” you apologized to the corpse, feeling guilty for being so upset when you were literally transporting a dead woman. 

You managed to calm yourself down before you reached the morgue. You didn’t want to explain what happened to Elise, didn’t want to recount every embarrassing detail that was already replaying in your head. 

You soothed yourself with routine, with the repetitive motions of logging personal effects, filling out reports, and contacting the funeral home to make arrangements. 

By the time 7AM rolled around, you were more than ready to get the hell out of there.

The sun is blinding against your puffy eyes. The past two days were a blur, mostly spent crying and replaying the incident over and over. You called out of work, citing a stomach bug. Which wasn’t all that untrue–the thought of encountering anyone in the hospital did make you feel violently ill. 

You had already put in for a transfer to day shift, feigning some excuse about your school schedule changing. You couldn’t wait to finish your studies and officially become a mortician. You’d leave the hospital and start your own business, helping people through the grieving and burial process in your own way. 

And maybe you’d never have to see Jack Abbot ever again. The thought was as relieving as it was devastating, because you liked him. And you were starting to think maybe he liked you too–at least as a friend or acquaintance. 

It was a slow night, which you were thankful for. It meant there weren’t any bodies in the morgue–that there weren’t any deaths so far tonight. So you weren’t too bent out of shape when you got shipped up to the ED to collect a body. 

You found Dr. Abbot quickly, signed the necessary paperwork, and wheeled the body out to central. 

“Thanks for picking up, I don’t know what the hell’s going on with transpo tonight,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it, we’re actually empty right now. There’s no body there,” you said, a cheeky grin crossing your lips. 

And Jack laughed. A full-on, deep-throated laugh. It was one of the most beautiful sounds you’d ever heard. Your chest swelled with pride, and all you could think about was making him do it again. 

He shook his head at you, smile still lingering on his face, “what makes a girl like you want to work night shift at the morgue?”  

“Girl like me?” you asked coyly, raising your eyebrow at him. 

He assessed you, eyes flitting over your face, “yeah, young, smart… pretty.”

You flushed at that, your body getting all warm and tingly, “well, I’m not a mourning person, for one,” you joked, earning another laugh from Jack. 

“I, uh, I’m in school for mortuary science,” you continued, giving him a real answer, “I want to be a mortician when I’m done.” 

“That’s… admirable,” he said, “you don’t get the glory of saving lives but you do get all the dirty work. Good for you.” 

Jack’s attention made you feel like you were on fire–like a white hot ball of flame that would spread given the littlest bit of ammunition. His stare was brazen, unapologetic–you couldn’t look away if you tried. 

You cleared your throat, breaking some of the tension, “I guess I should probably get him downstairs,” you said, gesturing to the gurney in front of you. 

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Jack said, moving to stand by your side. He rested his hand on the small of your back as he guided you to the elevators. The touch was electrifying–you could feel the warmth radiating from him through the layers of scrubs. He was close enough now that you could smell the warm amber of his cologne mixed with his own musky scent. You felt dizzy, and all you wanted to do was press yourself against him, to nestle yourself in the crook of his neck and inhale. 

He pressed the button for the elevator when you arrived and helped you wheel the gurney in. 

“It was good seein’ you, pretty girl,” he said, and just as the elevator doors were closing, he winked at you. 

You were surprised you didn’t turn into a puddle right then and there. 

Your chest twisted at the memory. Maybe that’s why his words hurt so much–why they’d sunk into the marrow of your bones, confirming that he thought as lowly of you as you already thought of yourself. He’d given you hope, shown you kindness where no one else in the ED had. 

It was stupid, anyway. Thinking that a man like Jack Abbot could feel anything other than disdain for someone like you. Of course the hot, older, accomplished attending wouldn’t want anything to do with the awkward morgue technician. 

Every time you thought about it, your heart ached, a dull pang ringing through your chest and reverberating through your body. Tears pooled in your eyes at the mere thought of the incident. It felt like you were back in high school, asking Alex Williams to the school dance just to have him laugh in your face and say he wasn’t going to go with a freak. 

You couldn’t dwell on it, though. You had a job to do, bills to pay. You could only hope that day shift was better, or that you could whip yourself into shape and keep your comments to yourself.

“Jesus, why is the body in north 2 still there?” Jack asked, eyes trained on the board ahead of him. Wait times were astronomical and chairs was full to the brim–the sooner they moved the deceased out, the sooner they could move a new patient in. 

“Not sure, I called transpo an hour ago, but you know how concerned they are with being timely,” Lena responded. 

“What about the morgue? Why haven’t they sent anyone to collect the body?” 

Lena looked at him over the top of her glasses, an unimpressed look on her face. 

“Oh, you mean that sweet girl who helps us out by transporting bodies when transpo is dicking around? The one you screamed at in front of the entire department? Gosh, I can’t think of a reason she’s not chomping at the bit to come up here,” she deadpanned, fixing Jack with a glare. “Last I heard she switched to day shift. Said she had some personal schedule conflicts, but I think we both know that’s not true.”   

Jack winced, guilt coursing through him. He hadn’t meant to make such a scene, to be so cruel. It had just been such a monumentally horrible day, his chest wound so tight and hackles raised that your little joke set him off. It was stupid, too, because Jack had easily made far worse jokes at far more inappropriate times. 

It could have easily been anyone else that he snapped at, would have been, if you weren’t there. But you were, and so you bore the brunt of his wrath. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been replaying the look on your face, the way it crumpled and tears welled up in your pretty eyes. He remembered how your breath hitched, how you shrunk in on yourself and ran away as fast as you could. 

It made his chest ache to think about. He wanted to find you, to apologize, but he thought he might just make it worse. And selfishly, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the conversation that would ensue. He assumed he’d see you up here at some point, where he could take you aside and beg for forgiveness–he didn’t think you’d rearrange your entire work schedule just to avoid seeing him. 

He wasn’t sure why he acted so indifferently toward you. Or rather, he did–he just didn’t want to acknowledge the way you made him feel. You made him feel giddy–made his face warm and his heart race, like a teenage boy flirting with a pretty girl for the first time. He briefly tried flirting with you, but he was pretty sure you were oblivious to it–either that or you didn’t feel the same. He was hoping for the former.  

He hadn’t felt this way about someone since he started dating his wife. Frankly, it made him uncomfortable to think about, made him feel like he was betraying her in some way. He knew that wasn’t true, knew that his wife would want him to be happy, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling. 

He’d been talking about it with his therapist, trying to cope with these feelings–trying to get up the courage to ask you out.

And the kicker was he was going to, he was getting bolder, complimenting you and finding any excuse to, respectfully, put his hands on you. And now he’s fucked it all up. 

“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands down his face.  

“Yeah, shit. I suggest you take your ass down there and apologize. Properly.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll handle it,” he said absent-mindedly, already wracking his brain for the right words to say to you.

The change to day shift was brutal. Your body wasn’t used to waking up when you were supposed to be going to bed, and vice versa. You were also working less hours to accommodate your school schedule, which was the reason you were on night shift to begin with. But you took it in stride the best you could. Lemonade out of lemons, and all that. 

You’d been up to the ED a couple times since the incident, feeling as awkward as ever even though most of them weren’t on shift when Dr. Abbot berated you. You covered day shift a few times, so you weren’t completely unfamiliar with the staff. Dr. Robby seemed nice enough, though you never stuck around long enough to build rapport. It was in and out from now on, speaking as little as you could before you retreated back to the morgue. 

You wished you could flat out refuse to go up there, but you didn’t want to punish innocent people just waiting for a bed. The sooner you got the bodies to the morgue, the sooner someone else could be seen by a doctor. 

Right now, though, you were sat at your desk, filling out log reports and finishing up paperwork before you inevitably got another body. It was monotonous work, yes, but calming in a way. The mindless action gave your brain a break between decedents–gave you a chance to mourn the person and compartmentalize it away before it ate away at you. 

You faintly heard the door at the end of the hall open and close, and assumed Elise was taking her lunch break. 

That is, until you heard a painfully familiar voice call out, “Hello? Anybody in here?” 

Oh no, why is he here? Attendings rarely visited the morgue–usually only if there was a particularly complex cause of death that they wanted to further examine. But there were no such cases right now, the only bodies currently in custody being a run of the mill STEMI and a GSW to the head–both pretty self-explanatory. 

And the night shift hadn’t started yet, the clock reading 5:34pm. There’s no plausible reason for Jack Abbot to be down here right now. 

His steps were getting louder–he was almost at your office now. 

You panicked. That is the only explanation you have for scrambling up from your desk and darting into the small storage closet to your left. You pressed yourself against the wall to the side, out of view of the frosted glass window. Was this the mature course of action? Absolutely not. But you weren’t sure you could handle seeing him right now. You hadn’t seen him since the incident, had done everything in your power to avoid any and all interactions. 

He called out again, and you could see his silhouette standing in the doorway of your office. 

Eyes closed, you took deep breaths to try and calm your rapidly beating heart. Hopefully he’d see the empty room and take his leave quickly.  

It was quiet, and for a moment you thought he’d left until–knock knock. 

“I could be crazy, but I’m pretty sure I heard someone stumble into this closet and slam the door shut,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. 

You didn’t answer, hoping maybe you could convince him he was crazy. 

The doorknob rattled, and you instinctively grabbed it, pulling it with all the force you could muster to keep it closed. You weren’t sure why–surely he was much stronger than you and could rip the door open if he really wanted to. And god, why was thinking about how strong he was making you flustered?  

It’s not that you were scared of him, you were just… woefully unprepared for this conversation. Despite ruminating over the incident itself, you hadn’t actually pictured a scenario where you’d ever speak to him again. Hadn’t had time to go over it a million times in your head, coming up with the best comeback and constructing the perfect barb to lodge in his soft underbelly, the way he’d done to you. 

He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for the other day, if you’ll give me the chance.” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, considering. You’re not sure that an apology will do much for you, not sure that it’ll quell the pit in your stomach that’s opened and doesn’t show any sign of closing. 

You nodded to yourself anyway, letting out a quiet, “go ahead.” 

He chucked lightly, “face-to-face, if you don’t mind.” 

Damn him, you groaned internally. Taking a deep breath, you slowly opened the door. Jack stood opposite you, hands tucked into the pockets of his scrubs. You crossed your arms and fixed your gaze on your scuffed up shoes, the thought of looking him in the eye daunting and exciting at the same time.  

He let out a deep breath, “I’m really sorry for how I acted the other night. It was an exceptionally shitty night, and it wasn’t your fault but I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.” 

You nodded, appreciated the effort it took to come down here and apologize. It did little to soothe your bruised heart, though. There was still a painful twinge in your chest, his words having already wormed their way into your brain and confirmed every worst thought you had about yourself. 

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot, apology accepted,” you said curtly, moving past him to get back to your desk. 

He stopped you, his hand resting on the bare skin just above your elbow. Goosebumps prickled against your skin from the roughness of his palm. You hated how your body craved more, how you wanted him to slide his hand up to your neck, tilt your head back and kiss you. Traitor. 

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “that woman that night, the one you picked up, she died of ovarian cancer,” he said. He looked conflicted, eyes flinty and mouth twisted to the side like he was warring with himself as he bit out the next words, “that’s how–my wife–she died of ovarian cancer.” 

Oh. You didn’t know that, didn’t even know he had a wife. Your eyes drifted to his left hand and saw the slightly lighter patch of skin there. Your heart ached and your defenses softened just a tad at the revelation. You could only imagine what it would feel like to lose a patient in the same manner you lost the person closest to you, could imagine the ugly emotions it would pull out of you. It didn’t make what he said okay, but you understood the circumstances that led him to say it. 

“And before that we had a kid who died from drowning, and a couple close calls, and a bunch of Dr. Google bullshit. And your joke was just… the straw that broke the camel’s back. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, not like that and not in front of everybody. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m truly sorry,” he said, and you could feel the sincerity dripping from his words. His eyes were soft and pleading as he looked at you, and once again you found yourself unable to look away. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that–about your wife,” you said softly, not wanting to make it any more painful than it already was, “and I’m sorry about the joke. I know it’s not appropriate, and I’ve been trying to stop, but you know how hard it is to quit unhealthy coping mechanisms,” a small smile lifting the corner of your lips. 

He shook his head, “please don’t, you have nothing to apologize for. Gallows humor is how we all get by; I can’t tell you how many off-color jokes I’ve told in my day. It was really the pot calling the kettle black, if I'm being honest,” he said, “If it wasn’t you who set me off, it would’ve been Ellis or Shen, or some other unsuspecting person. I promise you it had so much more to do with me than it did with you.” 

You nodded, accepting his explanation. You felt a little lighter, a little less burdened by his words.    

“I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me,” he said, “maybe coffee or dinner, if you’re up for it?” 

You shook your head, “That’s really not necessary, Dr. Abbot. I meant it, I accept your apology, you don’t have to do anything else.” 

He nodded at that, looking a little deflated but otherwise satisfied that you’d accepted his apology. 

Jack felt the need to make it up to you anyway. 

It started with coffee after his shift ended. The first time, he brought you the most insane coffee order you’d ever seen–a mocha cappuccino with 5 extra shots of espresso, pistachio syrup, vanilla cold foam,  caramel AND white mocha drizzle, and salted caramel topping–a monstrosity borne from a recommendation from the woman ahead of him in line. You’re not sure how you didn’t immediately get cavities in all of your teeth. 

You couldn’t lie, though, the fact that he made the effort to go out and get coffee after his 12 hour shift was endearing, and once you gave him your coffee order, he got it right each and every time. 

It became routine over the next month for Jack to bring you coffee, and even though you didn’t have much time to talk in the morning, you began looking forward to the 10-15 minutes of conversation you shared with him each morning. You never discussed what this was, if it meant anything or if it was just a kind gesture between friends. You certainly hoped it meant something, but you weren’t going to get your hopes up. 

You were catching up on paperwork when his text came through. 

Jack: Can’t make it for coffee this morning, sweetheart, how about I bring you lunch later? 

Your cheeks heated at the pet name. He hadn’t called you that before, and you hoped you weren’t reading into it. 

You: sounds great, see you later :) 

You spend the morning counting down the minutes until Jack showed up. It only slightly hindered your progress on your paperwork, your mind only occasionally wandering off to think about his pretty pink lips.

It’s noon before you know it, and someone’s rapping their knuckles on the door frame to your office. 

“Knock, knock,” Jack said, shooting you a smile as he walked over to your desk. He set down a truly alarming amount of food. You laughed as he took out container after container, the sack resembling a clown car more than a fast food bag. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a variety,” he said, a little bashfully, “you can take home whatever’s left for dinner or lunch tomorrow.” 

You selected what you wanted from the smorgasbord he presented you with, and settled into the chair next to him. 

It was a little awkward at first. Most of the conversations you’d had with him up to this point were pretty surface level. Even your coffee chats were light-hearted affairs that didn’t really go deeper than what you did over the weekend. 

But Jack didn’t let it stay awkward for long, as if he knew that once you started talking, he’d be hard-pressed to get you to stop. 

“So, I realized that despite our coffee talks, I don’t really know that much about you. How long have you been a mortuary tech?” 

“About a year and a half. I got the job after I started school for mortuary science. Before that I taught for a little bit, but I didn’t really like it and I don’t think I was much good at it. I was a bartender for a long time too.” 

“So what made you make the jump to mortuary school?”

“I studied anthropology in college and death culture always really fascinated me, especially the way different cultures deal with grief and the burial process. America is so sanitized, so averse to looking at death straight on. We think death needs to be palatable, that the deceased need to look exactly as they did in life to avoid accepting the fact that our bodies are fundamentally different after death–that they are on their way to being absorbed back into the earth.

“I think the way we treat people in death is just as important as how we treat them in life. To some people, that person on the table is just an assemblage of bones and flesh, but to others that was a friend, a mother or daughter, father or son. And I figured as a mortician, I’d be in a position to offer families the kind of support that helps them work through their grief, not just hide it behind pretty floral arrangements.” 

You felt a little shy at the rapt expression on Jack’s face. He was giving you his undivided attention, listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. You’re not sure any man has ever listened to you as attentively as he was now. Yes, the bar was in hell, but it didn’t make it any less hot.  

“Sorry, that was a lot, I didn’t mean to info dump on you,” you said sheepishly. 

He shook his head, “Please info dump, I could listen to you talk all day,” he said honestly, “do you want to continue working at the hospital when you’re done or do you want to start your own practice?” 

“I don’t think I’ll stay here. I mean, I like helping people through the immediate grief, but I think I just want to help grieving families lay their loved ones to rest in a way that honors the life they lived. I don’t care about selling fancy caskets or high-dollar cemetery plots, I just want to narrow it down to what really matters to preserving and celebrating the individual that was lost.”   

Jack nodded, “I don’t remember a lot about planning my wife’s funeral–Robby helped a lot with that–but I do remember it being really… almost commercial, in a way? Like, ‘do you want cedar or oak for the coffin? Do you want the casket lined in silk or velvet?’” he said, laughing bitterly, “like it was a fashion show or something, not the vessel my wife was going to be buried in. I couldn’t give less of a fuck what the damn thing was lined in.” 

You laid your hand on top of his, giving it a comforting squeeze as he continued. It made your heart swell that he felt comfortable enough to talk about his wife with you. 

“I mean, they were very compassionate, but it always felt like a business–which I get, we’re a capitalist society, but that’s not exactly what you want to feel when you’re burying someone,”  

You nodded, “that’s probably the thing that bothers me the most about this industry. Sometimes it seems like profit is the priority, and the real, hurting people come second.” 

Jack just looked at you with soft eyes, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. He turned your hand over in his, tracing the lines of your palm with his thumb.

“I think you’re going to be an amazing mortician,” he said, without an ounce of amusement or teasing, just pure honesty. “I think you’re exactly the kind of person that people want around them when they're going through the worst days of their lives.”  

You couldn’t help the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. It was the kindest thing someone had said to you about your career path, except maybe Elise. And it was nice to shed happy tears over something Jack Abbot said instead of embarrassed ones. 

You talked long after your lunch break was over, but Elise was out and you didn’t have any pressing work to get to at the moment, so you figured there was no harm, no foul. 

But eventually he had to leave to get ready for his shift, and you did have work to do, though you’d gladly forsake it for a few more minutes with him. 

You got up to dispose of your trash and walked him to the door. 

“Lunch was really nice,” he murmured, resting his hand on your arm, right above your elbow. 

Your breath hitched at the contact and goosebumps prickled up and down your arms. You gaze was locked on his, unable to look away, “yeah, I really enjoyed it,” you said breathily, your heart already racing. 

He moved closer, settling his hands on your waist, and backed you up slowly until the back of your knees hit your desk. 

You leaned back against your desk, widening your stance to allow Jack to step between your legs. His body was warm against you, his hands running up and down your sides soothingly. 

“Is this okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. You could feel his breath against your lips, so close but still so far away. 

You nodded, a pathetic mewl leaving your lips without permission. It was embarrassing how badly you wanted to kiss this man.  

He pressed closer, his lips just barely grazing yours, his nose slightly bumping your cheek. You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as you moved to close the miniscule distance between your lips–

CLANG! 

The door down the hall slammed shut, and hurried footsteps approached your office.  

You nearly jumped out of your skin and stumbled back onto the desk, out of Jack’s grasp. He seemed just as shocked, his hand clutching his chest in surprise. 

A second later Elise came rushing into the room, saying something about a mass casualty event and how you needed to make as much room down here as you could to prepare for the inevitable. You nodded, turning to Jack to apologize, but he beat you to it. 

“Shit, I gotta go, sweetheart, they’re probably gonna call all-hands-on-deck,” he said, a genuinely mournful look on his face. 

“Yeah, of course. I hope it’s not too bad,” you said, equally as disappointed, but understanding. Duty calls.  

He wrapped you up in a tight hug, your cheek resting against his firm chest. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to savor his embrace for a moment before he had to go.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” he asked against your hair, his hand rubbing circles on your back. 

You smiled against his chest and nodded, “yes, please.” 

He pulled away and planted a chaste kiss to your cheek before heading out. 

“What was that all about?” Elise questioned, raising her eyebrows at you.  

You didn’t say anything–your hot cheeks and dopey grin were worth a thousand words.

You were called up to the ED several times, each time worse than the last by the looks of the staff. It still felt a little awkward being in the emergency department. Even though most of the people here weren’t on shift when Jack yelled at you, it still felt like the department went still when you walked in, people stopping and staring like you were some sideshow circus freak. 

You were back up here collecting yet another soul, waiting for someone to sign off on the transfer. It seemed like things had calmed down, the worst of it over now. You were lost in thought at the nurses station, picking at the skin around your nails anxiously. 

You hoped Jack would be the one to come over and sign the paperwork–hoped you’d catch another glimpse of him before your shift was over. All you could think about all day was that almost-kiss you shared with him. You couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face every time you thought about it, which meant you basically had a permanent grin affixed to your face. 

You’re only pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of hushed voices to your left. You glanced over and saw two nurses you didn’t recognize taking a break and engaging in some friendly workplace gossip. Or so you thought. 

“–so happy about?” a nurse whispered incredulously. 

“Probably daydreaming about Dr. Abbot,” another said, her tone most likely accompanied by an eye roll.  

“God, when is she going to get a grip? Her fawning over him is not cute.” 

“Yeah, I think he just doesn’t know how to let her down… I mean when he yelled at her she changed her whole schedule, he probably feels guilty.” 

“True. Maybe she’ll realize how embarrassing it is to be so down bad for a man she has no chance with.” 

You stopped listening after that, crestfallen and heartbroken all over again. The illusion of the past month shattered and the feelings from before came roaring back full force. 

Your chest twisted painfully–like someone had grabbed ahold of your heart and squeezed, the squishy flesh bulging between their fingers. Your throat ached, tears surely not far behind. 

You knew you shouldn’t put too much stock in what these two random nurses were saying. You knew that they likely had no idea what they were talking about, that they were just mean girls blowing off steam and you seemed to be the target of it–like always. 

But there was the little gremlin in the back of your brain, the one that told you everything they said was true. That Jack just felt guilty, that he was making himself feel better for the way he treated you. Insecurity wrapped itself around you like a vise, squeezing around you like a boa constrictor, until it was the only thing you could feel. 

And that almost-kiss? Well, he was a man, after all. Maybe he was just overcome with the physical urge to kiss you, get in your pants if he could. But he wasn’t that kind of man, was he? You didn’t want to think so, but all rational thought was obscured by the hurt blooming in your chest that you couldn’t be sure. 

You startled at the hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see Dr. Robby standing there, brows furrowed in concern. Squeaking out an apology, you handed him the transfer paperwork. 

“I called your name three times, you okay?” he asked, flipping through the pages and signing where appropriate. 

“Fine,” you smiled, not trusting your voice not to break. 

He looked skeptical, but didn’t push. 

“Alright, all done. Hopefully that’ll be it, at least from the mass cas,” he said, handing back the paperwork. “We have a trauma counsellor available if you need to talk to someone,” he said before backing away to move onto the next patient. 

You chuckled at that. Of course he thought you were troubled by the amount of death that occurred today. But no, here you were, post mass casualty, and you were more concerned about a man than you were about the people that had died tonight. How fucked up were you? 

Jack showed up with coffee the next morning like usual, setting the paper cup down on your desk, “here you go, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you,” you said without looking up from your paperwork. You tasted acid in your throat, the words from the nurses station echoing in your head in an ugly cacophony. You’d memorized them by heart over the past 12 hours, twisting and turning in bed as they invaded your mind against your will. 

He just doesn’t know how to let her down.

He probably feels guilty.

Her fawning over him is not cute.

You cleared your throat, “you really don’t have to do this anymore, you know,” you said nonchalantly, like it wasn’t tearing your heart out to say. 

He was quiet for a moment. “I know… I do it because I want to, because I like spending time with you,” he said, head cocked and brow furrowed.  

“Sure,” you muttered under your breath. 

“What was that?” 

You sighed and set your pen down, shifting your full attention to him, “I’m just saying you don’t have to prostrate yourself in front of me because you feel guilty, Jack. You’ve done your penance, if that’s all this is. You’re forgiven, no hard feelings.” 

Your throat was tight, but your voice didn’t waver. You blinked back tears furiously as he stared at you, mouth agape. He looked a little more disheveled than usual, his eyes tired and the lines on his face a little more pronounced, like he’d been frowning all night. Obviously, he worked like 16 hours last night. You felt another wave of guilt rush over you–he was wasting his much needed rest time to come placate you. 

He crossed his arms, shaking his head in confusion, “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?” 

You stood up and started behind your desk, feeling restless and hurt and foolish. 

“You just–you don’t have to hang around me because you feel bad or something,” you said, “you’ve more than apologized. I just wish you didn’t make me feel like–like…” you trailed off, ragged breaths tearing through your chest. It was getting harder to force the words out, tears falling down your cheeks in earnest now. 

“Like what?” 

“Like this means something!” you choked out. God, you felt so silly. Aw, is someone upset that their crush doesn’t like them back? 

He looked at you in disbelief, “It does mean something,” he said, rounding your desk and stopping in front of you–effectively ceasing your pacing. 

“Please don’t lie to me,” you hiccuped, your bottom lip trembling violently, “I know I’m too much, I know no one at the Pitt likes me–you don’t have to pretend you do.” You fixed your gaze to the floor–you didn’t think you could handle the pitying look that was undoubtedly in his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he said, cupping your face between his large hands. You tried to wiggle away, but his grip was unwavering–he wasn’t going to let you look away from him. He brushed away your tears, “I don’t know what ideas you’ve gotten into that pretty little head of yours, but if you think I’m anything but smitten with you, you’re dead wrong.” 

You laughed weakly, “who’s making bad jokes now?” 

He didn’t take the bait, didn’t let you deflect from the topic at hand. He pinned you with his eyes, his gaze steady as he delivered his next words. 

“I’m serious. I need you to know that I’m being honest with you when I say this: I’ve been scared for a long time to make a move on you, and I’m not letting anything–not even you–get in the way now, okay?

“I’ve liked you for a while now, pretty girl. You’re the best part of my day, the only thing keepin’ me going some days. I love your smile, your laugh, the way your face lights up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. I love the way you care about people, alive and dead, and I love your jokes, even if they can be a little off color. 

“And I can’t tell you how much I regret how I treated you. The only silver lining is that it kicked my ass into gear, made me realize I’ve been an idiot for waiting so long to make you mine. You’re not too much, and even if you were, I’d want more–I want everything you’re willing to give me.” 

You almost couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mouth, but he was nothing but sincere. His eyes pleaded with you to believe him, to give him a chance–and you desperately wanted to. 

“You mean that?” you asked, gnawing at your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to get your hopes up just to have them crushed again. 

“With all my heart,” he said, grabbing your hand and placing it over his heart. It was racing just as fast as yours was. “This is how I feel every time I see you, sweetheart. Feel like I should be hooked up to a monitor sometimes,” he joked. 

“I…I like you too. I have since the day I met you. But I’m scared,” you swallowed thickly, voice small as you finished, “I don’t want to get hurt.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I am too. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this–haven’t since my wife–and I don’t want to fuck it up. We’re in this together, as long as you’ll have me,” 

“I want you,” you whispered, placing your hand on the side of his neck tentatively. 

He grabbed your waist and backed you up against your desk, replicating your previous position from yesterday. 

“Can I kiss you now, sweetheart? Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since we were interrupted,” he asked, thumb stroking your cheek. 

You nodded, “me either,” you said, heart pounding as he leaned in. 

His lips were soft when they met yours. It was tentative–just a slow, gentle press of his lips against yours, like he was trying to maintain some level of decorum.

He started to pull back, and you whined at the loss of contact. You fisted your hands in his scrub top and pulled him back in, your mouths meeting in an uncoordinated mash of teeth. He chuckled against you, “greedy girl,” he murmured, steadying your head in his hands and deepening the kiss. 

He tamped down your eagerness but didn’t erase any of the heat building between you–just kept you right where he wanted you. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you readily opened your mouth for him, desperate to taste him. He licked into your mouth, tongue hot as it tangled with yours. You were greedy, sucking and lapping and nipping at his tongue and lips, getting messy with it and thoroughly forgetting where you were and how inappropriate a setting this was. 

You were like horny teenagers, hands grabbing at whatever bits of flesh they could reach, tangling in each other’s hair, and moaning louder than was appropriate. 

When you finally pulled back, you were both gasping for air, chests heaving against each other. Jack rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. You didn’t want to waste another moment not kissing him, though, so you began peppering his face with kisses–to his nose, cheeks, chin, wherever you could reach. 

He laughed at the onslaught, craning his head to the side to give you access to his neck, which you happily latched onto, “you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” 

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” you replied as you pulled away, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes at him. 

He shook his head fondly at you, “Now, as much as I’d like to do very, very inappropriate things to you right now, I came here this morning planning to ask you out to dinner. Would you allow me to ask you out properly now, sweetheart? Let me be a gentleman?” he asked, thumbs stroking your jaw. 

You nodded, still dizzy from his kiss–still reeling from the fact that Jack actually liked you. 

“Would you please make me the happiest man in the world, and accompany me to dinner at Altius tomorrow night at 7?” 

“I’d love to,” you grinned, pulling him in for another kiss. 

“And after, we'll see just how insatiable you are.” 

A/N: shoutout to my fellow anthropology majors lol glad that my degree is coming in handy for something cause its certainly not a job

taglist: @ficcyyfics @realwhoreforfictionalmen

[abbotslop]

MDNI/18+

you’re in a frenzy, ripping through your closet. there are hangers scattered on the floor, plastic clinking together as you step over them. your drawers are haphazardly opened, jeans and socks spilling out of them.

you even dig through your dirty hamper, groaning as your search comes up empty. you’re on the floor, surrounded by the carnage of your rampage. you have to leave for work in ten minutes and you’re not even dressed. not even sure where any of your three sets of uniforms are.

your vision goes blurry, frustration welling in your chest. you knew you should’ve made sure you had your clothes, but no. you just had to opt for a lazy afternoon. you feel so small, scrubbing a hand across your face. it was so stupid to cry over something like this. not only were you going to be late, you still had to pack your dinner and stop for gas.

the world is coming to an end as you know it, when the bedroom door opens. andrew stands there, hamper in his arms smelling like fresh lavender.

“angel?” immediately he’s rushing over, crouching to your level as he brushes your tears away. he holds your face in his hands, cradling you so gently. “what’s wrong?”

he asks you so tenderly. brows pinched, trying to figure out what could have upset you so. you start to blubber, hiccuping the whole way through your explanation. your missing uniform, your dinner, your gas, the fact you’d be late. your boss had been on your ass and you really couldn’t afford a write up.

andrew clicks his tongue, shaking his head softly, “that’s what has you so worked up?”

he stands back up, crossing to where he left the laundry basket. he rifled through it shortly before holding up your work clothes. he walks over slowly, handing them to you. “they were dirty.”

you stare at the offending pieces.

“and i took your car for groceries earlier. filled it up when i did.”

“andrew—” you take the clothes from him, holding them close to your chest.

“your dinner is on the counter. the taco vendor that you like was open.”

“andrew—”

“it’s all taken care of. you just need to get dressed.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, tears gathering for an angrily different reason.

“i’ll always take care of you.”

[clocksamiright]

ANDREW CODY MY FAVOURITE PROVIDER

[clocksamiright]

Stress Reliever - Jack Abbot

Pairing - Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary - Doctor Abbot is always around when you need a bit of stress relief, that is until you overhear a conversation that was definitely not meant for you.

Warnings - Large age gap (Jack in his late 40’s, reader in her late 20’s), power imbalance, SMUT (oral + fingering, dirty talk), pet names (no use of y/n), miscommunication, workplace tension.

Word count - 9142

Notes - First post on tumblr omg?? Guys I can not stress enough that the medical practice is definitely not accurate at all. The idea came at me out of nowhere and I started writing without figuring out the basics. YES there will be a part two!!

You’d had an awful night, truly awful.

Working in the Emergency Department was never a walk in the park. You deserved to have a little downtime with someone who understood that just as much. At least, thats what you told yourself as you tangled your fingers in the salt and pepper curls that belonged to your attending.

Jack Abbot knew the ins and outs of the department, knew the stress it caused. So who was he to turn down helping one of his students relax? His favourite one at that.

He had always managed to keep an eye on you, check in mid shift, clock the way your body tensed under pressure. And now, with the department finally behind you and the weight of the night shift beginning to melt away, he was paying attention just as closely. Which was why he knew you were close from the way your thighs tensed on either side of his head.

His face stayed buried in your pussy, tongue lapping at your clit as he listened to the muffled whines you let out from beneath your hand. He didn’t like that—Jack Abbot was the type of man who wanted to hear just how good he made his woman feel.

He lifted his mouth off of you, despite your frustrated huff of disappointment, and let his fingers trail over the insides of your thighs. He was certain that he would never get over how soft you felt under his touch.

“Jack? Why’d you stop?”

Your voice came out a little breathless—strained, almost as if you couldn’t speak through the lump in your throat. You always got a little teary when you were about to cum, it was one of the things Jack loved seeing most in the world—that and your smile.

He let out a quiet chuckle as he pressed a quick kiss to the crease of your inner thigh, breath ghosting over your skin in a way that made you tense beneath him.

“You know I like hearing you, yeah?”

You nodded your head in agreement but he quickly cut off the movement with a harsh pinch to your outer thigh.

“Words, Sweetheart.”

“Yes! Yes, I know you like it.” You whined out—skin burning from the pinch, stomach still tense from the orgasm that was ripped away from you.

“Then you know not to cover your mouth when I’m making you cum, yeah?” He grumbled, leaning back in to place a gentle kiss over your clit. He revelled in the gasp that tore through your throat and the tremor that shook your body, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“God, look at you. You’re so needy, baby.” Jack teased as he dipped his fingers through your folds. “You want me to make it better? Want me to make you cum?”

Your head nodded rapidly as you blindly reached down for his hair again, hips squirming further into his touch.

“Yes, please, Jack. I need you.”

“Then you gotta be good.” He sent you a pointed look from his place between your legs, one brow raised. “You gotta be my sweet girl and let me hear all of those pretty sounds, Honey.”

With that he dove back in.

Jack’s mouth found its place back on your pussy, lips sealing around your clit as his fingers circled your entrance and gathered the slick leaking from it. He moaned against you as he heard the loud whine that spilled from your lips, eyes transfixed on the way your breasts heaved with every breath you took.

Your legs trembled once again as you felt both of his thick fingers push inside you. If there was one thing about Jack Abbot that no one could beat, it was his hands. You’d watched those hands close delicate facial lacerations with effortless precision, every stitch perfectly spaced. Somewhere between watching him save a frightened young woman’s smile and feeling his fingers curl inside you, you’d developed a very serious problem.

He pushed his fingers deeper and sucked on your clit a little harder as your back bowed off of the mattress.

“Jack! Oh god- Oh my God, I’m so close!” The moans spilled from your lips one after the other—a helpless blabbering through the sobs and squeals.

“Thats it, Sweetheart. Let go f’me. Come on” He mumbled against you, hot breath fanning your skin. He could feel the thin layer of sweat covering your body, could smell you everywhere. His fingers curled against that soft spot inside you, rewarding him with the feeling of your walls fluttering and clamping down on him.

A part of him wished it was his cock inside you instead, but he knew he would get to that soon enough.

He lifted his gaze, staring at you through hooded eyes as he watched your orgasm take over your body. He watched the way your eyes rolled back, watched the way your mouth fell open in a silent cry, watched the way your fingers twisted into the sheets beside your head until your knuckles turned white. He worked you through the orgasm effortlessly, pumping his fingers and licking at your weeping pussy until you were pushing his head away with a breathless “too much”.

Jack just chuckled as he finally pulled back, gently easing his fingers from inside while glancing back up at your face for any sign of discomfort. Of course he didn’t find any, all he saw was pure bliss.

“You with me, Honey?” He asked as he shuffled his way up your body and laid beside you, one hand reaching out to push back the strands of hair stuck to your forehead.

You turned your head slowly with a small nod, eyes already fluttering shut as your body, that had been tense all week, finally relaxed and melted into your bedsheets. “I’m okay, I’m good.” Your words were slightly slurred as you turned your face into Jacks hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

The room had settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of your breathing and the faint hum of traffic somewhere beyond the bedroom window. The frantic edge that had clung to you when you’d walked through his front door was gone now, replaced by the heavy, content exhaustion that always seemed to follow a difficult shift.

Jack watched you quietly.

Your eyes were already half closed, your body sinking further into the mattress with every slow breath. There was something almost unfair about how peaceful you looked now compared to the tense, wound-up version of you he’d watched running around the emergency department only a few hours earlier.

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your forehead.

“You still with me?”

“Mhm.” Your lips curved into the sleepiest little smile as you reached a hand out to settle over his bare chest, fingers twirling around the fine grey hairs.

“‘Mhm’ isn’t an answer.”

That earned him a tiny groan.

“I’m here,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering open just enough to find his. “Promise.”

“Good.” His thumb traced absentmindedly along your temple before resting against your cheek. It had become second nature to check on you like this, whether you’d had a difficult procedure, a rough patient, or simply forgotten to eat during a twelve-hour shift.

Tonight was no different.

“You feeling better?”

“So much better.” You nodded lazily and shuffled close enough to lay your forehead against his shoulder.

“You sure?”

You gave him another quick nod. “I don’t think I’ve moved in,” You paused, blinking slowly as if the thought itself had drifted away. “Like… five minutes.”

Jack laughed properly this time, the chesty laugh you had grown to feel giddy at.

“I noticed.”

“It’s nice.”

“It is?”

“Mhm.”

“You planning on staying there forever?”

“If you’ll let me.”

His smile softened, those perfect puppy eyes sparkling as he stared at you in the dim light of his bedroom.

“I reckon I can make room.”

You smiled without opening your eyes, instinctively turning your face into the warmth of his hand. It was such an unconscious little gesture that he doubted you even realized you’d done it.

His heart did something deeply inconvenient. He’d spent months convincing himself this was simple. Two people blowing off steam after impossible shifts. Nothing more, nothing less. No expectations, no promises, and definitely no complications.

Except somewhere along the way you’d started leaving a toothbrush in his bathroom. He’d started buying the coffee you liked without thinking. You knew exactly how he took his tea. He knew which side of the bed you always fell asleep on. You complained when he skipped lunch. He reminded you to call your mom.

None of that belonged in something casual.

His fingers lingered against your cheek for a second longer than they needed to. “You know,” he said quietly, “you looked about ready to throw a trolley at someone earlier.”

A sleepy laugh escaped you.

“It was a printer.”

“Right. My mistake.”

“It wouldn’t print blood labels.”

“Monstrous.”

“I agree.”

“I’ll make sure to write it up.”

“You’re making fun of me.” You cracked one eye open just enough to look at him.

“Little bit.”

“Horrible old man.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Your hand found his beneath the blankets, weaving your fingers through his almost absentmindedly. “Thanks.” You mumbled under your breath, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at your joined hands and froze for a moment before regaining his composure.

“What for?”

“For,” You shrugged, searching for the words, all of a sudden becoming more shy than you’d ever been. “This.” Your voice was so quiet he almost missed it. “For making the week feel less heavy.”

Jack swallowed hard, blood rushing and heat creeping up his neck as he squeezed your hand once.

“Any time.”

You smiled again, already drifting back toward sleep.

“I know.”

Those two words settled somewhere deep in his chest. He watched you for another few moments, wondering when exactly this had stopped being convenient and started becoming something he was scared to name. Because the truth was becoming impossible to ignore.

He didn’t just enjoy taking care of you. He looked forward to it. And that realisation frightened him far more than he was willing to admit.

The room was quiet. Not the oppressive silence of an empty apartment, but the comfortable kind that only settled after exhaustion had finally won. Thin strips of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, painting pale gold lines across the rumpled duvet.

You blinked awake slowly. For a few seconds you simply lay there, trying to remember where you were. Then the familiar scent of Jack’s laundry detergent and the solid warmth radiating from the man asleep beside you brought everything rushing back.

The shift, his apartment, the night you’d had, the way he’d looked after you until every ounce of tension had melted from your body.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You rolled onto your side, propping your head up on your hand as you studied him. Jack Abbot looked nothing like the attending who commanded a trauma bay with quiet authority.

Asleep, the lines of responsibility had softened from his face. His curls were flattened on one side from the pillow, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed steadily, one arm lazily stretched across the mattress where you’d been tucked against him for most of the afternoon.

He looked peaceful. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him look peaceful. At work he was always moving, always thinking, always watching six things at once.

Here, he was just Jack.

You couldn’t stop looking at him. Your gaze drifted over the faint silver threading through his curls, the freckles scattered across his face and shoulders that disappeared beneath the fabric of his T-shirt he’d pulled on before falling asleep.

Your heart squeezed. Which wasn’t good, not good at all. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This arrangement had rules. Unspoken ones, maybe, but rules all the same.

Blow off steam. Sleep. Go to work. Repeat.

No feelings, no expectations, no complications.

Except somewhere between impossible night shifts, takeaway dinners and falling asleep wrapped around each other, you’d gone and fallen for him, hopelessly.

You let out the quietest sigh.

“See something you like?”

You damn near jumped out of your skin.

Jack hadn’t opened his eyes but a lazy grin spread across his face anyway. “You’ve been staring at me for, what…” His voice was rough with sleep. “Three minutes?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Hm.” Finally he cracked one eye open, amusement dancing there despite the obvious sleep still clinging to him. “So you’re just inspecting me?”

“I was making sure you were still breathing. You know, since you’re so old...”

“Very noble of you.”

“I know.”

His grin widened enough for him to look like the fucking Cheshire cat.

“You drooled on my pillow.”

“I did not.”

“You did, Sweetheart.”

“I don’t drool.”

“You definitely do.” He let out a quiet laugh that rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest before reaching across the bed and gently hooked a finger beneath your chin. “So defensive.”

“I’m being slandered.”

“Oh, is that what this is?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll have Gloria draft up a statement.”

“I hate you.” You snorted as you shook your head, swatting his hand away from your face. Or, at least, attempting to.

“Liar.” He tugged you the last few inches across the mattress until your forehead bumped gently against his. “You like me.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but the smile already creeping onto your face gave you away.

“A little.”

“A little?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was the kind of kiss that came from people who knew each other well enough not to feel the need to impress.

You kissed him back instinctively, your fingers finding the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Jack sighed softly into your mouth, parting his lips a little wider and letting his tongue brush against the plumpness of your lower lip. You immediately opened up for him, pressing your tongue against his in a way that had his fingers tightening against your cheek.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his for another moment before glancing toward the digital clock on the bedside table.

5:12 PM.

“Oh, shit.” Your eyes widened, almost popping out of your sockets.

Jack followed your gaze and immediately winced.

“…Ah.”

“We’re on tonight.”

“We always are.”

“We have to leave here in like…”

“A couple of hours, Honey.”

“We should definitely be adults.”

He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back onto the pillow while his arm stayed curled around you. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

You laughed, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

“Come on, Doctor Abbot.”

“Oh, now it’s Doctor Abbot?”

“You’ll survive.”

“So charming.”

“I learned from the best.”

He sighed before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. You sat quietly for a moment as he reached for the prosthetic resting neatly beside the nightstand. He’d never made a production out of it. Never asked for help unless he genuinely needed it. It was simply part of the routine.

You gave him the same privacy you’d always appreciated him giving you. Sliding out of bed, you gathered one of his oversized T-shirts around yourself and padded toward the bathroom.

“I’ll be quick,” you called over your shoulder. “Bathroom’s all yours after.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

The familiar nickname warmed your chest far more than it probably should have.

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you closed the door behind you. Your hair was a mess. There were faint pillow creases across your cheek. You looked thoroughly exhausted. And despite all of that, you couldn’t stop smiling.

You splashed cool water over your face, trying—and failing—to wipe the lovestruck expression away. This arrangement was supposed to be simple. You had a sinking feeling it hadn’t been simple for a very long time.

You’d washed away the last traces of sleep, pulled your hair back into something vaguely presentable and slipped into a fresh pair of scrubs that smelled unmistakably of Jack’s detergent. You smiled to yourself as you tugged the drawstring tight. A few weeks ago, you’d accidentally left a spare set of scrubs at his apartment after staying over between shifts. Instead of telling you to take them home, he’d simply washed them, folded them neatly and tucked them into one of his spare drawers. Now they practically lived there and neither of you had ever acknowledged it.

You padded back into the bedroom, finding Jack just finishing fastening the sleeve over his prosthetic before standing to test his balance. He looked up as soon as he heard you.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.” You nodded towards the ensuite. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” He stretched his shoulders with a quiet groan.

“I know I am.”

His lips twitched as he fought back the laugh that threatened to escape. He had always found your dry humour endearing, even before this whole ordeal. It was one thing to physically keep up with his fast paced teaching in the ED, but mentally? With your sharp wit and easy comebacks? Yeah, he was obsessed.

“I’ll go jump in the shower.”

“I’ll make coffee.”

Jack paused halfway to the bathroom. “You don’t have to.” He gave you that small smile as if to say ‘you’re too good, kid.’

“I know.” You shrugged casually. “But if I don’t, you’ll spend ten minutes trying to remember where you put the coffee filters.”

“I know exactly where they are.”

“You looked in the fridge for them last week.”

“That happened once.”

“It was funny.”

“It was sleep deprivation.”

“It was hilarious.”

He pointed a finger at you as he backed towards the bathroom. “You are dangerously close to losing privileges to my kitchen.”

“That’s just not true, you love my coffee and breakfast.”

Jack just rolled his eyes as he stepped through the doorway. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and a second later the shower came to life.

His apartment was quiet in a way hospitals never were—no beeping monitors, no hurried footsteps racing towards a trauma bay. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant rush of water from down the hall. You moved around the kitchen almost without thinking.

Mugs.

Coffee grounds.

Kettle.

Sugar.

You knew where everything lived now. It wasn’t because Jack had ever shown you, you’d been here enough times to learn. That was another thought you quickly shoved to the back of your mind.

By the time the coffee had finished brewing, the shower had stopped and a few minutes later you heard drawers opening and closing in the bedroom, then footsteps coming down the hall.

You glanced up just as Jack rounded the corner in his fresh scrubs, stethoscope already slung lazily around his neck. His hair was still slightly damp, curls refusing to behave despite whatever effort he’d made. He looked unfairly attractive for someone about to work another twelve-hour night shift.

His eyes immediately landed on the mug waiting beside the coffee machine and he made his way over.

“You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“No?”

“You had a rough day yesterday.”

“So did you.”

“I wasn’t the one who nearly fell asleep standing at the nurses’ station.”

“I was resting my eyes.” His eyebrows lifted in mock offence as he leaned his hip against the kitchen counter.

“You were basically snoring.”

“See, that’s a lie.”

“Parker took a picture.”

“She what?”

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to suppress your grin. You loved teasing Jack, loved the way his eyes widened and lips parted when he was genuinely shocked by what you had said. The sight almost reminded you of one of those stupid cat memes that would get sent in the night shift group chat.

“I’m kidding.”

“You’re evil.” Jack narrowed his eyes suspiciously, not believing you for a second. He knew you and Parker were up to no good, more often than not. You were like two peas in a pod.

“I’ve learned from the best.”

He wandered closer until he was standing beside you, shoulders brushing lightly as he reached for his mug. Neither of you moved away and the kitchen suddenly felt much smaller than it actually was.

“You remembered, you always do.”

“Hm?”

“One sugar.”

You blinked as if he was suddenly speaking another language. How could you not remember? You had spent enough time around him—on top and beneath him too—to know how he took his coffee.

“Of course I did.”

Jack smiled into his coffee before taking a sip. It was exactly how he liked it. He also knew exactly how much sugar you took (a concerning amount), and that there was oat milk in his fridge despite him never drinking it himself.

Tiny habits, tiny pieces of each other, accumulated over months. Neither of you seemed brave enough to ask what they meant so instead, you stood together in comfortable silence, sipping your coffee while the evening sunlight stretched across the kitchen floor.

Eventually you glanced at the clock on the oven.

6:05 p.m.

“We should probably head out.”

Jack sighed dramatically. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.” He muttered as he ran a hand over the scruff of his stubble. He had been meaning to shave but had noticed the way you dragged your nails over it while he plowed into you a few weeks back. You never did that when he was clean shaven.

“We’re doctors.”

“I know.”

“We’re supposed to be responsible.”

“I know.”

“You literally tell your staff not to cut it fine.”

“I know.”

“And yet?”

“And yet” he echoed with a grin, “I’d quite happily spend another hour pretending the emergency department doesn’t exist if it meant I had you in my kitchen. Maybe even face down on my bed.”

Your smile softened as you gave him a small shake of your head. “So would I.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Jack looked at you for just a fraction longer than normal and something warm settled behind his eyes. Then, just as quickly, he smiled again and reached for his keys.

“I’ll see you there?”

You nodded and quickly finished the coffee that was still steaming in your mug.

“Yeah.”

It had become another one of Jack’s unspoken rules; never arrive together, never leave together. It wasn’t because he was ashamed. More so because hospitals were built on gossip, especially this one. You grabbed your bag from beside the front door while Jack held it open for you.

“Drive safe.”

“You too.”

For a brief second, neither of you moved. It would’ve been so easy for you to lean up on your tippy toes and press a soft kiss to his lips, to run your fingers through his curls until he melted into your touch. Instead, you settled for a small smile.

“I’ll beat you there.”

“In that little hatchback of yours?” Jack scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

“It has character.”

“It has about eighty horsepower.”

“It’ll still beat your old man truck.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you disappeared towards your car, sending him a cheeky grin over your shoulder. A minute later, the two vehicles pulled away from the apartment complex one after the other—not together, never together. Just close enough that, every time you stopped at a red light, you could see the familiar outline of Jack’s truck waiting a few cars ahead.

By the time the familiar silhouette of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center came into view, the warmth of the evening had already given way to the bright fluorescent glow spilling from the ambulance bay. The emergency department never really slept, it simply changed shifts.

You parked a few rows away from Jack’s truck, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat before locking the car. Across the lot, Jack climbed out at almost the exact same time, keys already twirling lazily around one finger.

He spotted you immediately. “You weren’t kidding.” He said with that same cheesy grin he would give you when he backed you up against walls in his apartment, when he stood behind you in the kitchen and pressed kisses to your bare shoulders.

“Hm?” You looked over, already attempting to suppress the heat creeping up your neck.

“You beat me.”

“I told you.” A smug smile spread across your face, your head cocking to the side slightly.

“My truck’s getting old.”

“No,” you corrected, falling into step beside him. “You’re getting old.”

Jack placed a hand dramatically over his chest as he scoffed out a laugh of feigned disappointment.

“That was unnecessarily personal.”

“You walked right into it.”

“I’ve got at least another decade before you can call me old.”

“You make noises every time you stand up.”

“They’re distinguished noises.”

“They’re old man noises.”

“You are absolutely impossible.” He let out a laugh, bumping your shoulder lightly with his.

The automatic doors slid open before either of you could say anything else and just like that, the atmosphere shifted. The familiar sounds swallowed you both whole—monitors beeping, phones ringing, the overhead speaker paging another trauma activation, stretchers rattling across the polished floor, conversations happening six at a time.

Jack’s posture straightened almost instinctively, the teasing smile softening into quiet focus. His eyes were already scanning the department before he’d even reached the desk.

“Evening.”

Dana looked up from the computers at the nurses station, glasses slipping down her nose slightly.

“Abbot.”

“Anything fun?”

She gave him a look, the kind of look that only dana could manage. One that showed just how done she was with everyone else’s stupidity.

“When has ‘fun’ ever been the answer to that question?”

“Fair point.” He smirked.

You couldn’t help smiling to yourself. Watching Jack switch into attending mode was almost fascinating. He wasn’t louder or harsher, if anything, he became calmer. More deliberate. Like every movement suddenly had purpose. It was one of the reasons everyone trusted him.

You slipped away towards the lockers while he headed straight into hand offs with the day shift. By the time you rejoined the department a few minutes later, he was already discussing bed availability with Robby while simultaneously reviewing blood work on one of the computers.

Without looking up, he gave you a quick, “Morning.”

You blinked in confusion, wondering if either of you had hit your head while he was fucking you into oblivion just hours ago.

“It’s seven at night.” You deadpanned, voice void of any amusement.

“It’s morning somewhere.”

“You’ve worked too many nights.”

“Probably.” Only then did he glance over, eyes not so subtly trailing up and down your body. It wasn’t anything special. Nothing like the eyes he would give you or the sweet compliments he would let slip. Yet somehow it warmed your chest more than they should have.

The first few hours of your shift disappeared in a blur. There was a teenager with appendicitis, an elderly man in rapid atrial fibrillation, a construction worker needing twenty-three stitches after introducing his forearm to an angle grinder, a little girl who had an asthma exacerbation who insisted on showing everyone pictures of her pet rabbit between nebulisers.

Jack floated between rooms with the same effortless confidence he always had. Sometimes he had you beside him, sometimes Ellis, sometimes Shen. Most of the time he would have some of the residents. He never seemed rushed. Even when the department was overflowing.

You’d just finished closing the final stitch in the construction worker’s arm when Jack looked over your shoulder.

“Tension’s good.”

“Thanks.” You tied the final knot with a nod of your head.

“I didn’t compliment you.”

“What?” You looked up at him, completely dumbfounded.

“I complimented the suture.”

You narrowed your eyes a little, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a tight frown.

“I hate working with you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No… I don’t.” You snipped the final strand. “I really don’t.”

“I know.”

His cocky grin only grew.

Later, Parker found you leaning against the nurses’ station inhaling what remained of a protein bar. “Incredible dinner.” She raised an eyebrow, eying your mouth stuffed full.

You looked down at the crushed wrapper and quickly swallowed before speaking.

“Gourmet.”

“You’ve got chocolate on your chin.”

“Liar.”

Parker reached over without hesitation, wiping the tiny smear away with her thumb before licking it off of her skin.

“There.”

“That was humiliating.”

“Just a little.”

“I was hoping nobody noticed.”

“You were basically eating upside down.”

“I was charting.”

“You were multitasking badly.”

“I miss having dignity.” You sighed dramatically.

Parker laughed and leaned against the desk you were sat at, arms folded over her chest.

“Wrong profession to be missing dignity.”

The two of you had settled into an easy friendship over the past few months. It wasn’t loud or overly sentimental. It was mostly teasing. Shared eye rolls whenever Shen started one of his stories. Trading snacks halfway through the shift. Quietly covering each other’s patients when someone desperately needed five uninterrupted minutes to eat. You trusted her, she trusted you. Simple as that.

Parker nodded towards Trauma Two where Jack was currently bent over a gurney working on a patient.

“You and Abbot came together today?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Parker.”

“I’m saying nothing.”

“You’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’re definitely thinking something.”

She lifted both hands innocently as if she didn’t have the most shit eating smirk slapped across her face.

“I just think you two work well together.”

“He’s my attending.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” She smiled into her coffee. “I just said you work well together.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to reading over your charting until the words began to blur together.

“You are insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Before you could reply, Shen called across the department. You looked over, eyes wide and forgetting all about your charting.

“Yep?”

“Abbot wants you in Trauma Two.”

“Yeah he does.” Parker hid another smile behind her coffee cup, trying not to laugh and choke on the scalding liquid.

You shot her an irritated look before jogging away. She watched you leave for a second, then looked across the department to where Jack already halfway into Trauma Two, one gloved hand holding the curtain open as another nurse rushed past carrying blood products.

Parker smiled to herself. She’d never seen Jack pay quite that much attention to any other resident.

By the time you jogged into Trauma Two, the room was already alive with controlled chaos. Nurses moved around the gurney with practiced efficiency, monitors beeped steadily somewhere over your shoulder, someone called out a set of observations while another wheeled in an ultrasound machine. The patient looked frightened more than anything else, eyes darting around the room as unfamiliar faces surrounded them.

Jack barely glanced up as you approached. “There she is.” He muttered fondly before sweeping his gaze back over the patient.

“What’ve we got?” You slipped a pair of gloves on and made your way to the opposite side of the gurney.

He gave you a quick rundown as the patient was transferred across onto the trauma bed. It was nothing you couldn’t handle. By the time he’d finished speaking, he was already stepping back.

“You’re running this one.”

You blinked once, taken aback by the sheer confidence in his tone.

“I am?”

“Mhm.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m just supervising.”

You looked at him for a second, then nodded once. The room seemed to quiet around you as you settled into your role. Not literally—the alarms still beeped, people still spoke, equipment still rattled. But your focus narrowed until all that existed was the patient in front of you.

You introduced yourself, your voice calm despite the familiar flutter of nerves beginning to build in your stomach. Jack stayed just behind your right shoulder, close enough to step in if he needed to but far enough back that everyone in the room knew you were leading. He never interrupted, never took over. He simply watched.

You worked through your assessment methodically, talking aloud as much for your own benefit as everyone else’s. Every now and then your eyes flicked towards him. Not because you needed permission, but because somewhere along the way he’d become your point of reference.

He met your gaze every time—a tiny nod, a slight tilt of his head. Nothing more. He gave just enough to tell you you were on the right track.

As the assessment continued, you hesitated over one part of your examination and Jack noticed immediately, he always did. He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“What’re you thinking?”

You explained your thought process, not fumbling once, and he listened without interrupting. When you finished, he nodded once.

“Good.” He muttered, elbow brushing just below your shoulder. “You’ve got this, keep going.”

Something inside your chest settled.

A few minutes later he leaned in again, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he looked over the patient’s observations.

“What else?” He asked, clasping his hands together behind his back and looking down at you.

You frowned thoughtfully as your mind raced through everything you’d learned, everything he’d taught you. You caught yourself beginning to second-guess and Jack recognised it instantly.

“You know this, Doc.” His voice stayed calm. “No rushing.”

You took another breath, looked back at the patient and started connecting the dots again. Seconds passed before you finally snapped your head up, eyes landing on Jacks reassuring gaze.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Go on.” His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

You explained your reasoning from beginning to end. This time you didn’t stop halfway through to question yourself, you simply trusted your judgement.

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifted and he gave a single approving nod. He knew you’d figure it out along, you always did.

“Atta girl.”

The words were so quiet they barely carried past the two of you. Yet somehow they settled warmly in your chest and made space for the pride to bloom.

He turned towards the rest of the team and nodded to them, that was all he needed to do. Instantly the room moved, investigations were ordered, treatment plans adjusted. People dispersed with renewed purpose. Only once everyone else was occupied did Jack glance back at you.

“See?”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you turned to face him, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet.

“I nearly talked myself out of it.”

“You always do.”

“I know.”

“And every time,” He reached past you to grab a chart from the end of the bed, his forearm brushing lightly against your back as he did. “You’re right.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I don’t know about every time.”

“No,” His eyes flickered towards you with that familiar amused look. “Just most.”

The next patient came less than twenty minutes later, then another, and another after that. Hour after hour, the two of you moved through the department almost effortlessly. Sometimes he had you taking the lead. Sometimes he’d demonstrate something before handing it straight back to you. Sometimes he’d simply stand behind you, observing in silence while you worked through a patient from beginning to end.

His teaching style had always been different. He never embarrassed you for getting something wrong, never snapped, never made you feel stupid. If you missed something, he’d steer you gently back towards it.

“What’re we forgetting?”

“What else could explain this?”

“Talk me through your thinking.”

Every correction felt like an invitation rather than a criticism. Every success was met with quiet praise.

“There you go.”

“Good job.”

“Nice thinking.”

“That’s it.”

“C’mon, you’ve got this.”

By now, he knew exactly when your confidence would start to wobble. He’d notice it before you even realised it yourself. He’d see the slight pause before answering, your brows drawing together, the way you’d chew the inside of your cheek when you started overthinking.

That was usually when he’d drift a little closer. Sometimes you wouldn’t even realise he was standing directly behind you until you felt the warmth of him at your back. He was never crowding, never taking over. Just there, solid and steady. If he was watching you perform a procedure, he’d stand beside you, occasionally close enough that his shoulder would brush yours as he watched your hands. If he needed to correct something, he’d quietly murmur the adjustment, never making a show of it in front of the rest of the team.

“There.”

“Just like that.”

“Little higher.”

“Perfect.”

And every single time you fixed it, he would be right there with the praise.

“There you go.”

“Good job, Doc.”

“Atta girl.”

The praise was never exaggerated, never patronising. Just genuine like he was proud of the doctor you were becoming.

The rest of the department had started noticing it, too. Jack never favoured you with easier cases. It was quite the opposite. He trusted you with some of the most challenging patients that came through the doors. He pushed you harder than he pushed most of the residents. Asked more questions, expected more from you. He knew you were capable of meeting those expectations.

To everyone else, it looked like an attending investing heavily in one of his strongest trainees. Only the two of you knew that, beneath every quiet “Good job, Doc,” and every reassuring “You’ve got this,” there was something neither of you had quite found the courage to name.

The emergency department settled into its usual rhythm again, controlled chaos. The waiting room remained full, ambulances still rolled through the bay every few minutes, and somewhere down the hall a toddler wailed loudly enough to echo off the ceiling tiles.

You’d barely had time to grab a sip of your rapidly cooling coffee before Mateo called across the department.

“Hey, Doc?”

You looked up from the computer.

“Yeah?”

“Got a little one with a chin laceration. Mom’s pretty anxious.”

“I’ll take it.”

You tucked the abandoned coffee behind the nurses’ station and headed towards triage behind Mateo, already smiling as you caught sight of the tiny boy sitting proudly on the examination bed with a blood-stained dinosaur clutched tightly against his chest.

Across the department, Jack watched you disappear through the doors before returning his attention to the chart in front of him. He rested one forearm against the nurses’ station, typing steadily as Parker stood opposite him updating another patient’s notes. Shen wandered over a moment later, balancing a half-finished iced coffee he’d almost certainly forgotten about hours ago.

“You’ve been glued to that chart for ten minutes,” Parker observed without looking up.

Jack hummed in acknowledgment, already knowing where the conversation was going.

“Trying to make my handwriting legible.”

“You type.”

“I know.”

Shen leaned against the counter with a grin, sloshing around the ice in his cup.

“So…”

“No.” Jack didn’t even look up.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’ve worked with you long enough.”

Parker smiled into her screen, shaking her head in amusement.

“He’s got you there.”

Shen ignored him and kept pushing.

“So… our favourite resident.”

Jack’s fingers paused for the briefest moment over the keyboard, mind already filled with images of you.

“What about her?”

Shen’s grin widened like he had hit a jackpot.

“I dunno.”

“Then what’s your point?”

“I just think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” Jack finally looked up with a deadpan expression.

“The way you two work together.” Shen elaborated.

“It’s kind of ridiculous.” Parker added in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What is?” Jack frowned in confusion.

“You finish each other’s sentences.”

“We do not.”

“You do,” Parker replied. “Half the time she knows what you’re about to ask before you’ve even opened your mouth.”

“That’s called efficient teaching.”

“Mhm.”

“And every time she starts second-guessing herself,” Shen added, “you somehow appear out of thin air.”

“I supervise all my residents.”

Parker exchanged a quick glance with Shen, the both of them clearly in tune with their accusations.

“Not like that.”

“You two spend far too much time watching other people.” Jack huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he returned to his notes.

“We spend a lot of time watching you.”

“You should find a hobby.”

“We have one.”

“Then maybe do the job you’re paid to do.” Jack sighed. For a few moments, the conversation dissolved back into the familiar soundtrack of keyboards clicking and phones ringing. He assumed that was the end of it.

He assumed wrong.

“I’m just saying,” Shen nudged Parker lightly with his elbow. “I’ve never seen Abbot hand-hold a resident the way he hand-holds her.”

“I don’t hand-hold anybody.” Jack’s head lifted again, brows furrowed so hard the wrinkles became even more prominent.

Parker raised an eyebrow and let out a small disbelieving laugh.

“You literally just stood behind her for twenty minutes in Trauma Two.”

“I was supervising.”

“Mhm.”

Jack opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to defend himself. He knew what they were trying to say, and the worst part was that they were right.

“You’ve got a soft spot.” Shen smirked.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“I mean… there’s nothing wrong with it.” Parker shrugged, completely unfazed.

“She’s a good doctor.” Jack muttered as he let out a tired breath and shook his head.

“We know.”

“She works hard.”

“We know.”

“She’s exactly where she should be for her year.”

“We know.” Shen folded his arms. “So why do you look like a proud dad every time she gets a diagnosis right?”

Jack laughed once through his nose. He had no idea what to say. They called him out on his shit and he had no defence.

“I don’t.”

“You really do.”

“You two are unbelievable.”

“We think it’s sweet.” Parker smiled. It wasn’t a sweet smile, more of a sly ‘you’re never living this down’ smile.

“It’s called mentoring.”

“Mhm.”

“And if she wasn’t one of the strongest residents in the department?”

“Then I wouldn’t push her as hard.” Jack answered almost automatically.

There was a brief pause between the three before Parker tilted her head.

“You push her harder than anybody.”

“Because she can take it.”

Shen looked pointedly towards triage where you were crouched down to eye level with the little boy, animatedly pretending to examine the dinosaur before even looking at the cut beneath his chin. The child giggled and his mother visibly relaxed.

“She’s good.” Shen smiled.

Jack’s gaze drifted across the department almost unconsciously. You hadn’t even noticed he was looking. You were completely focused on your patient, listening intently as the little boy explained—with enormous seriousness—that Rex had also bumped his chin.

Jack smiled to himself. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly. “She is.”

Parker caught it immediately and smirked through another laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

“What?” Jack blinked.

“That look.”

“What look? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Parker didn’t answer, she didn’t have to. Jack looked back towards triage again, eyes finding you immediately. You were laughing now. Not loudly, just enough to make the little boy beam despite the blood drying on his chin.

His chest tightened unexpectedly.

She’s good with everyone.

Patient’s trusted you. Children adored you. Nurses asked for you by name. You stayed late without complaining. You brought coffee for people who’d forgotten to eat. You celebrated everyone else’s successes before your own.

He’d watched you grow from a nervous student who second-guessed every answer into a doctor he would happily trust with his own family. Pride swelled in his chest. Then, almost immediately, something colder followed. His smile faded.

What are you doing?

The question appeared so suddenly it almost caught him off guard. He was forty-six years old while you were barely into your thirties. He was your attending. You were his resident. There were rules for a reason—boundaries, professionalism, power dynamics.

Jack felt his stomach twist hard.

When had he started buying that oat milk you liked? When had you started leaving spare scrubs at his apartment? When had “come over after shift” become almost every week? When had he stopped seeing it as something casual?

He thought about this morning, you making coffee and knowing exactly how he took it. Standing in his kitchen like you belonged there. He’d liked it far too much.

His chest felt suddenly tight.

This has gone too far.

It wasn’t because of you, it was because of him. He was supposed to know better, supposed to protect you, protect your career. If anyone found out, if someone reported it, the whispers alone could destroy everything you’d worked for. You deserved an attending who believed in you because of your ability. Not because he’d become incapable of separating admiration from affection.

His jaw tightened and without realising it, he’d been staring across the department the entire time.

Parker followed his line of sight then looked back at him. Her teasing smile softened, replaced by something more thoughtful. She couldn’t hear the argument raging in his head, but for the first time all evening Jack Abbot no longer looked amused. He looked worried.

The waiting room had finally started to thin, but not by much. There were still patients lining the hallway, nurses weaving between stretchers and monitors chirping somewhere in the distance, but the frantic pace of the night had eased into something manageable. The clock above the nurses’ station read 6:03 a.m. One hour, one more hour and the night shift would finally be over.

Jack rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck as he stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him. He’d read the same sentence three times. None of it had registered.

“You’re spelling your own name wrong.”

Jack blinked tiredly as he looked up, readers sliding down his nose. Robby stood beside him, coffee in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his fleece.

“…Huh.” Jack glanced back down at the chart.

“You wrote ‘Abbott.’”

“That’s embarrassing.” Jack let out a humourless laugh.

“It would be if you hadn’t looked half-asleep.”

“I’m fine.”

Robby didn’t answer immediately, he simply took a sip of his coffee and looked Jack dead in the eye.

“I’ve known you too long for that one to work.”

“I’m just tired.” Jack sighed quietly, pulling off his readers and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Mhm.”

“And something else.” Jack looked away.

Across the department you were still in triage, sat beside woman who had managed to slice her hand open while trying to open a beer bottle. You looked happy, completely unaware of his spiral.

His chest tightened again just as Robby followed his gaze.

“Her?”

“Yeah.” Jack’s jaw flexed.

Robby waited a moment before nudging jack over to one of the empty exam rooms. The two men stood in silence for a while, trying to figure where the conversation should go. Eventually Jack spoke.

“So,” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve done something incredibly stupid.”

Robby stayed quiet.

“We’ve been,” Jack hesitated, searching for the right words as if it would lessen the inevitable blow. “Seeing each other.”

Robby’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

“For how long?”

“A few months.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be anything.” Jack laughed softly to himself. “Just two people blowing off steam after shifts.” He shrugged. “No expectations, no relationship, no complications.”

“And now?” Robby nodded and folded his arms over his chest.

Jack looked down at the floor, almost ashamed.

“Now I don’t know.” He swallowed hard, one hand coming up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. “I like having her around.”

It was definitely more than that. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“I look forward to seeing her.” He laughed again, this time without any humour behind it. “She practically lives at my apartment between shifts. We have coffee together. She knows where everything is in my kitchen. I’ve got spare scrubs for her. I buy fuckin’ oat milk because she likes it.”

Each sentence seemed to make the knot in his stomach tighter.

“It stopped feeling casual a while ago.”

Robby listened without interrupting, sighing ever so slightly and running his fingers through the scruff of his beard.

“And people are noticing.” Jack sighed. He gestured vaguely towards the department. “Shen and Ellis. They were joking earlier, saying I’ve got a soft spot.”

“They’re right.” The admission was barely above a whisper. “I do.”

His eyes drifted back to you. You were smiling at something the woman had said, carefully adjusting the dressing beneath on the palm of her hand before giving her forearm a gentle squeeze.

Jack couldn’t help smiling too, even if it disappeared almost immediately.

“I’m her attending.” The words landed heavily between them. “I’m supposed to be teaching her. Looking out for her.”

He shook his head and rolled out his shoulders, hands coming up to adjust the stethoscope around his neck.

“I am forty-six, she’s got her whole career ahead of her. If anyone found out…” He didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t need to.

Robby already knew. After a long moment, he asked quietly, “Do you want it to be something more?”

Jack answered so quickly it almost sounded rehearsed. “No.” The word came out sharper than he’d intended. “No.” He shook his head again. “It can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Jack exhaled slowly. “Because the second it becomes something more, it becomes real.”

“And that’s a problem?” Robby frowned slightly.

“It’s,” Jack searched for the words again. “It’s stressful. I’d spend every day worrying someone would find out. Worrying she’d lose everything because of me. Worrying I’d ruin her career.”

He laughed bitterly and shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“I’m supposed to make her life easier. Not be the reason it falls apart.”

Robby studied him carefully. He had seen his best friend spiral before, had been there through every up and down—the loss of his wife, the therapy. It never got any easier to watch.

“So what are you going to do?”

Jack was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Robby wondered if he hadn’t heard the question. Finally he spoke, a slight tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there in a long time.

“I think I need to end it.” The words tasted wrong, painfully wrong. “It has to stay what it was.”

He shook his head as soon as the words settled, face screwing up slightly.

“No. Not even that. I don’t think it can.”

“So you’re going to walk away.” Robby’s expression softened.

“Yeah.” Jack closed his eyes briefly. “Before one of us gets hurt.”

The irony of the sentence hung in the air between them.

You had been heading back through the department after finishing up on the patient in triage, weaving around nurses pushing stretchers and healthcare assistants changing over beds. The corridor beside Exam Four was quieter than the rest of the department. The door wasn’t completely closed.

Your steps faltered as you walked past hearing Jack’s voice, low and gruff.

“I’ve done something incredibly stupid.”

Robby answered, though you couldn’t quite make out what he said.

“We’ve been seeing each other.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t trying to listen, really, you weren’t. But hearing those words made your feet stop of their own accord. Jack sounded tired, more tired than you’d heard him in a long time. Sure there had been days where you would both cone home exhausted, where you would both just collapse onto his bed and just lay in silence. But this was something else.

You frowned as your grip tightened around the chart.

Inside the room there was a pause, then Robby’s voice rang out.

“Do you want it to be something more?”

The silence after lasted just long enough for your heart to begin beating a little faster. A small part of you, a stupid part of you, wanted to believe that Jack would say yes, that he would admit he was as crazy about you as you were for him.

Just as quickly as you had gotten your hopes up, you felt your heart shatter.

“No.”

Jacks answer was firm and certain, like he didn’t have any doubts about it. Something in your chest cracked, Jack continued speaking but you couldn’t stomach anymore. Every word seemed to hit harder than the last.

You stared at the floor. Your fingers had gone numb around the edge of the clipboard. Your throat tightened painfully as you listened to him talk about how it had to be just sex or nothing, about how he needed to end it before it became something more.

The corridor suddenly felt impossibly small. You couldn’t hear Robby anymore, couldn’t hear the monitors, couldn’t hear the phones. Couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of your own heartbeat.

He was ending it. Not because he’d stopped enjoying being with you. Because he’d decided, alone, without ever asking what you wanted, without even giving you the chance to have the conversation.

Your stomach twisted again. That hurt almost more than the words themselves. Somewhere in the last few months, he’d stopped being just your attending. Stopped being just someone you slept with after difficult shifts. He’d become… Everything. And apparently he’d decided you weren’t even worth talking to before throwing it all away.

A bitter laugh almost escaped you. So that was it? That was all you’d get? Months of late-night conversations. Coffee in his kitchen. Falling asleep wrapped around each other. Gentle kisses before work. Learning each other’s routines. Looking after one another. Reduced to a decision he’d already made.

You blinked rapidly.

No. Absolutely not.

If he wanted to end things, fine. That was his choice. But he wasn’t making that choice for you. Not after everything. Not after letting you fall this hard without so much as asking how you felt.

Your jaw clenched and the hurt slowly gave way to something else. Anger. It wasn’t loud or explosive. It was the quiet kind. The kind that settled deep in your chest and made your eyes sting.

You straightened the chart in your hands, took one slow breath, then another. By the time you stepped away from the doorway, your face had settled back into perfect professionalism.

If Jack Abbot wanted this to be nothing more than sex, then from this moment onwards, he’d have exactly what he’d asked for.

Nothing more.

Thank you all so much for reading!! Part two will be out soon <3