pairings / trinity santos x female!intern, jack abbot x female!intern (platonic)
summary / jack abbot had his suspicions over his favorite intern for a while now. it doesn't help when she shows up bruised and battered and he finds out that someone else shares his worries. (3k wc)
warnings / abuse! scenes described & abuse hinted at. this is very jack centric oops, my bad! ooc jack? ooc trinity? jack abbot is a dad. medical inaccuracies because i'm not a doctor and the research makes my head hurt sorry lol.
notes / this is part 1! this is just the start of my girly prongs' series <33
୧ *·˚ PTMC, 7PM.
The neon-red emergency sign loomed in front of her bright and heavy as she gripped the straps of her backpack with sweaty fingers, feet firmly rooted to the ground — For a moment she felt taken back to starting her first year of residency at PTMC a few weeks ago; eyes wide and limbs trembling. She remembered the way the attending Doctor Robinavitch — Call me Robby, kid — had looked at her as though she was a kitten in need of rescuing; the way Doctor Abbot had made sure to give her a thumbs up or an encouraging word after every patient during her first shift — because, of course, her first shift as an intern had to clash with the shooting at Pittfest — or the way Dana had proclaimed her as the baby of the ER a week into her residency.
Whatever it was, something about her — something about her doe-like eyes and her thin frame that seemed to tremble with frigidity when the wind picked up — made her seem like something in need of protecting. She was skilled too; working with the precision of someone who was more than just an intern and the empathy of someone who had faced her fair share of horrors over the twenty-something years she'd been alive — and, in all fairness, none of them doubted that she had.
The clock was just shy off seven — it was her second week of night shift — when she finally found the courage to meander through the chaos that was the PTMC waiting room. Flashing her badge to the security guard at the front, she pushed open the door to the familiar Emergency Room that had become more of her home than the tiny apartment tucked in between a flower shop and a cozy bar she actually lived in.
She buried her face in the collar of the jacket she had thrown over her scrubs in her haste to get out of the door, pulling her cap deeper into her face as her eyes easily sought out Robby and Doctor Abbot leaning against the nurses station. Fuck. Truth to be told, she was certainly aware that there was no way in hell that she could hide the evidence of her weekend, that stood out against the pale skin of her face like a lighthouse, from anyone at the PTMC but she had hopped to put it off until the last second — or at least until Robby, the equally as worried but more emotional part of the two, had left for his home.
"Hey." she muttered uneasily in passing, merely raising her hand in an akward wave.
"Well, hello the— Woah, woah, woah! Hey!" Robby interrupted himself, abandoning the tablet in his hands to rush towards her. He was in front of her in seconds, gentle hands tilting her face towards the light as he took in the bruise blossoming around her left eye with furrowed brows. Doctor Abbot moved into the space behind him quickly, straining his neck over Robby's shoulder to get a good look on her face as well.
She winced as her head throbbed with the motion. She had looked at herself in the mirror before she left and, in all honesty, she knew if the slight limp in her gait didn't raise any concerned questions, her left eye that was almost swollen shut at this point definitely would.
"What happened there then, huh?" Doctor Abbot hummed, muscular arms crossed in front of a broad chest. Her answer was a mere grimace as she watched Robby pull out a penlight from the chest pocket of his scrubs, checking her pupils before prodding around the bruised swelling starting around her eye.
"Pupils are equal and reactive— Come on, follow my finger." Robby muttered; a calm focus replacing the frantic worry even if she could see the hints of unease slipping through the cracks. She obliged begrudgingly, humoring Robby by following his finger with her eyes — Heaven knows there was no way he would let her slip off to work before assessing her. "Okay, good. That looks to be in order. Nothing seems broken either, but I want to get a head CT so we can rule out everyth—"
Her eyes widened in panic and she was quick to stumble a step back. "Hey, no, that's not necessary at all. I just tripped on my way down the stairs this morning and knocked into a table. I'm good... seriously. Nothing ice and a little TLC can't fix."
The corners of Doctor Abbot's mouth quirked up into a solemn smile as he moved to stand next to Robby. Sure you did." he muttered, sharp eyes taking in the way she stood there, clearly favoring her left leg and thin arms wrapped around herself delicately.
Her face had considerably hollowed out since she had started at PTMC all those weeks ago; already prominent features now sticking out sharp and distinctively gaunt. With the sleeves off her underscrubs permanently stretched past her knuckles and her head always tucked into the hood of the jacket she always wore, it suddenly became apparent to Jack that she was shrinking right in front of his eyes — that there was significantly less her standing in front of him now than the girl he'd met stumbling into the ER for the first time that day of Pittfest. "You're not working in my ER until you're cleared. One of your eyes can barely stay open." he huffs, tilting his head up ever so slightly at her. There's something in his chest that he can't quite name but his voice is thick with it — It's the same way his heart had seemed to swell in his chest leaving him breathless when his late wife had thought she was pregnant all those years ago.
"Doctor Abbot—" she tried in a feeble attempt but Jack shook his head, one hand already hovering near her back.
"You and I are gonna take a trip up to CT." he explained, a sense of tenderness seeping through his actions and words that was so entirely different to the doctor she had met at the start of her residency. "Did you pass out? Any nausea? Dizziness?"
She wanted to argue; wanted to tell him that she is more than capable of diagnosing a concussion on her own, that despite being just an intern she still went through med school and could take care of herself but a tiny part of her — the tiny part that wasn't terrified of being found out — couldn't help but think it felt nice to be taken care of. "No, no and no." she muttered, shaking her head despite the pounding in her head.
It was a white lie, really. In truth, she had no clue if she had passed out — She remembered her boyfriend's face distorted in rage, his fist raising after one of their many arguments had once again blown out of proportion before it came barreling towards her. It took a full minute, however, for her to actually feel the pain searing through the left side of her face, a full minute as she just looked at his face; looked at the man she'd loved for seven years who had for the first time actually punched her in the face.
She couldn't remember the ten minutes that followed — She could distinctly think of her body breaking to the right, hip crashing against the bedside table and she could faintly picture her boyfriend changing her trembling body into her scrubs, but that's when her mind blacked out.
Jack looked over at her with his eyebrows narrowed and lips pressed thin in a way that was so Doctor Abbot — so like the man that had driven her home once after a gruelling shift left her drained to the point Robby worried she would wound up in the ER on a gurney if he let her leave alone; the man who had covered her in his jacket when she had fallen asleep in his passenger seat and had mindlessly driven for an hour through Pittsburgh just to make sure she got at least an ounce of sleep — that it almost made her cry.
It was silent after that — or: as silent as it could get in the chaos of the pitt — as Doctor Abbot guided her to the elevator, his broad back shielding her from the prying looks from the nurses he knew to like the ugly gossip. His hand was just shy off her back, close enough for her to feel the warm radiating from him but far enough for her not to feel suffocated.
"Anyone we can call for you? Boyfriend? Parents?" he asked mindlessly as he got her situated on a chair just outside the doors of the CT. His gaze was trained on the tablet in his hands as his fingers swiftly moved to start a chart on her but his sharp eyes didn't miss the way she seemed to sit up a little straighter at his question.
"Uh... no," she muttered, a sense of shame spilling from her lips "My boyfriend's... busy and I don't— My parents— They live out of state.", she settled on after a brief moment of akward rambling. Jack made a noise in acknowledgment; something between a hum and a grunt.
He could feel something tighten in his chest — His parents, too, had always been 'out of state' whenever anything had come up; for his wedding, every Christmas and every birthday. He shifted towards her against the strain it put on his prosthesis. "Okay, kiddo," he muttered, his voice edging on a sense of softness he usually reserved for his kid patients "I'm pretty sure Robby will stay until you're cleared anyway so he can drive you home."
She wanted to protest but Doctor Abbot just shook his head. "Don't even think about it. I don't think your patient satisfactory scores wouldn't handle your face looking like you just came home from a pub crawl." he joked — Joking because joking with her felt safe when he couldn't quite decipher the feelings wrapping around his chest like a rubberband.
Her shoulders slump in unconcealed defeat. She knew that not only would Doctor Abbot and Robby not let her work under any circumstances, but — and everything in her loathed to admit it — she was in no condition to treat patient when she could neither walk nor see properly. "I can take the bus, it's fine."
Jack's head lifted ever so slightly, eyebrows raised and lips pursed ever so slightly. "No chance." he stated simply, his tone brooking no argument.
She let out an exhale — shaky and deep — as she slouched deeper in the chair. The night shift, when she'd joined them two weeks ago, had felt like a safe haven; night shift meant that she could spend as little time confined to the same four walls as her boyfriend. Night shift meant she could leave home before he returned from work and take so much time getting back home in the morning, that he'd already left when she opened the door.
"Is your boyfriend home?" Jack asked casually. He barely looked up from the tablet in his hand but she noticed the slight shift in his posture; noticed the tension pulling through his shoulders and the slight downturn at the corners of his mouth. She knew her coworkers had a hunch — the bruises peeking out, the way she checked her phone almost obsessively and the times she refused to meet up with them for any social event outside of work.
"Yes, got home from work when I was getting ready." she explains, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. Jack nodded wordlessly, fingers flying effortlessly over the tablet.
Jack wanted to ask — Wanted to know if it had been him; if the man that was supposed to love her had been the one who had hurt her to the point of this, but he knew that would inevitably only cause her to shut down. The door to the CT opened before he could say anything else.
Her name was called with that quiet softness the hospital edged into when one of their own was hurt and Jack watched with his eyebrows set in a deep frown as she stumbled to her feet and disappeared into the room.
"Doctor Abbot?"
Startled, Jack turned around to find a fidgeting Trinity Santos lingering just around the corner. She looks uncomfortable in the way that being vulnerable after years of faux strength makes one squirm uneasy. "Doctor Santos." he nods at her. "If there is an issue down in the ER, I'd ask you to please find Robby—"
Trinity shook her head quickly, eyes flickering over to the door to CT. "No, no, no problem in the ER, just... Is she okay?"
Oh, Jack thought, as his eyes carefully traced the way Santos held herself with both hands tucked in the pockets of her scrub pants and her shoulders pulled up to her ears. He nodded, lips twitching into an attempt of a comforting smile. "She took a nasty hit, but she will be fine." I hope, left unsaid.
Trinity hummed, adverting her eyes from Jack's piercing stare. For a moment, Jack debated asking her about Prongs' boyfriend. He knew they were friends; knew that the name Prongs stemmed from an inside joke between Prongs, Santos, Javadi and Whitaker (something to do with Harry Potter, not that Jack would ever admit to eavesdropping on them when they were huddled up at the nurses station during shift change). Once Robby and him had even run into them at the bar just down the road from the hospital which had ended up with him taking a giggling group of girls and a sleeping Whitaker home in his truck.
Trinity started speaking before he could think of what to say.
"She's been showing up with these bruises a lot lately." she started, shrugging in a way that seemed careless but Jack could see the tension pulling through her shoulders. He nodded, giving her the time and space to continue. "It's just— I'm not trying to say... whatever, it just seems weird, you know? She isn't that clumsy."
Jack watched as Trinity twitches on the spot and the pit that had been sitting heavily in his gut since Prongs had stumbled into the ER looking like death warmed over seemed to double in its' size. He knew Trinity was observant like that — appreciated her, even, when he had a case that seemed a little less medical and a lot more psychological — but right now he could only wish that she was wrong.
She sighed heavily, continuing. "I don't even know where I'm going with this. I guess I just—"
"You worry."
Trinity nodded, wordlessly.
"I worry, too." he admitted quietly, shoulders dropping slightly. He could see Trinity straighten up at his words, eyes widening in a way that made Jack think she'd expected him to dismiss her. Jack cleared his throat, thoughts racing a thousand miles a minute as he mulled over how to approach the topic when the door to the CT opened with a faint creak.
Within seconds the air shifted. Trinity pushed herself upright, shoulders pulled back and if it wasn't so devastating watching her swallow down the worry and fear, Jack would've asked her if she had ever considered a career change to acting. "Heard you lost a fight to the stairs and a table." Trinity huffed with a sense of feigned ease.
"Thanks for always being so worried for my wellbeing, Trin." Prongs snorted, lips twitching into something akin to a smile despite the aching in every bone in her body. Trinity only huffed in response, body subconsciously shifting to be closer to her. (Jack noted that; filing it away for something to discern later.)
"So," Jack cut in, lifting up the tablet with her file still opened "What's the verdict?"
Prongs' shoulders dropped ever so slightly but the half-smile stayed pulling stubbornly at the corners of her lips. "Everything looks good. You can see for yourself if you want." she shrugged.
Jack nodded, fingers already moving to pull up the scans added to her file. He didn't doubt her — Still, if there was one thing he'd learned over the years working in the ER it was to always be rather safe than sorry and there was no way in hell that he would take a chance with her. He hummed thoughtfully as his eyes flickered over the scans. "Looks good; think I can send you home without losing hair. Let me just ask Robby if he can take y—"
"I can take her!" Trinity cut in, an instant blush spreading on her cheeks as she realised how eager she sounded.
Jack didn't miss a beat, however. "Sure, that's fine."
The elevator ride back down to the ER went on quiet — Prongs, visibly drained, was propped up against one wall, eyes just about open while Jack and Trinity very obviously hovered, the worried crease between their eyebrows matching.
"Be safe," Jack muttered with a thick swallow as he leaned at the hub, watching Trinity juggle her and Prongs' backpacks in one hand, the other one kept steadily on Prongs' back "And don't even think about coming back before you're properly healed, you hear me?"
She giggled — the sound strained and not enough to ease the tension in his body even slightly. Jack could only beg to whoever might listen as he watched her leave; Please don't come back on a strechter. Please don't make me fight for your life. Please. I can't bury you.
i’m really not the type of person to say that cut scenes or bts info would have been better in a show, but the whole cut garsantos/whitsantos scene genuinely adds a lot to the story and closes out several things that were left open ended, or at least leaves things in a relatively positive way.
for trinity (and whitaker) it closes out the storyline with trinity’s self harm and shows that their bond is strong despite how much trinity pushes him away. it also proves that she has someone around her to keep her safe at home, the he saw the scalpel, and that whitaker would always pick her over robby’s house if she needed it. it also makes garsantos have an entirely different tone and stopping point as we saw it. because the fact that the last thing we heard about garcia is that trinity thinks she’s being treated like a squeeze toy while she’s planning on relapsing her self harm, when garcia was in reality going to dinner with her dad (instead of her situationship) changes so much.
it again proves my point that garsantos should not only be viewed through trinity’s lens and is so much more complex than people trying to point at garcia because they need someone to be angry at. the amount of people who villainised garcia and called her all sorts of names for cancelling on trinity, or people who just assumed she was playing with trinity’s feelings when we now know that wasn’t at all the case? … idk that scene would have put things in a different light and would have been an actual ending to all of three of their stories for the season being. sighs
tags: mentor jack abbot x mentor michael robinavitch x mentee reader, angst, hurt/comfort, burnt out reader, only child, high parental expectations, judgmental parents, it has to hurt before it can get better, the need to run to grow
notes: well....after orbiter i kinda binged listened to more noah kahan, so if you demand paid therapy talk to him not me, like always if you enjoy getting your emotions pulverized and built back together, putting my phd in daddy issues to good use, please comment on this post to be added to my permanent taglist!
extra: made sure to get all the h's in Pittsburgh for my anon here
word count: 8.5k
The Pitt existed in a constant state of controlled disaster. Every hallway carried noise. Every room carried urgency. It breathed around you like a living thing with stretchers rattling over worn tile floors, trauma pages shrieking overhead, nurses calling for labs over the phone while exhausted residents moved from room to room with coffee-stained charts tucked beneath their arms. The overhead light cast everything in the same washed-out brightness that made it impossible to tell whether it was four in the afternoon or four in the morning, and by the twelfth hour of your shift, time itself had begun to feel slippery and unreal.
You had learned to survive inside the madness long before you had learned how to survive anywhere else.
Only a year into residency, most people in the department knew you as the resident who never stopped moving. You picked up extra shifts before anyone could ask. You stayed late without complaint. You volunteered for difficult patients, difficult procedures, and even more difficult families. If someone needed help, you were already there before your name was called.
Nurses adored you for it. Attendings trusted you because of it. Med students followed after you like ducklings because despite your exhaustion, despite the permanent shadows beneath your eyes and the way your hands occasionally shook after eighteen-hour shifts, you were patients with them in a way few residents still had the energy to be.
But Jack and Robby knew better.
That was the most unfortunate thing about being mentored by two men who noticed everything.
You had somehow ended up under both of their wings during your first terrifying months at the Pitt, though neither of them would probably describe it that way aloud. Jack had claimed you first, in a sense. He had been the one to sit beside you after your first patient death that happened to be right as he walked in for handoffs, talking softly while you stared blankly at the vending machine in the waiting area because you couldn’t stop hearing the flatline in your head. Somewhere between that moment and now, he had somehow become the person who checked whether you’d eaten, who remembered the names of your difficult patients, who bumped his shoulder against yours after bad shifts and told you quietly that you did good work before your brain could convince you otherwise.
Robby had been different.
Robby mentored you the way sharpened steel honed another blade: precise, observant, relentless in a way that had terrified you initially because he missed absolutely nothing. He corrected your charting with brutal efficiency, expected excellence without excuse, and had a habit of standing silently behind you during procedures until your nerves nearly gave out completely. Yet somehow, beneath all of that intimidating composure, he had become one of the few people whose approval genuinely mattered to you. Maybe because it had been hard-earned. Maybe because when Robby praised someone, it actually meant something.
Together, the two of them had slowly turned into the closest thing you had to stability inside and outside the hospital.
Which was dangerous, really, because it meant they noticed things you desperately wanted hidden.
“You’re doing it again,” Jack’s voice cut through your concentration softly enough that you nearly missed it beneath the noise of the department.
You looked up from the computer at the nurses’ station to find him leaning against the counter beside you, early like always, salt and pepper curls slightly flattened and damp like he’d just stepped out of the shower and only ran a towel over them without any added products. There was a coffee cup balanced carelessly in one hand and a familiar look on his face that instantly made your stomach sink.
“What?”
“You’re clenching your jaw.” He pointed toward your face. “You only do that when you haven’t eaten like biting your cheek is going to magically fill your stomach.”
You looked back down at the chart in front of you, tearing your eyes away from his hazel ones. “I ate.”
He snorted quietly. “You are genuinely one of the worst liars I’ve ever met.”
“I had half a muffin,” you confessed.
“Was that before or after noon?”
You didn’t answer and that in itself was answer enough to make the man sigh dramatically before reaching into the pocket of his jacket and producing a protein bar that he slid across the counter in your way. The gesture was so practiced now it almost embarrassed you, because somewhere along the way, Jack had apparently decided monitoring your nutritional intake had become his person responsibility.
“You know,” he said casually, “most people usually eat more than vending machine crumbs during a twelve-hour shift.”
“I’m busy.”
“So is everybody else.”
You finally glanced up at him, an argument resting on your tongue, but the words died behind your teeth because he was looking at you with that same unbearably gentle concern he always wore whenever he thought you were running yourself into the ground again.
It disarmed you every single damn time.
Before you could force out another excuse, a trauma alert rang overhead sharp enough to snap the entire department into motion.
“Trauma two, ambulance bay. ETA two minutes.”
Jack straightened automatically. Across the department, you caught sight of Robby (who was supposed to already be gone) already moving toward the trauma room while barking instructions to a nurse beside him, his expression shifting seamlessly into focused command.
“Come on,” Jack said, but you were already following.
Moments later, the patient arrived unconscious after a multi-car collision, blood soaking through gauze wrapped hastily around his abdomen while paramedics rattled off vitals over the anxiousness of the group. The trauma room exploded into movement the second the stretcher crossed the threshold. Nurses shifted around each other with practiced efficiency, monitors shrieked intermittently, and beside you Robby’s voice remained impossibly calm.
“Pressure?”
“Dropping.”
“Get another line in.”
You slipped into place near the patient’s shoulder, adrenaline replacing exhaustion as your gloved hands moved through familiar motions. Your mind always quieted during trauma cases. There wasn’t room for self-doubt when someone’s life was actively bleeding out in front of you.
Robby glanced toward you briefly while adjusting his gloves. “You’re on airway.”
You nodded once.
Years ago in med school, the assignment would’ve terrified you enough to make you freeze even with an attending helping you through it. Now you moved through muscle memory, repetition overriding fear. To your left, Jack handed over supplied before stepping in to stabilize the patient’s chest.
The three of you worked together seamlessly by now: one of the problems with mentorship built over too many sleepless nights and too many near disasters; you learned each other’s rhythms too well. Jack knew exactly where your confidence faltered during procedures. Robby knew when you were overcompensating by volunteering for more than you could realistically handle. Both of them knew the particular silence tat settled over you after difficult phone calls from home.
Neither had ever pushed too hard about those.
That is until now.
The trauma stabilized eventually after what felt like hours compressed into minutes. Once the patience was sent upstairs, the adrenaline drained out of your body so suddenly it left you dizzy. Your head pounded faintly behind your eyes. You realized belatedly you were running entirely on caffeine and anxiety.
No one noticed when you slipped quietly down the hallway toward the supply closet near the back of the ER.
Or at least, you thought no one noticed.
The closet was cramped and dimly lit, packed floor-to-ceiling with stacked saline boxes and extra linens. It smelled faintly like antiseptic and cardboard. You leaned back heavily against the shelving unit with your eyes closed, fingers pressing hard against your temples while you tried to steady your breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale—
Your phone buzzed wildly in your pocket, and the same lighting up the screen had your stomach dropping.
Mom.
For a brief moment, you considered ignore it entirely. But years of guilt and obligation had conditioned your body to respond before your brain could argue otherwise.
You answered quietly. “Hi.”
“There you are,” you mother said, her irritation bleeding through the speaker. “I’ve been calling.”
You closed your eyes harder. “I’m at work.”
“Well, forgive me for wanting to hear from my daughter.”
In the background, you could hear the television from your parents’ living room playing faintly. The sound hit you with sudden painful familiarity. You could practically picture the entire scene despite being hundreds of miles away: your father in his recliner, your mother pacing the kitchen while holding the phone too tightly.
“How’s the hospital?” she asked.
“Tiring.”
Your father’s voice cut in from somewhere behind her. “Still pretending to be a hotshot doctor?”
His words landed exactly where they always did, making your bottom lip wobble before you trapped it under teeth.
You swallowed carefully. “I’m not pretending.”
He laughed once under his breath. “Right.”
Silence stretched. The voices on the TV laughed. You slid slowly down the unit until you were sitting on the floor between the shelf and stacked boxes, exhaustion suddenly pressing into your bones with unbearable heaviness.
“We just worry about you,” your mother continued, though the concern in her voice always came wrapped in something sharper. “You sound miserable every time we talk.”
“Everyone’s the same, Mom. That’s residency.”
“No,” your father snapped, voice now closer and louder in the phone. “That’s what happens when somebody spends their whole life chasing things they were never meant for.”
Your chest tightened painfully as footsteps approached quietly down the hallway outside the supply closet. You didn’t notice.
“You could’ve stayed here,” your mother said. “You could’ve worked somewhere smaller. Normal. But no, you always just had to prove something.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything.”
“Aren’t you?” your father snarked back. “You think these people actually see you as one of them? You think you belong in that fancy hospital?”
Your throat burned.
No matter how many patients trusted you, no matter how much Jack and Robby praised your work, no matter how many lives you helped save, some small broken part of you still believed him.
You stared numbly at the floor tiles beneath your shoes, eyes blinking away tears and failing.
“I have to go,” you whispered.
“Of course you do,” your mother replied sharply. “Work matters more than family again.”
The call ended before you could pull the phone away from your ear. Quiet swallowed the room afterward so completely that the distant sounds of the emergency department suddenly felt muffled and far away. Your grip tightened painfully around your phone while humiliation and exhaustion tangled together so tightly in your chest it became difficult to breathe.
When the closet door opened suddenly, your head jerked upward.
Jack stood there first, one hand resting against the handle. The concern on his face hit you like a physical blow because it wasn’t pity. Somehow thought, pity would have been easier to stomach instead of the open heartbreak painted across his face.
Robby stood just behind him, arms folded tightly across his chest, jaw visibly tense beneath his incoming beard.
Neither man spoke right away, which told you that they heard enough. The thought made heat blood your face.
“I’m fine,” you blurted out, the response almost automatic and reflexive.
Jack’s expression only softened further. “You’re sitting on the floor of a supply closet.”
You tried to laugh weakly. “Needed a minute.”
Robby’s gaze remained fixed on you with clinical precision, but there was anger simmering under his composure now. You could tell it wasn’t directed at you but outwards to the voices he’d overheard tearing pieces of out of somebody he had spent years trying to build back up.
“How long has that been going on?” he asked quietly.
Your eyes went back down to the flooring. “It’s not a big deal.”
Jack exhaled slowly through his nose. “You don’t believe that.”
The gentleness in his voice nearly undid you more than the phone call itself had. You always hated this part most, the unbearable vulnerability of being seen clearly by people you respected. Jack and Robby had watched you become a doctor piece by piece. They had seen you at three in the morning after losing patients. Seen you shaking before procedures. Seen you exhausted, angry, frightened, overworked. And along the way, they had also noticed the deeper wound beneath all of it:
The one you spent most of your life trying to hide.
Robby stepped forward and crouched slightly so he was closer to eye level, his voice remaining calm and even in the way it always did when he was trying very hard to not overwhelm patients.
“You are one of the best residents in this department,” he said plainly. “You know that right?”
The laugh that followed came out thin and humorless. “Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
“I think as my attending you have to say that.”
“No. I really don’t.”
Jack stepped further inside the closet before leaning back carefully against the shelves opposite of you. “You stayed two hours past shift last week helping an uninsured patient figure out medication access because you knew nobody else would. You caught a pulmonary embolism every other resident missed in triage. Half the med students here want to be you when they graduate.”
You stared down at your hands because looking at either of them suddenly hurt too much. Whatever they said didn’t matter against the voices you’d been hearing your entire life. Robby seemed to recognize that quickly as sadness settled under his frustration.
“They’re wrong about you,” he said softly. “So very wrong”
Tears now burned at your eyes because, honestly, no one had ever said that to you before. Not friends. Not professors. Not even yourself.
Jack’s voice softened even further. “You do not have to destroy yourself to prove that you have the right to be here.”
Your face must have cracked at that because both men went still as the terrible truth sat openly between all three of you: you genuinely didn’t know how to exist without earning your worth first.
_______________________
Robby’s office always smelled faintly like burned coffee and old paper.
You noticed that before anything else when you stepped hesitantly through the partially open door, your stomach already twisted tight with anxiety from the brief message Dana had relayed twenty minutes earlier.
Robby wants to see you in his office.
Which, in your experience usually meant one of three things: you charted something incorrectly, you had forgotten something important, or someone had died.
By the time you reached the office, your pulse had worked itself into a miserable rapid flutter under your ribs despite trying to convince yourself you were overreacting. The Pitt swallowed the rest of the noise, leaving behind a small ringing in your ears. Robby’s office felt strangely isolated from all of it.
Behind his desk, Robby sat with his reading glasses low on his nose, flipping through a stack of papers with the same composed concentration he approached nearly everything with. The desk lamp cast warm yellow light across the room, softening the harshness of the hospital fluorescents filtering in through the blinds. A half-finished cup of coffee sat forgotten near his elbow beside several patient charts and an open laptop screen crowded with emails.
He looked up when you entered.
“There you are,” he said warmly. “Close the door.”
Your stomach dropped further.
You obeyed instantly, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as the door clicked softly shut behind you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Robby returned his attention firefly to the papers in front of him while you remained awkwardly hovering near the doorway trying not to catastrophize every possibly outcome.
Your brain, against your best wished, supplied several anyway.
You replayed the last few shifts rapidly in your head searching for mistakes. Had you missed a lab? Forgotten an order? Spoken too sharply to a nurse during trauma intake? The anxiety sat so naturally in your body now that panic felt less like an emotion and more like muscle memory.
“You can sit down,” Robby said after a moment, finally glancing back up at you.
“Oh. Right.”
You skittered across the office and lowered yourself carefully down into the chair across from his desk, posture still rigid with apprehension. Robby watched you for a long moment over the rim of his glasses.
“You think you’re in trouble.”
His observation landed embarrassingly accurate.
You opened your mouth automatically. “Am I?”
To your surprise, something almost amused flashed briefly across his face. “No.”
The tension in your shoulders loosened slightly, though not fully. Years of criticism had taught your nervous system not to trust relief too quickly.
Robby leaned back in his chair slowly, folding his hands together atop the desk. “How long have you been considering fellowship programs outside Pennsylvania?”
Your breath caught. The question hit so directly you genuinely didn’t know how to answer for a second. The trust was humiliating in its own way. You had been considering them for months in secret, in the privacy of late nights and exhausted internet searches and moments where Pittsburgh suddenly felt too small for the life you wanted but had never allowed yourself to reach.
Sometimes after difficult shifts, you would sit alone in your apartment scrolling through fellowship programs across the country just to imagine it for a moment. California. Seattle. Boston. Places so impossibly far away they barely felt real. Hospitals attached to research institutions and trauma centers bigger than anything you’d ever known. Places where no one knew your parents. Places where your entire history wouldn’t already be waiting for you before you arrived.
But then guilt would settle almost immediately afterward.
You would close the tabs, delete the searches, and clock in the next day without thinking of leaving. Because wanting to leave felt selfish. And because some part of you still couldn’t imagine being brave enough to actually go.
Your hands folded tightly in your lap. “I haven’t really.”
Robby remained entirely unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar.”
The words startled an unwilling laugh out of you despite your nerves. Jack was the one to usually say that not him. At the sound, Robby’s face melted before he reached for a folder sitting near the corner of his desk.
“I got a call last week,” he said hesitantly, almost like he was testing the waters. “From a colleague at Harborview.”
Your heartbeat stumbles.
Harborview.
Seattle.
Clear across the country.
You stared at him silently as the office suddenly became too warm.
He slid the folder across the desk toward you, the paper catching slightly against the grain before stopping directly in front of your hands. You looked down slowly, eyes catching and widening at the sight of the logo at the top that belonged to one of the most prestigious trauma centers in the country.
And below it, your name was written in Robby’s perfect penmanship.
Something cold and electric moved down your spine all at once. Your fingers hesitated against the edge of the folder before opening it carefully. Inside sat printed information about the fellowship program alongside a letter clipped neatly to the front.
A recommendation letter.
Signed by Michael Robinavitch, MD
Your eyes caught only fragments at first because your pulse had become unbearably loud in your ears. What he had written brought tears to your lash line.
Exceptional clinical instincts . . .
Among the most promising residents . . .
Demonstrates rare emotional intelligence under pressure . . .
Would excel in any institution fortunate to train them . . .
Your throat tightened at you looked up too quickly. “You—”
“I submitted it three days ago,” Robby confessed quietly.
Shock hit first. Then confusion. Then something dangerously close to hurt.
“You sent this without asking me?”
Robby held your gaze steadily. “Yes.”
It felt almost impossible to breath because this—this was the dream, wasn’t it? This was something you had secretly wanted for so long it physically ached sometimes. An escape route handed gently into your trembling hands. A chance at something bigger than the life you’d been told to settle for.
So why did it suddenly feel a little like grief too?
“You want me to leave?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Robby’s face dropped slightly. “No.”
“Then why would you—”
“Because you were never going to do it yourself.”
You looked back down at the letter because suddenly meeting his eyes felt unmanageable. You had spent so long imagining leaving that you never truly prepared yourself for the possibility someone else might believe you capable of it too.
Robby leaned forward in his chair, head tilting to try to meet your eyes. “You belong somewhere like this. You know that.”
You laughed under your breath, the sound fragile in and of itself. “My parents would lose their minds.”
Robby’s jaw tightened as he said your name. “This isn’t about your parents.”
Except it always was. Every choice, every opportunity, every dream carefully cut down before it could grow too large to reach.
You swallowed hard against the sudden pressure building in your throat. “Seattle is across the country.”
“I’m aware.”
“I don’t know anyone there.”
“You would.”
The certainty in his voice hurt unexpected because it implied something you still struggled to believe yourself: that people would want you there. You stared down at the recommendation letter, vision beginning to blur slightly.
“You really think I could do this?”
“I think,” he started, “you’ve spent your entire life making yourself smaller for other people.”
Your breath hitched again.
“You are one of the best doctors I’ve had to privilege to train,” he continued. “And if you stay here because you’re afraid of disappointing people who will never be satisfied anyway, you’re going to wake up in ten years from now wondering what happened to your life.”
His words landed with devastating precision because deep down, under all the fear and guilt and fatigue, you had already wondered that yourself.
Robby’s kind, brown eyes held yours. “You’re getting smaller here.”
The office felt unbearable quiet now except for the faint hum of his fan and the occasional muffled announcement from the ER outside.
Finally, your voice came out barely above a whisper. “What if I fail?”
He looked at you the same way he looked at difficult trauma cases; not dismissing the fear but refusing to let it dictate the outcome. He wasn’t going to let you walk away from this because you were scared.
“Then you fail,” he said simply. “And you survive it.”
Failure had always sounded catastrophic in your parents’ voices. Permanent. Proof that they had been right all along.
But with how Robby said it, it felt like it was survivable and human.
For the first time, the possibility of leaving didn’t feel entirely impossible anymore. It felt terrifying yes, but also maybe worth it all anyway.
_______________________
The emergency department had somehow managed to pause for you.
Not fully, of course. The Pitt never truly stopped moving. But for once, the chaos had shifted itself long enough to make room for something softer.
You stood near the center of the department feeling almost painfully aware of yourself while half the ER crowded around the nurses’ station holding vending machine snacks, cafeteria cupcakes, and paper coffee cups lifted in celebration. Someone had dragged over a flimsy folding table covered in sheet cake with GOOD LUCK written across it in slightly smeared blue icing. Balloons bobbled lazily near the ceiling tiles, looking deeply out of place in the harsh lighting.
It was absurd, embarrassing, and almost humiliating. And somehow it nearly made you cry.
“You look terrified.” Jack’s voice appeared beside you through the noise, warm amusement threading easily into his words.
You glanced sideways to find him balancing two plastic cups of terrible hospital punch while watching you with barely concealed fondness. “I hate this,” you muttered under your breath.
“You absolutely do not.”
“I’m being publicly perceived.”
Jack snorted softly before handing you one of the drinks. “Tragic.”
Across the department, several nurses had cornered Robby near the charting computers demanding he say something resembling a speech. Judging by the look on his face, he would’ve preferred active physical violence.
“You trained them,” Dana was insisting firmly.
“So did literally anyone else here,” Robby replied.
“Yeah, but you’re the scary one, so it’ll mean more.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the staff nearby while Robby looked profoundly unamused by this logic.
Your chest tightened unexpected as you watched your surroundings unfold in the familiar faces, the exhausted laughter, the warmth threaded through the department despite another endless shift looming only hours away. The Pitt had become something dangerously close to home somewhere along the way. Not because the work was easy—God knew it wasn’t. But because these people had seen every broken terrified version of you and stayed anyway.
And now you were leaving them; the thought still felt surreal even after the acceptance calls, even after signing the paperwork, even after the official announcement against your will that you would be joining one of the most prestigious trauma fellowship programs in the country at Harborview in Seattle.
Seattle.
The word still startled you. It was so far from Pittsburgh that it barely felt attached to your real life at all.
A resident from across the department raised his coffee cup toward you. “You know how insane this is, right?”
Heat flooded your face. “Please don’t start.”
“No, seriously,” Perlah chimed in. “Do you know how many people would kill for that placement?”
“You’re representing the Pitt now,” Princess added proudly.
Her sentence lodged itself awkwardly beneath your ribs. Representing the Pitt. You weren’t escaping it, weren’t abandoning it, but representing it. You looked instinctive toward Robby. As if he sensed it, his gaze lifted from across the room and settled briefly on yours. His features softened for a half a second before Dana shoved a plastic knife into his hand and demanded he cut the cake already.
Jack bumped his shoulder lightly against yours. “You should probably enjoy this.”
You laughed weakly. “I’m trying.”
“You’re spiraling internally.”
“I’m always spiraling internally.”
“Fair enough.”
The familiar ease of the conversation helped settled your nerves slightly, though not enough to stop the overwhelming ache building slowly in your chest. You kept catching yourself looking around the department like you were trying to memorize it all before it disappeared: the trauma bay doors, the faded blue walls near triage, the nurses’ station where you had spent countless night charting beside Jack while Robb criticized your caffeine intake with hypocritical seriousness.
This place had watched you become someone, and now it was letting you go.
A few hours later, after the cake had been mostly demolished and the department slowly returned to its normal rhythm, you found yourself cornered near the supply station by Perlah and Princess aggressively insisting you take leftovers home.
“You’re too skinny for Seatle,” Princess informed you.
“I don’t think that’s how geography works,” you replied.
Before they could continue, Jack appeared suddenly at your elbow. “Borrowing them,” he announced.
Perlah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “For what?”
“Secret attending business.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It is fake,” you admitted.
Jack ignored the three of you and jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come on.”
Confusion washed over you, but you followed him anyway. A few feet ahead, Robby waited near the elevators with his hands tucked into the pockets of his zip up jacket. The second he saw the two of you approaching, he pressed the button for the elevator without explanation.
You frowned slightly. “Am I being murdered?”
“Probably,” Jack teased.
“Good to know.”
Robby simply shook his head tiredly as the elevator doors slid open. Neither man explained anything during the ride upward. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it carried a strange weight to it that settled gradually over your shoulders the higher the elevator climbed. Your pulse quickened with anticipation and something sadder underneath it.
The roof access door creaked loudly when Jack shoved it opening, causing the cold night air to hit your face.
Pittsburgh stretched endlessly around you under the dark sky, the city glittering gold and white against the streets below while ambulance sirens echoed faintly off in the distance. The hospital roof had become something sacred over the years for exhausted staff members needing five minutes away from the noise downstairs. You had come up here after bad shifts before, after losing patients, about pulling doubles that left you too hollowed out to immediately drive home after.
Tonight, though, it felt different.
You stepped further onto the roof slowly while Jack let the heavy door slam shut behind him. The city wind tugged lightly at your jacket while your eyes drifted toward the skyline. Seattle suddenly feeling impossibly far away.
“You know,” Jack said quietly behind you, “you almost turned this down.”
You huffed softly. “I know.”
“And you’re still thinking about it.”
“I know.” The honestly slipped out before you could hold it back.
Despite everything—the excitement, the honor, the impossible opportunity—fear still lived stubbornly in your body. Fear of failing. Fear of disappointing everyone. Fear that your parents had been right all along and eventually someone at Harborview would realize they had made a mistake choosing you.
You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself against the cold. “I keep waiting for somebody to figure out I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Jack and Robby exchanged a brief glance behind you.
Robby sighted softly through his nose like the words physically pained him. “You know,” he said, “most arrogant doctors are the most terrible doctors.”
You glanced back toward him.
“However, the ones who question themselves,” he continued, “the ones who worry about failing . . . they’re usually the ones who care enough to become great doctors.”
You swallowed tears down thickly.
Jack stepped closer, pulling something oblong from the pocket of his jacket. “We got you something.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“We know,” Jack interrupted gently before holding the item out for you to take.
Your eyes dropped toward the object in his hands, and your heart fluttered.
A stethoscope.
It wasn’t hospital-issued, wasn’t cheap.
The instrument was beautiful with dark blue tubing catching faint city light beneath the skyline while silver detailing gleamed softly near the chest piece. You stared down at it wordlessly. For a second, you genuinely couldn’t breathe as you took it from him, fingers rubbing along the soft rubber.
“There’s something engraved on it,” Robby added softly.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you turned it over. Near the tubing junction, etched carefully into the metal in precise lettering, were four simple words:
Still in your corner.
The world blurred, and you swallowed hard against the sudden painful pressure in your throat while your thumb brushed shakily over the engraving again.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Neither Jack nor Robby spoke, which somehow made it all worse.
Your eyes burned fiercely as a tumble of emotions crashed through you all at once: gratitude, grief, fear, love so deep and overwhelming it physically hurt to carry.
“You take this with you,” Jack spoke softly but sternly. “Every interview. Every trauma. Every shift from hell.”
“And when you’re convinced that you’re failing,” Robby added, “you hold onto it and remember that two old guys from Pittsburgh already know exactly how capable you are.”
Your composure broke as you tried to laugh through the tears threatening your voice, eyes looking back down because crying in front of them still embarrassed you despite all the versions of you they’ve seen before.
“This is unfair,” you muttered, back of your hand wiping aggressively under your eyes.
Jack smiled sadly. “Yeah, probably.”
The stethoscope felt heavier in your hands than it should have only because of what it meant.
For so much of your life, support had always felt conditional, fragile, something that disappeared the second you disappointed people. But standing there on the hospital roof with a glowing Pittsburgh and cold night air nipping your skin, Jack and Robby were handing you something terrifyingly unfamiliar:
the certainty that even thousands of miles away, even if you struggled, even if you failed sometimes, even if Seattle became lonely and overwhelming and difficult, you would not lose them.
You pressed your fingers tighter around the tubing, Robby’s features softening as he watched you.
“You’re going to do extraordinary there,” he whispered.
Your eyes burned harder not because you fully believed him yet, but because you finally found yourself wanting to.
_______________________
The Pitt had changed in a thousand tiny ways over the years.
Some changes were obvious. Different residents moved through the halls now, newer faces slipping into routines that once belonged to people long gone from the Pitt. The trauma bays had newer monitors. The waiting room chairs had finally been replaced after years of complaints. Dana had somehow gained even less patience despite everyone previously believing that impossible.
Other changes felt quieter.
The kind you only noticed in passing moments.
Like how Robby still occasionally looked toward room six whenever an especially difficult trauma rolled through because that had always been your room somehow. Or how Jack still brough an extra coffee on his way in before remembering halfway through the line that you weren’t there to steal the extra one anymore.
Absence settled strangely into places once someone left them behind especially when they had mattered.
“Whitaker, if you touch that central line tray with your bare hands again, I’m revoking your ability to speak.”
“I literally wasn’t touching it. I merely glanced in its direction.”
“You were thinking about touching it.”
“I can’t believe this is my work environment.”
The familiar noise buzzed around Robby as he stood near the nurses’ station review labs on a tablet, exhaustion pressing heavily behind his eyes after hours’ worth of chaos. Nearby, Dana looked personally victimized by Dennis’s existence while Trinity tried unsuccessfully to hid her laughter behind a patient chart.
Victoria glanced up from the computer beside them. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I think Dana actually likes bullying him.”
Dana didn’t even look up from her paperwork. “Correct.”
Dennis pointed accusingly. “See?”
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
“That feels entirely unrelated.”
A tired smile tugged briefly at the corner of Robby’s mouth despite his best effort not to seem interested in the banter.
The newer residents had settled into the Pitt in their own messy way over the past year. Samira moved through rooms with sharp instinct and too much emotional attachment to sad patients. Frank boasted too much when nervous and somehow ended up charming most of the nursing staff because of it. Trinity hid startling clinical intelligence beneath dry sarcasm and exhaustion. Dennis had slipped into the department like he belonged there from the beginning, steady and observant in a way Robby respected immediately. And Mel blessed the Pitt with her soft voice that never seemed to sugar coat things but still had the ease to bring patients down from panic.
Different from your class but good.
Still, every once in a while, one of them would do something that reminded him painfully of you. Usually it happened when they stayed too late helping patients who technically weren’t their responsibility anymore.
Dana finally looked up from her charting. “You heard from your golden child lately?”
Robby sighed softy without looking away from the tablet. “They are not my golden child.”
“Sure they are.”
Dennis looked between them curiously. “Wait, who?”
Dana said your name as she casually leaned against the counter. “Former resident. Robby and Abbot’s favorite.”
“We—I don’t have favorites.”
“You still bring them up during trauma reviews.”
“It’s educational.”
“No, Cap, that’s emotional attachment.”
Robby shot her a flat look while several residents nearby became more interested.
“Hold on,” Frank said, glancing up from his chart. “This is the one from Seattle, right?”
His sentence caught everyone’s attention; even Jack’s, who had just wandered back into the department carrying two coffees and the stagger of a man who maybe got 5 hours of sleep before heading back into work.
“Who’s talking about Seattle?” he asked.
Dana pointed toward Robby. “I asked how your kid was doing.”
“Oh,” he answered, face dropping all sharpness and melting into something melancholy at the thought of you.
Trinity blinked between the two attendings. “Okay, now I need context because both of you suddenly look like divorced parents at a graduation.”
Samira, bless her heart, nodded along. “Seriously. Who are they?”
The two men glanced at each other before taking breathing out a synchronous sigh before Robby set the tablet down against the counter.
“They were probably one of the best residents the Pitt has had,” he said.
Mel’s eyebrows raised. “That good?”
Robby crossed his arms loosely and nodded. “Top of their class. Exceptional under pressure. Trauma instincts most attendings would kill for.”
“And terrifyingly hardworking,” Jack added while handing one of the coffees to Dana. “Like, genuinely concerning levels of hardworking.”
“I once found them charting with a concussion,” Dana mentioned.
The small group all looked horrified.
“That cannot be real,” Trinity spoke.
“It was absolutely real,” Jack confirmed. “They tried to tell us they were ‘fine’ while their head actively bled through gauze.”
Victoria let out an impressed laugh. “Okay, that’s kind of iconic.”
“It was deeply annoying,” Robby corrected even though there was an unmistakable fondness in his tone. “The kid wouldn’t just stay down.”
Mel tilted her head slightly. “So why’d they leave?”
Jack leaned back against the counter next to Robby, hazel eyes drifting absently toward the trauma bay doors like you’d step through them in the next moment. “They got offered a fellowship at Harborview. Trauma surgery.”
Trinity’s eyes widened. “Harborview?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit.”
Frank looked genuinely stunned. “That’s insane.”
The corner of Robby’s mouth tugged upward. “They deserved it.”
Mel studied the two attendings quietly for a second before speaking. “You miss them.”
Jack huffed something similar to a quiet laugh. “Turns out when somebody spends years haunting your ER, you noticed when they’re gone.”
Trinity pointed her pen toward him. “See? Divorced parents.”
Jack’s eyebrows pinched. “Nobody’s divorced.”
“You’re coparenting emotionally.”
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly while Dennis nearly choked laughing.
However, underneath all the humor, their ache remained. Because the truth was you’d been gone for years. Seattle had become your life. Harborview. Research publications. National conferences. Cases more complex than anything the Pitt could ever offer Every once in a while, Dana would forward an article mentioning your name, and the entire department would pass it around like proud relatives.
Look at them!
Look how far they’ve made it!
Yet whether you’d ever come back was always a lingering uncertainty that threaded with their pride.
Jack stared absently into his coffee for a moment before smiling faintly to himself. “You know they still call Robby before major procedures.”
A look of irritation crossed Robby’s face. “That happened once.”
“Three times.”
“Four,” Dana corrected helpfully.
Robby looked personally betrayed.
Samira grinned. “Wait, seriously?”
Jack nodded. “Middle of the night sometimes. They’ll panic about a surgery complication and call him like he’s Google MD.”
“That is adorable.”
“It is not.”
“It’s extremely adorable,” Dana cheesed.
“Seems like you really love them,” Dennis added after watching Robby try to hide a fond smile.
Robby simply shrugged. “They’re worth loving.”
Everyone in emergency medicine understood what he meant. To train someone, watch them grow, lose sleep over them, fight for them, and let them leave anyway because loving them properly meant wanting more for them than you could personally give had to mean something.
“They’re doing good things out there,” Jack said softly.
Beneath their sadness of missing you, beneath the uncertainty of whether Pittsburgh would ever become home for you again, there was still steady, undeniable, endless, and unwavering pride that blossomed in their voices whenever your name came up.
And that was more than some could even wish for.
_______________________
The Pitt sounded exactly the same.
That was the first thing you noticed standing just outside the ambulance bay entrance beside Gloria, fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag while your pulse thudded unevenly beneath your ribs. Even through the sliding doors, you could hear the department breathing in a familiar rhythm with distant overhead pages crackling through speakers, monitors beeping deeper into the ER, phones ringing near the nurses’ station, and voices overlapping one another beneath the constant movement of gurneys against tile floors.
For years after leaving Pittsburgh, those sounds haunted you a little like a phantom limb and memories stitched into your nervous system.
Seattle had its own rhythm. Harborview had become home in many ways over the years in its trauma rooms, its residents, the skyline outside your apartment after long shifts. You had built an entirely life there; a very successful one; the kind of life younger you used to ache for so badly it hurt.
But the Pitt still lived deep in your bones.
You swallowed thickly.
Gloria glanced sideways at you as she pushed open the ambulance bay doors. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I might,” you answered truthfully.
“That’s reassuring from our new attending.”
“I haven’t been back here in years.”
“You’ve also performed surgery on people with rebar through their chest cavities without breaking a sweat.”
“That was highly dramatized.”
Gloria laughed softly before stepping fully into the department.
Warm light spilled over your instantly. The familiar smell of antiseptic, coffee, and stale hospital air wrapped around your senses so quickly your chest tightened. The ER stretched before you exactly as you remembered. And somehow, despite all the years apart, your body still knew this place instinctively.
No one noticed you at first which was good; you weren’t entirely sure your heart could survive being perceived so quickly.
Gloria guided you quietly toward the side of the nurses’ station while staff rushed around nearby. A sleepy looking blond stood half-asleep beside a computer while a brunette argued with Dana about discharge paperwork. A young, dark-skinned med student leaned against the counter drinking matcha with an expression of someone reconsidering every life choice that brought her into emergency medicine.
And across the department, Robby stood at the center of handoff looking so tired enough that your chest ached on instinct for him. He looked older than when you left, all worn down in the way emergency medicine wore people down eventually. His sleeves were rolled unevenly to his elbows, stethoscope hanging crookedly around his neck while he scanned through a chart with quiet concentration. The sight hit you harder than expected because memories came rushing back all at once.
For years after the move, there were still moments you caught yourself thinking: I should ask Robby what’d he do.
Some habits never left.
He looked up briefly while continuing handoff, entirely unaware you were standing barely twenty feet away watching him.
"We’re short two nurses today,” he said tiredly, glancing between the residents gathered around him. “Which means nobody gets to psychologically unravel until after noon.”
The sleepy blond raised a hand weakly. “Can I schedule mine in advance?”
“No, Whitaker, you cannot.”
“That feels very anti-worker.”
“You’re lucky we feed you,” Dana spoke up without looking away from her board.
Whitaker (now that his name had been provided) blinked. “We’re getting fed?”
Nearby, the brunette laughed while a man with a hairline people would fly to Turkey for shook his head behind a patient chart with visible amusement.
At the sight, a warmth settled low in your stomach. You had missed this—the Pitt and all its ramblings and teasing and ability to make someone feel comfortable in their own skin.
Robby flipped absently to another page in the chart before continuing. “Also, administration finally approved another attending for day-shift trauma coverage.”
That caught everyone’s attention.
The brunette straightened slightly. “Wait, seriously?”
“About time,” Dana muttered. “You’ve been stretched thin for far too long.”
Whitaker looked suspicious. “Are they normal?”
“No normal person willingly works here,” the dark-skinned med student said around her straw.
“Fair.”
Robby sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head. “I haven’t met them yet, but apparently they’re starting this morning, so please try not to scare them off immediately.”
Dana finally looked at him. “You say that like it’s our fault people quit.”
“It usually is.”
A ripple of tired laughter moved through the group.
Robby opened his mouth to say something again as he lifted his gaze, but his words died instantly on his tongue as his eyes found yours.
For one suspended second, the entire department seemed to blur around his face’s expression that changed through confusion first, then disbelief, before settling on something so sharp and emotional it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs even from across the room.
The chart lowered slowly in his hand, his feet already shuffling slowly toward you while everyone looked between you and him with confused wide eyes.
Michael Robinavitch didn’t freeze for anyone.
You smile before your nerves could completely betray you. “Hi, Robby.”
Whitaker frowned, eyes glancing between you too as he leaned closer to the brunette. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m watching something deeply important?” he stage whispered.
Robby didn’t hear him. He stopped and stared at you like the floor had disappeared beneath him. “Kid?”
The nickname hit hard. No one in Seattle ever called you that. There, you were doctor, attending, colleague. Somewhere along the way, you had become someone polished and capable and frighteningly respected.
But one word from Robby and suddenly you felt twenty-six again, exhausted and terrified and trying desperately to prove you deserved to exist in this department.
“You’re here,” he said softly.
You giggled, eyes bright and glossy. “That’s usually how jobs work.”
That seemed to finally know him back into motion as he wrapped his arms around you and brought you into his chest. You all but melted into him, the smell of his cologne hitting warm in your nose. His cheek rested on the top of your head.
“You didn’t tell me,” he murmured.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, congrats; color me very surprised and very happy.”
Around you, the rest of them had gone nearly silent watching the interaction.
Dennis glanced wildly between everyone. “Hold on.”
Trinity’s eyes grew even bigger. “Oh. OH!”
Victoria slapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s them.”
Mel blinked slowly. “The Seattle one?”
You pulled back from Robby and looked over at Dana. “Am I hospital folklore?”
She nodded, eyes also glossy as she took you in over her silver frames. “You absolutely are.”
Dennis looked scandalized. “Wait, this is the resident you two keep talking about?”
Robby sighed softly without taking his eyes off you. “Apparently.”
“No, seriously,” Trinity cut in, staring openly now. “You’re like . . . Pitt mythology.”
A snort flew loudly through your nose. “That feel so dramatic.”
Hearing you laugh again seemed to physically settled something inside Robby as his face morphed into something prideful. His arm raised and wrapped around your shoulders, effectively pulling you back into his side with a smile.
It looked like everyone was dying to interrogate you further, but before they could, the trauma alarms screamed overhead. Dana, who had picked up the station phone, lowered it.
“GSW incoming. SWAT raid gone wrong; officer involved. ETA two minutes,” she announced.
Like a clack of thunder, the department exploded back into motion. Nurses rushed toward the bay, and the residents scattered for more supplies all while monitors flickered awake. Gloves snapped loudly in the air into place around wrists. And without even thinking about it, you set your bag down on the station and grabbed a pair yourself.
“Mind if I join in?” you asked calmly.
The newer residents went slightly quiet at the confidence in your voice while Robby looked at you fully. You weren’t the frightened resident he used to know you as. Now, you were a physician standing tall beside him. Another wave of pride washed over him.
“Yeah,” he said awestruck in a way. “Please do.”
The trauma bay doors slid open moments later. Paramedics and uniformed SWAT members wheeled in a bleeding officer while voices overlapped through the commotion.
“GSW through the shoulder—”
“Pressure is dropping—”
“Move, move—”
Then, another familiar and sarcastic voice cut through the others. “If one more drop of blood gets on my new shoes, I’m actually going to file a complaint against veteran discrimination.”
Your head snapped in his direction as Jack stepped through the ambulance bay doors half-covered in SWAT gear, helmet tucked beneath one arm while blood stained the bottom of his pant leg. He looked irritated and entirely focused on the patient—
Until his eyes landed on you, causing him to freeze instantly. Everyone watched as disbelief, relief, and love flashed so quickly across his face it almost felt too intimate to witness. Your composure nearly shattered on the spot.
“Hey, Jack,” you said, voice loud enough to carry over.
The words had barely left your mouth before he crossed the department toward you quickly. He didn’t seem to care about the motion around him, didn’t seem to even notice he had an audience.
Once second you stood there clutching your blue, latex gloves in trembling hands and the next Jack had pulled you tightly against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders hard enough to nearly steal your breath entirely.
“Oh,” he whispered quietly against your hair. “Hey, kid.”
Your eyes burned while your arms wrapped around his middle, familiar warmth and exhaustion and home hitting all at once beneath the light.
“You came back,” he murmured softly.
“Yeah,” you whispered back.”
Suddenly, the years of distance, Seattle itself, phone calls, missed birthdays, research conferences, and lonely apartments after terrible shifts didn’t matter because Jack still held you exactly the same way he used to after nights in the Pitt, carefully like something precious that had exhausted itself by trying too hard for too long.
Somewhere nearby, Dennis whispered, “Oh my gosh, they really are their kid.”
No one corrected him.
Jack finally pulled back enough just to cup your face briefly in both hands, hazel eyes moving over you like he was trying to memorize every changed detail all at once. “You look good.”
Healthier his expression implied. Lighter
You swallowed thickly. “You look tired.”
“That’s because Robby keeps aging me prematurely.”
“Liar,” Robby muttered nearby, though his voice had gone suspiciously soft.
The patient groaned loudly behind all of you, shattering the moment but snapping the motion back into place. You stepped toward the trauma bed first.
“Okay,” you said, pulling gloves on. “Let’s save this guy before Dana kills us for emotional loitering.”
Dana pointed toward you across the room. “See? They did come back healthier.”
Laughter rippled quickly through the bay as you, Jack, and Robby moved together in a seamless action just like no time had passed at all.
bitch this is FANTASTIC i fully bawled multiple times. if you have father issues this is the shit for you. gorgeous and beautiful piece of writing, truly amazing 🥹
gonna reblog my fav tumblr fanfics like letterboxd btw...
SUMMARY: When the unimaginable happens and you are attacked in the comfort of your own home, you are wheeled into the Pitt where Jack loses all sense of professionalism when he sees the state that you are in. In the chaos, the secret of your relationship unravels, and Robby makes a tense situation worse on everyone including himself with his reaction.
NOTES: Mentions of an armed break-in (stabbing), mentions of physical violence, descriptions of physical injuries and blood, surgical procedures, canon-typical medical settings, family conflict (Robby is stressed and therefore mean), secret relationship.
REQUESTED BY: @mysticrisingroses
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The heavy, metallic tang of disinfectant and cold morning air had a way of clinging to the back of your throat during the twilight hours of a hospital shift, but Jack Abbot had long since stopped noticing it.
It was ten past six in the morning, that strange, liminal window in the emergency department where the exhausted night crew was desperately trying to hand off their last few chart files while the incoming day shift shuffled in with steaming paper cups of cheap coffee.
Jack stood at the central nursing station, his broad shoulders hunched slightly over a computer terminal as he signed off on his final discharge summaries. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw stubbled, and every muscle in his back ached with the heavy, familiar fatigue that came with twelve relentless hours of trauma calls.
He was looking forward to nothing more than driving home, taking a scalding hot shower, and slipping into bed where he hoped you would still be sleeping peacefully, entirely unaware of the chaos he spent his nights wading through.
Keeping your relationship a secret had been your idea originally, though Jack had agreed without much resistance, knowing precisely how protective and intensely possessive your older brother could be.
Robby was a brilliant physician, but he viewed the emergency room, and everyone within it, through a lens of strict, professional compartmentalisation, and he guarded his family with a fierce, almost suffocating tenacity.
Jack knew that if Robby discovered his close friend and colleague was quietly slipping out of his younger sister’s apartment in the early hours of the morning, the fallout would destabilise the delicate balance of the entire department.
So, you had kept it hidden for four months, snatching quiet moments in empty breakrooms, lingering hand-brushes by the elevator banks, and long, warm nights wrapped up together away from the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital.
The sudden, piercing blare of the telemetry alarms and the sharp, urgent rattle of the double doors being thrown open shattered the low hum of the morning shift change. Dana looked up instantly from her desk, her brow furrowing as the paramedics burst through the entrance, pushing a stretcher at a dead sprint.
Jack didn't think much of it at first, traumas rolled through those doors every twenty minutes, until he caught the sheer, pale panic on the lead paramedic’s face, and the distinct, sickening crimson pattern soaked into the white sheets draped over the gurney.
Jack stepped forward purely out of muscle memory, his voice raspy from a long night of shouting over sirens. "What have we got, guys?"
"Twenty-eight-year-old female, victim of a aggravated burglary at her residence forty minutes ago," the paramedic rattled off at breakneck speed, her heavy boots squeaking against the polished linoleum. "Neighbour called it in after hearing a struggle and glass breaking. Stab wound to the left upper quadrant, deep laceration to the right forearm, massive blood loss at the scene."
Jack took two paces toward the stretcher to take the chart, his eyes dropping casually to the patient’s face to assess her airway, and in that split second, the entirety of his world shattered into jagged, unyielding pieces.
The color drained from his face so rapidly that Dana actually reached out a hand, thinking he was about to faint. The woman lying pale and motionless beneath the blood-soaked trauma blanket was you.
The breath left Jack’s lungs in a harsh, strangled gasp, his professional distance evaporating so violently that he stumbled forward, his hands trembling uncontrollably as they hovered over your bloodied, chest-stained clothes. "No... no, no, Jesus Christ—"
"Jack? What the hell are you doing?" Dana barked, her eyes widening as she grabbed his elbow, shocked by the total collapse of his usually unflappable demeanor. "Get back, let us transfer her! Shen, I need a trauma team right now! Call down to blood bank, give me four units of O-negative on the rapid infuser!"
Jack didn't hear her. The sterile, controlled world of the Pitt was completely obliterated, replaced by a terrifying, primal panic that choked the throat right out of him. He grabbed the side rail of your stretcher, his knuckles turning stark white, his eyes wide and wild as he looked down at your face. You were barely conscious, your eyelids fluttering weakly, your lips parted as you sucked in shallow, wet breaths.
"Look at me, hey, look at me," Jack begged, his voice cracking, entirely devoid of his usual calm authority as he reached out and cupped your ice-cold cheek with a hand that was shaking like a leaf. "I'm right here. You're at the hospital, you're with me, you're going to be okay. Please, sweetheart, stay with me, stay open for me."
You turned your head toward his voice, your eyes unfocusing as you tried to track him through the thick, terrifying haze of shock. "Jack?" you rasped, a tiny, frail sound that nearly brought him to his knees right there on the blood-spattered floor. "Jack, it hurts so bad..."
"I know, I know, I’ve got you," he sobbed out, not caring in the slightest that half the nursing staff was staring at him in utter shock. He pushed alongside the paramedics, helping to physically lift your limp body onto the trauma bed.
The scene erupted into controlled chaos around him. Clothes were being cut away with shears, cardiac monitor leads were being slapped onto your icy skin, and the metallic thump of suction devices filled the small room.
Jack stood at the head of your bed, his gloved hands cupping your face, his head bent low so he was inches from yours, whispering desperate, broken promises against your hairline while Shen sprinted into the room, snapping on a pair of sterile gloves.
"Abbot, what is going on with you? Step back, I need space at the airway!" Shen yelled over the shrill, alarming beep of the heart monitor, which was ticking at a terrifyingly rapid rate. "Who is this?"
"It's... it's her," Jack choked out, his eyes never leaving your face. "It's Robby’s sister. Shen, please... "
Before Shen could even process the devastating weight of Jack's plea, the door to the trauma bay swung open with a bang, and Robby walked in, holding a tablet and adjusting his stethoscope around his neck, looking fresh and prepared for his morning shift.
"Hey, what's the noise down here? Dana said we had an unstable stab—" Robby stopped dead in his tracks. The tablet slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the hard floor. His eyes swept over the blood-soaked trauma shears, the bags of crimson red blood hanging from the IV poles, and finally landed on your pale, bruised face surrounded by monitoring wires.
"Y/N?" Robby’s voice was barely a whisper, a hollow, disbelieving sound that shattered the room. In three long strides, he shoved past a nurse, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror as he grabbed the edge of the bed. "What happened?! What the fuck happened?!"
"Robby, listen to me—" Shen tried to interject, stepping between him and the bed.
"Get off me!" Robby screamed, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of grief and rage as he looked at your open, bleeding abdomen where Shen was applying heavy, firm pressure with sterile gauze to slow the massive internal hemorrhage.
"Why was she brought in like this?!" Robby’s eyes swung wildly around the room until they landed on Jack, who was still standing at the head of the bed, his shoulders shaking with silent, ragged sobs.
Robby froze, his mind racing through the dark, frantic puzzle of the room. He looked at the way Jack was holding you, not like a doctor holding a patient, not even like a friend holding a colleague's relative, but with the terrifying, desperate agony of a man watching his entire life bleed out on a stainless-steel table.
Robby stepped forward, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, lethal fury. "Jack... why are you holding her like that? Why are you touching her like that?"
Jack didn't look up. He couldn't take his eyes off your face, watching your oxygen saturation levels dip dangerously low on the overhead monitor. "Robby, please, not right now," Jack pleaded, his voice thick and broken. "She's bleeding badly, she needs to go straight to theatre—"
"I asked you a fucking question, Jack!" Robby roared, lunging forward and grabbing the front of Jack’s scrub top, pulling him away from the bed with such violent force that the cardiac monitor cart rattled. "Why are you looking at my sister like that?! What is she to you?!"
"Robby, stop it!" Dana yelled, stepping boldly between the two grown men, her hands slamming against Robby’s chest to keep him from shoving Jack into the wall. "She is in hemorrhagic shock! Look at the fucking monitor, Robby! Look at your sister!"
"I love her!" Jack snapped, the secret ripping out of his chest like a jagged blade, his voice echoing loudly over the frantic, rhythmically failing beeps of the cardiac machine. "We’ve been seeing each other for months, Robby! I fucking love her, and she was attacked in her home while I was sitting here doing paperwork! So hit me, tear me apart, do whatever the hell you want, but do not make this about us while she is dying on this bed!"
Robby reeled back as if he’d been physically struck, his hands dropping from Jack’s shirt. His face twisted into a complex, ugly storm of betrayal, shock, and profound, terrifying panic. He looked from Jack’s blood-stained hands to your quiet, still face.
“You... you were lying to me? Both of you?" Robby’s voice shook, a bitter, wounded sound. "You were sleeping with my sister behind my back while—"
"Robby, her blood pressure is insane!" Shen yelled, his voice cutting through the rising argument like a scalpel. "We don't have time for a surgical team to come down, we need to open her right here or she goes into cardiac arrest in minutes!"
The harsh reality of the medical emergency slammed back into the room like a tidal wave. Robby blinked, the anger in his eyes instantly drowning in a wave of sheer, unadulterated terror as he watched your heart rate spike, the waveform on the screen flattening out into dangerous, erratic rhythms.
“No," Robby breathed, his voice small, vulnerable, and completely stripped of his usual arrogance. "No, no, no, look at me. I'm right here. You stay with me, do you hear me?"
"I need a thoracotomy tray and a laparotomy kit, right now!" Shen shouted, his hands working furiously to pack more gauze into your side. "Someone get on the suction! Robby, you need to step out!"
"Like hell I'm stepping out!" Robby yelled, shoving his way back to the side of the bed, his hands trembling violently as he reached for a pair of sterile gloves. "She's my sister! I am operating!"
"You cannot touch her, Robby, you know the protocol! You’re not doing shit either, Abbot," Dana sternly intervened, putting her body directly between Robby and the instrument tray. Her face was set like granite, though her eyes were filled with deep, maternal sympathy. "You will freeze or you will make a mistake, and she will die because of it! Out! Both of you, get out of this bay right now!"
"No!" both men barked in unison.
"I am not leaving her!" Jack yelled, his knuckles white as he grabbed a pair of gloves, his eyes fixed on Shen. "Shen, let me assist! My hands are steady, I swear to God my hands are steady!"
"Jack, look at yourself, you're shaking so hard you can barely stand!" Dana snapped, taking Jack firmly by the upper arms and physically pulling him away from the head of the bed. She looked at Robby, then at Jack, her voice dropping into a fierce, commanding tone that left no room for argument. "If you two care about this girl, if you love her at all, you will get the hell out of this room and let Shen and the trauma team do their jobs! Every second you stand here fighting like children is a second she doesn't have! Move!"
She didn't wait for them to comply, she aggressively pushed both men out of the sliding glass doors and drew the blue privacy curtains shut with a sharp, definitive snap.
The waiting corridor outside the main trauma suite felt like a cold, sterile tomb. The morning sunlight was just beginning to bleed through the high frost-tinted windows, casting harsh, pale light across the linoleum floor, but inside the hallway, time had ground to a complete standstill. The only sound was the distant, muffled shouting of medical commands from behind the blue curtain, punctuated by the steady, terrifying rhythm of automated alarms.
Jack stood leaning against the far wall, his hands buried deep in his curls, his body slumping down until he was on the floor. His scrub top was ruined, smeared with bright crimson streaks of your blood that had already begun to dry into stiff, dark patches.
Every breath he pulled into his lungs felt like glass, his chest tight with a crushing, suffocating guilt. He should have been there. He should have insisted on driving you home after your shift two days ago, he should have checked your locks, he should have protected you. The image of your bruised skin and the frail, terrified sound of your voice calling his name kept repeating in a horrific, endless loop behind his eyelids.
A few yards down the hallway, Robby was pacing like a caged beast. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging drawn blood into his own palms. Every time he turned around, his furious, bloodshot eyes landed on Jack sitting against the wall, and the bitter, hot rage inside him flared back to life, offering a brief, desperate distraction from the sheer, paralyzing fear that his little sister was dying on the other side of that glass.
Robby marched over, stopping directly in front of Jack. "Get up," Robby spat, his voice trembling with venom. "Get up and look at me, you coward."
Jack slowly lifted his head. His face was ghastly, his eyes hollow, dark, and utterly deadened by grief. He didn't offer any resistance, didn't raise a hand to defend himself. He just looked up at Robby with a hollow, broken expression. "Go ahead, Robby. Say whatever you want. It won't be worse than what I'm already telling myself."
"You lied to me!" Robby shouted, his voice echoing down the empty, quiet corridor, causing a few passing nurses to flinch and walk faster. "For months! I treated you like a brother, Jack! I trusted you with my life in this department, I took shifts for you, I let you into my home, and the whole time you were sneaking behind my back with my sister! You manipulated her!"
"I didn't manipulate anyone!" Jack rasped, standing up slowly, leaning his heavy back against the cold wall to keep his legs from buckling beneath him. "I love her, Robby! I didn't plan for this to happen! It started off slow, and then... Christ, she became the only good thing in my life! She asked me not to tell you because she knew you'd react exactly like this! She was terrified you'd make her feel guilty for just wanting to be happy!"
"Don't you dare put this on her!" Robby barked, stepping directly into Jack's personal space, poking a harsh, rigid finger into Jack's chest right over a dark bloodstain. "She is my little sister! My responsibility! She was hiding things because of you! You put her in danger!"
"You think I don't know that?!" Jack suddenly roared back, his composure snapping entirely as he grabbed Robby's wrist and shoved his hand away, tears spilling freely over his blood-stained cheeks. "You think I'm not sitting here wanting to tear my own skin off because I wasn't there to protect her?! I would have taken every single one of those fucking knives for her, Robby! I would lay down on that table and let them cut my heart out right now if it meant she gets to wake up! So don't you dare stand there and pretend you're the only one who cares whether she lives or dies!"
Robby stared at Jack, his jaw working as if he wanted to scream, but the sheer, raw agony in Jack's voice hit him like a physical blow. The anger drained out of Robby just a fraction, leaving behind the hollow, terrifying reality that neither of them had any control over what was happening behind those blue curtains.
Before Robby could fire back another bitter insult, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open, and Dana walked out alongside Shen. Both of them looked thoroughly exhausted, their blue gowns splattered with blood, but their faces were calm, settled into that weary, professional relief that both Robby and Jack knew so intimately.
Jack was across the hallway in a fraction of a second, grabbing Dana's forearms with desperate, trembling hands. "Is she... is she alive? Please, Dana, tell me she's alive."
Dana looked down at his hands, then up into his terrified, bloodshot eyes, her expression softening into a gentle, reassuring smile. "She's alive, Jack. She's stabilised."
A long, ragged sob burst from Jack's chest as he slumped against the wall, covering his face with his hands as the suffocating weight lifted off his lungs. Robby let out a shaky, desperate breath of his own, running both hands over his face, his shoulders slumping in profound, overwhelming relief.
"The blade missed the important stuff by less than a centimetre," Shen explained quickly, pulling off his surgical cap and wiping his damp brow. "Park and the guys are finishing up her sutures right now. She's going to be okay, guys. She's strong."
"Can I see her?" Robby asked immediately, his voice thick with emotion, stepping toward the trauma bay doors.
"She's being moved up to a different unit in a few minutes once she comes round from the anesthetic," Dana said gently, stepping smartly into Robby's path and laying a firm hand against his chest. She gave him a stern, motherly look that made even the senior attending doctor pause. "And before you step foot into that room, Robby, you are going to take a long, deep breath and leave your ridiculous ego at the door."
Robby blinked, taken aback. "Dana, I—"
"I don't want to hear it," Dana interrupted smoothly, turning her cool, unyielding gaze between Robby and Jack. "I have watched the two of you act like absolute idiots for the last forty-five minutes while that poor girl was fighting for her life. Robby, your sister just survived a horrific, traumatic assault. She does not need to wake up to her brother screaming at the man she loves. She needs peace, she needs rest, and she needs both of you to pull yourselves together and be adults."
Robby looked at Dana, his mouth opening to argue, but the sheer authority in her posture held him silent. He glanced over at Jack, who was still standing by the wall, wiping his face with the back of his wrist, looking entirely drained, hollowed-out, and deeply ashamed.
"Go up to the fourth floor," Dana added softly, her tone loosening into something kinder. "Clean yourselves up. Change out of those ruined scrubs. By the time you look like proper doctors again, she'll be awake in her room."
Your room was quiet, illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp and the gentle, rhythmic pumping of the IV drip monitor. The harsh smell of the trauma bay was replaced by the clean, faint scent of lavender soap and fresh linens. You lay propped up slightly against two large pillows. A thick white bandage was wrapped securely around your right forearm, and beneath the heavy hospital blanket, your abdominal dressing sat quiet and intact.
When the heavy wooden door pushed open, you turned your head slowly toward the sound. The heavy pain medication made your head feel light, floaty, and distant, but the moment you saw Jack and Robby walking into the room together, the fog cleared just enough for your heart to ache with sweet, overwhelming relief.
Both men had changed into clean, dark scrubs. Robby walked in first, looking hesitant, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual confident posture replaced by a cautious, quiet guilt. Behind him stood Jack. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, his eyes were bruised with dark circles, his jaw tight with anxiety, hovering near the doorway as if he wasn't entirely sure he was permitted to be in the same room as you.
"Hey, kiddo," Robby whispered softly, walking over to the right side of your bed. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his face softening into a look of pure, unadulterated big-brother affection. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a very large truck," you rasped, your voice scratchy and dry. You offered him a weak, tired smile. "Dana told me that you were making a scene down there, Robby."
Robby let out a soft, wet laugh, dropping his head for a second as a fresh wave of emotion hit him. "Yeah, well, you scared the shit out of me. I thought, God, I don't even want to say it." He took your uninjured hand, holding it tight between both of his. "The police caught the guy, by the way. He was a petty burglar who panicked when he realised the apartment was occupied. He's in custody. He won't ever come near you again."
"Good," you murmured softly, squeezing his hand weakly. Your eyes drifted past your brother's shoulder, locking onto Jack, who was still standing quietly by the door, staring down at his shoes, his posture heavy with guilt. "Jack, come here."
Jack lifted his eyes, looking at you with such a raw, desperate tenderness that it made your chest tighten. He glanced cautiously at Robby, then slowly walked around to the left side of your bed. He stopped a few inches away, looking as though he wanted to reach out and touch you, but was terrified of breaking you further.
"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, his voice cracking on the words. "I am so, so sorry. I should have been there. I should have stayed with you last night, I shouldn't have taken this shift—"
"Jack, stop," you interrupted gently, reaching your left hand out toward him. "Stop that right now. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."
Jack lowered himself to the floor, wincing at the discomfort. He brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against your knuckles, tears slipping quietly from his eyes and wetting your skin. "I thought I lost you," he choked out, ignoring Robby's presence entirely now as he leaned his forehead against the mattress beside your arm. "When they brought you through those doors... I've never been so terrified in my entire life. I don't care about anything else. I just need you to be okay."
You ran your fingers through his curls, feeling the heavy, frantic racing of his heart slowly begin to settle against your side. "I'm okay, Jack. I'm right here."
Across the bed, Robby watched the two of you. He saw the way Jack held your hand not with possessiveness, but with a deep, reverent care that was entirely selfless. He saw the way your face relaxed the moment Jack touched you, the way the lingering fear in your eyes melted away into complete, absolute safety.
Robby let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. "You two are absolute idiots, you know that?" he said softly, breaking the quiet emotional tension in the room.
Jack lifted his head from the mattress, looking over at Robby with a guarded, wary expression. You offered your brother a small, pleading look. "Robby, please don't be mad at him. It was my idea to keep it quiet. I didn't want you making things complicated at work."
"I am mad," Robby admitted honestly, though the harsh edge in his voice was completely gone, replaced by a weary, warm acceptance. "I'm fucking furious that you both lied to my face for months. I'm furious that I had to find out while my sister was bleeding out." He paused, looking directly at Jack, his dark eyes firm. "But... I saw you down there, Jack. I saw how you looked at her."
Jack stood up slowly, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around yours, meeting Robby's gaze across the bed without flinching. "I love her, Robby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry for lying to you, but I am never going to apologise for loving her."
Robby stared at Jack for a long, silent moment, before a small, dry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, leaning over to kiss the top of your head before stepping back from the bed.
"Well... at least I know if she ever gets hurt again, the attending doctor will be too terrified of failing to let her die." Robby walked toward the door, turning back with his hand on the handle. "I'm going down to the cafeteria to get some decent coffee. Real coffee, not that shit in the breakroom. Jack, you're staying right here until I get back. And then we're going to have a long talk about boundaries."
"Understood," Jack said softly, offering a quiet, respectful nod.
Robby looked between the two of you one last time, his expression softening into pure relief. "I'm glad you're alive. Don't do it again." With a final, gentle click, the door swung shut, leaving the room in a warm, peaceful quiet.
Jack immediately leaned in close, wrapping his arms around you with extraordinary gentleness, careful to avoid your bandaged abdomen as he buried his face in the warm crook of your neck. You wrapped your uninjured arm around his back, pulling him as close as you could, feeling the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against yours.
"You really scared me, sweetheart," Jack whispered against your skin, his hands smoothing down your back with a soft, desperate rhythm.
"I know," you murmured, kissing the side of his neck, breathing in the clean scent of soap and his familiar, comforting warmth. "I'm sorry. But I'm safe now. You've got me."
"Yeah," Jack breathed, pulling back just enough to look down into your eyes, his face lit by the soft golden light of the bedside lamp. He leaned in, pressing a slow, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips that tasted of salt, relief, and quiet promises for the future. "I've got you. And I'm never letting you go."
— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !
ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan @paankhaleyaaar @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @cozyvanillacashmere @killah28
SUMMARY: An imagine based on the prompt ‘a picnic at a park in London’ as part of my summer sleepover follower celebration!
NOTES: Established relationship, fluffy and domestic as heck, an adorable toddler, Santos’s maternal instinct unlocked.
REQUESTED BY: @cozyvanillacashmere
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The late July sun in London was remarkably gentle, casting a honeyed, golden hue across the rolling green lawns of Golders Hill Park. The afternoon felt almost unearned after the grueling months Trinity had just spent working long shifts, the constant hum of hospital fluorescents and the incessant chiming of heart monitors finally replaced by the rustle of ancient oak leaves and the distant, cheerful chatter of families scattered across the grass.
You shifted slightly on the broad, tartan wool picnic blanket, feeling the quiet warmth radiating off the ground through the fabric. Next to you, Trinity was sitting cross-legged, completely immersed in her own quiet world, her brow knit in that ridiculously cute, intense concentration she usually reserved for delicate suturing or reviewing complex patient charts.
Only today, instead of surgical tools or medical files, her gentle fingers were dextrously weaving together long, flexible stems of yellow buttercups, white daisies, and sprigs of sweet-smelling clover that you had spent the last hour lazily plucking from the lawn around your spot.
You leaned back on one elbow, taking a slow sip of the chilled elderflower cordial you had picked up from the little bakery near the station, letting your eyes linger on her profile. Trinity had entirely shed her usual practical, crisp demeanor. Her dark hair was gathered up in a messy, loose bun with soft tendrils framing her face, catching the sunlight beautifully. Her shoulders, usually so squared and set against the chaos of her work, were completely dropped and relaxed.
Every now and then, she would hum a low, absentminded tune under her breath, her tongue poking out just a fraction of a millimetre between her lips as she carefully knotted a stubborn daisy stem into place without snapping the delicate blossom. It was a side of her that felt like a precious, private secret, a version of Trinity Santos that belonged only to sunny afternoons, quiet holidays, and you.
"You're staring," Trinity murmured without looking up, though the small, teasing curve at the corner of her mouth gave away how much she was enjoying the attention. Her fingers didn't miss a beat, expertly tucking a tiny spray of blue forget-me-nots into the leafy chain she was building. "If you stare at me like that for much longer, I'm going to start thinking you'd rather eat me than that strawberry tart we endured the bakery queue for."
"I could do both, Trin, I'm multi-talented," you replied softly, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you reached over to trail your fingertips lightly over the exposed skin of her forearm. Her skin was warm, smelling faintly suncream. "Besides, watching you take flower crown construction this seriously is genuinely the highlight of my summer. I think you've put more structural integrity into it than most engineers put into bridges."
Trinity finally paused, letting out a soft, melodious laugh that vibrated pleasantly in the warm summer air. She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with pure affection as she looked at you, the golden hour light softening her features into something breathtakingly gentle. She reached out with her free hand, lightly tapping the tip of your nose with a finger dusted in yellow pollen.
“It's all about tension control and knot security, sweetheart. You wouldn't want a stray breeze taking down my masterpiece, would you? This is high-stakes crafting." She held up the partially finished circle, turning it around in the sunlight to inspect her handiwork with mock sternness. "I'm making this for you, you know. You're going to wear it, and you're going to look like a majestic woodland deity whether you like it or not."
"I wouldn't dream of refusing," you chuckled, shifting closer to her on the blanket so your knees brushed against hers, feeling the delightful, grounding warmth of her presence.
The park around you was brimming with gentle life, a pair of mallards were waddling lazily toward the nearby pond, a distant ice cream van was playing a faint, tinkling melody, and the cool breeze carried the sweet scent of the nearby pergola. You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Trinity's cheek, feeling her give a contented little sigh as she leaned into your touch, her shoulder resting comfortably against yours while her fingers resumed their methodical, rhythmic weaving.
It was in that quiet, suspended moment of pure contentment that a tiny, unsteady shadow fell across the corner of your picnic blanket. You both blinked, turning your heads in unison to find a tiny toddler standing at the edge of your tartan rug.
She couldn't have been more than eighteen months old, dressed in a slightly oversized pair of denim dungarees embroidered with little strawberries and tiny yellow canvas shoes that creaked softly with every micro-adjustment of her balance. She had chubby, sun-kissed cheeks, a halo of wild blonde curls sticking out in every direction, and a tiny, drooly fist clutched firmly around a half-eaten digestive biscuit.
She was staring at the two of you with wide, dark, intensely curious eyes, her little legs swaying slightly as she worked up the courage to take another wobbling step forward into your space.
Trinity immediately froze, her hands dropping into her lap as a look of utter, soft-hearted wonder swept across her face. The sharp, decisive emergency doctor vanished in an instant, replaced by an expression so completely melted and tender that your heart did a sudden, heavy flip inside your chest.
"Well, hello there, little angel," Trinity breathed in a voice so soft and low it was almost a whisper, as if she were afraid that speaking too loudly might startle the tiny explorer away. She offered a small, gentle wave with just her fingertips, keeping her posture low and non-threatening.
The baby took one more adventurous, heel-to-toe toddler step onto the wool blanket, her little belly sticking out as she balanced herself, before letting out a soft, bubbled gurgle that sounded remarkably like a greeting. A few metres away behind her, a flustered parent was sitting on a bench near the flowerbeds, chatting on the phone and briefly turned away, entirely unaware that their little adventurer had gone on a gentle rogue expedition.
You looked from the tiny visitor over to Trinity, and the sight of Trinity's expression made your chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming wave of adoration. Trinity was absolutely beaming, her eyes crinkling deeply at the corners as she slowly lifted the flower crown she had just spent the last twenty minutes meticulously crafting.
The wreath was a perfect, delicate circle of bright blossoms and lush green leaves, made with so much care and precision, and without a second thought, Trinity held it out toward the little girl with both hands, offering it like a grand royal gift. "Look what I have," Trinity murmured softly, tilting her head with an inviting, warm smile that could have thawed a glacier. "Is this for you? Do you want to try it on?"
The toddler stared at the vibrant ring of flowers, her tiny mouth forming a perfect little 'O' of delight. She dropped her half-eaten biscuit onto the grass without a second thought, reaching out two chubby, dimpled hands toward the colorful crown.
With practiced, incredibly gentle grace, Trinity leaned forward, carefully hovering the ring over the baby's messy halo of curls before resting it feather-light upon her head. The contrast between Trinity’s long, elegant, skilled hands and the baby’s tiny, soft frame was so achingly precious that you felt tears of pure, simple happiness prickling at the backs of your eyes.
You sat there completely mesmerised, beaming so hard your cheeks genuinely began to ache, watching the absolute purity of the interaction unfold right in front of you.
The little girl put her hands up to her head, feeling the soft petals resting against her hair, and let out a delighted, squealing laugh that echoed softly across the quiet lawn. She took two tiny, triumphant steps in a circle, showing off her new floral headpiece to the grass, the trees, and the sky, before pointing a tiny finger at Trinity and babbling a series of cheerful, incomprehensible syllables.
Trinity let out a bright, breathless chuckle, her whole face illuminated with a joy so pure and unburdened by the stresses of the world that she looked practically radiant. "You look absolutely beautiful, little one," Trinity told her softly, reaching out to give the baby's tiny hand a gentle, affectionate squeeze with one finger. "A little summer princess."
Just then, the baby’s parent finally looked up, gasping in mild alarm as they spotted their little wanderer standing on a stranger's picnic blanket wearing a full wreath of fresh park flowers.
“Oh gosh, I am so sorry!" the parent called out, rushing over across the grass with an apologetic, embarrassed smile. "Maisie, what are you doing? You can't just go running onto people's picnics!"
"Oh, don't apologise, she's no trouble," Trinity said quickly, turning her warm smile onto the parent as she smoothed down her maxi skirt. "She's an absolute angel. She was just inspecting our floral arrangements."
"It's gorgeous, did you make this just now?" the parent asked, looking down at the intricate little crown resting atop Maisie's curls in total amazement. "That is so incredibly kind of you, thank you so much. Say thank you, Maisie!"
The tiny girl just offered a wet, toothy grin and a vague wave of her chubby arm, turning to wobble back toward her parent while holding her hands up to keep her prize secure on her head. The parent offered one last warm, grateful smile before scooping the little girl up into their arms and walking back toward the paved path, leaving the two of you sitting together again in the warm, golden light of the fading afternoon.
You turned back to Trinity, unable to contain the masses of love rushing through you. You slid across the blanket, wrapping your arms securely around her waist and burying your face into the warm nook of her neck, inhaling the comfort of her scent. Trinity let out a soft, surprised giggle before folding her arms around you, pulling you close against her chest and resting her chin softly on top of your head. You could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your cheek, calm and strong.
"What was that for?" Trinity asked softly, her thumb gently stroking the small of your back in long, soothing strokes that sent a wave of cozy relaxation straight down to your toes.
"You are just... the most wonderful human being in the entire world, Trin," you murmured against her skin, your voice thick with emotion as you looked up into her face, holding her gaze. "The way you looked at her. The way you just handed over something you worked so hard on without even thinking twice. I don't think I could possibly love you any more than I do right in this exact second."
Trinity’s breath hitched slightly, her eyes softening into an expression of profound, tender vulnerability. A soft flush crept up her cheeks, and she leaned down, pressing her lips gently against yours in a slow, sweet, lingering kiss that tasted like elderflower and warm sunshine. When she pulled back, just an inch or two away, her eyes were shining with a deep, quiet devotion that made the rest of the busy city fade away completely into background noise.
"I love you too," she whispered, her voice full of an earnest, unshakable warmth as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "And besides, I had to give it to her. I need to practice making them anyway, because the next one is going to be even bigger and better, and it's going strictly on your head."
You chuckled softly, resting your forehead against hers, closing your eyes just to soak in the absolute perfection of the afternoon. The gentle breeze rustled the high oak branches above, showering the plaid blanket in tiny flickers of light and shadow, but wrapped up in Trinity’s arms, with the faint taste of strawberries on your tongue and the quiet promise of an endless, peaceful summer ahead, you knew there was nowhere else in the world you would ever rather be.
— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !
ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan @paankhaleyaaar @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @cozyvanillacashmere
someone followed me with “proud zionist” in their bio and i immediately removed and blocked them. in my real life, i am very vocal about my support for palestine and i will never be silent during a systemic and deliberate cultural genocide. so i will gladly repeat this as many times as i need to.
this is NOT a safe space for zionist’s.
this is NOT a safe space for israeli apologists.
get the fuck off my blog you absolute clown.
do not engage with my content. do not read my fics. do not follow me because i will block you. mind you every character i write for would HATE you.
free palestine until palestine is free and FUCK israel.
I've never done a request before so I hope I've done this correctly, I'm so sorry if I've misunderstood 😭
Would you Rather....
Jack Abbot with the prompt - "Here take my jacket"
or
Trinity Santos with the prompt - "Let me wash your hair"
Again you are a fantabulous (fantastic + fabulous) writer, happy 3k!!! 🩷
i choose ‘here take my jacket’ w/ jack! || join the celebration!
warnings: first date vibes - all mushy fluff!
The late August air has turned crisp with the subtle arrival of dusk, carrying that faint, bittersweet scent of dying summer leaves and cool evening humidity. You sit opposite Jack on a weathered wooden bench at the edge of the seaside promenade, watching the sky shift from a bruised violet to a deep, dark indigo over the water.
The date had started hours ago, back when the afternoon sun was still warm enough to burn through your light shirt, stretching through a stroll along the pier, a shared paper cone of lukewarm chips, and a conversation that flowed with an effortless, surprising ease. Jack had a way of cutting through your usual first-date nerves, his relaxed presence and easy laugh making the time slip away far quicker than either of you had anticipated.
"I still say you cheated at the ring-toss," Jack says with a low laugh, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning his elbows back against the bench. "There's no way anyone lands three in a row like that on their first try without some kind of dark magic involved."
"It's called actual skill, Jack," you reply, smiling as you glance over at him. "You just can't handle the fact that I won you that ridiculous stuffed frog instead of the other way around."
"I'm keeping it on my dashboard as a reminder to never challenge you again," he chuckles, turning his head to look at you, his light eyes catching the faint glow of the promenade lamps clicking on overhead. "Honestly, though... I can't remember the last time I had a night this good. I was half-convinced I'd end up spilling something down myself or saying the absolute wrong thing within five minutes."
"You did almost drop your chips on a seagull," you point out gently.
"That was a tactical manoeuvre," he counters without missing a beat, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "Kept the bird away from us, didn't it?"
As the sea breeze picks up, a sharp gust sweeps across the wooden planks of the pier, making you involuntarily shiver and draw your arms tightly across your chest. You try to play it off with a quiet smile, not wanting to cut the night short just as the conversation has turned so warm and easy, but Jack notices the slight movement immediately. His smile falters slightly, replaced by a look of observant concern as he notices your thin sleeves and the goosebumps forming along your skin.
"You're shaking," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he stops mid-sentence, looking at you with a soft, quiet focus.
"I'm fine, really," you lie, your teeth clicking together slightly as another cool gust comes off the water. "Just a bit of a breeze. Don't worry about it."
"Right, of course you're fine," he says sarcastically, though his tone is entirely fond. Without a second thought or a moment of hesitation, Jack unzips his heavy denim jacket, shoulders his way out of it, and leans across the small space between you. "Here, take my jacket."
"Jack, no, you don't have to do that," you protest, reaching out to stop him. "It's getting freezing out here, you'll end up catching a chill yourself."
"I'm fine in a t-shirt, I promise you," he insists, ignoring your mild objection entirely as he gently drapes the heavy fabric over your shoulders. He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing your chin as he pulls the lapels together so the trapped warmth envelops you instantly. "Besides, if I let you freeze to death on our first date, I'm pretty sure I don't get a second one."
The jacket carries the comforting, grounded scent of laundry detergent, cedarwood, and the unmistakable trace of his cologne, holding onto his body heat so thoroughly that you feel an immediate, deeply cozy relief. As you slip your arms through the oversized sleeves, your hand briefly brushes against his warm fingers, and the lingering touch sends a completely different kind of heat straight through your chest.
"See? Much better," Jack says softly, watching you pull the heavy sleeves over your knuckles.
"It's huge on me," you mutter, a small laugh escaping you as you look down at the drown of denim, though you wrap it tighter around yourself anyway. "Thank you, Jack. Really."
"Looks better on you than it does on me, to be honest," he replies, settling back against the wooden slats of the bench. He seems entirely unbothered by the rising chill in just his dark shirt, a small, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you get comfortable.
You shift slightly closer to him on the bench, letting your shoulder rest against his, feeling the steady heat radiating off him through the cool evening air. Jack doesn't pull away; instead, he shifts his arm so it rests comfortably along the back of the bench behind you, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder in a quiet, open invitation.
"So," he murmurs, his voice low and close to your ear as the sound of the tide crashes rhythmically below the pier. "Since you're nice and warm now... does this mean I can convince you to get hot chocolates with me before we head back?"
"Only if you let me pay this time," you say, looking up at him through the twilight.
Jack tilts his head, pretending to consider it for a second before nudging your shoulder playfully with his own. "Deal. But only if I get to keep holding your hand on the walk there."
As the stars begin to poke through the dusk overhead, signaling the definitive end of the summer season, you find yourself leaning further into his side, breathing in the warmth of his jacket and knowing with absolute certainty that this late August evening is only the beginning.
ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan @paankhaleyaaar @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @cozyvanillacashmere
Hello to my favorite jellycat sun!! I hope you're doing great, another congratulations on the new milestone!! If it's alright I would like to make another request (still not sure if I'm doing this right so apologies in advance 😭)
Love your work, it brings me joy and reminds me how much talent writers have! Congrats again! Thank you 🫶🏻
JOIN MY 3K FOLLOWER SUMMER SLEEPOVER!
KISS — SAMIRA MOHAN
honestly… you could so be with her and jack at the same time if that was something you’re into. i was very stuck between them! she absolutely loves how emotionally intelligent you are. your relationship would just be so loving and understanding!
MARRY — JACK ABBOT
a match made in HEAVEN! he needs emotional intelligence at his big age, he could not stand to be with someone petty. he adores how loyal you are because when he is in love he is locked in. loves, loves, loves to hear you sing! whether it’s belting in the car or on a stage, he is SAT and he is LOVING it.
AVOID — TRINITY SANTOS
avoid but only because you’d good friends! definitely needs someone caring in her life to balance out her snark. she loves that you enjoy singing and there is rarely a week that goes by where you don’t go out for karaoke. i can also see her being one of those friends who actually loves physical touch when she’s comfortable? like. will cuddle with you at movie night and hold your hand down the street platonically.
synopsisJack and you have always been ying-and-yang and until a few months ago, the love of each others life. but when thing start shifting and you start drifting from Jack for the worse he doesn't know how to stop it, until he can stop it in the most brutal way possible (request) (7.9k words)
warnings this is heavy, heavy angst, it deals with mental health, not necessary suicide but also a not caring to live. reader has a dnr. so heavy angst with a HAPPY ending. language. typical hospital stuff. not accurate medical things. blood. stabbing mention, death. younger reader, age not specified.
authornote this is heavy angst but with a happy ending. i really liked the request and wanted to explore the idea of dnr's and stuff but if your sensitive to death please don't read (but nobody dies!)
the pitt masterlist! another jack fic!
It was a good day if you were working, Jack had decided that a long time ago.
It was the sort of rule he lived by. Like reading at least one hundred pages of a book a day kept him intelligent, his yoga in the morning kept him calm and limber. A shift working with you, was a good shift.
Most of the day shifters had gone home, but you were still at the nurses station, talking with Lena.
“Hey,” said Jack. It was the first word he'd said to you, un-able to do hand offs with you when Shen decided it was his turn to be at your side, throwing a testing grin in Jack’s direction. “Aren't you going? Here- take this for the road, you might need it.” He was all but forcing a granola bar in your hand. The special ones he reserved for you.
You took it. “Sorry to disappoint, Ellis had a concert she really wanted to go to, I said I'd cover. Beyonce.”
Jack leant over the counter at you, peering through squinted eyes. “Disappointment? I think you've just made my night.”
There was a blush on your cheeks as you looked away, studying the Pitt to find something to distract yourself with.
“You might regret that. We've got a lorry car collision, ETA ten minutes out,” you explained, dropping the granola bar into your scrub pocket. “I might just be your bad luck charm.”
Jack loved working with you. He loved getting your opinion on cases that didn't need a second opinion. He liked the quiet moments in the night shifts you covered where it was just the two of you and the night sky. He liked being able to make you blush, to make you laugh in the middle of the darkness.
Because there was a darkness lingering in you. The sort only the Pitt could latch onto a person.
He'd seen it in Robby.
He despised seeing it in you.
There were some nights you covered- because you were always the first to volunteer to do a double- you started with a sparkle in your eyes and ending the night in despair, dragging yourself home. You'd return hours later, not at all long enough to have had a good sleep.
Jack worried, but he liked having you around to keep an eye on you.
Jack shook his head. “Nah. The bad luck is this place. You're the good.”
You laughed, hesitantly.
Lena patted your arm, kindly, the way a mother did. “I'll go get the guy from trauma two moved.”
“You want some help?” you offered.
“No, sweetie, I got it.”
You looked around like you needed to make myself busy. Like you couldn't be alone with Jack. He'd seen it in the ED many times, even in the military, the need for people to stay busy instead of succumbing to a sort of numbness.
It had been him some years back before he managed to deal with his demons.
“Any interesting cases in the ED today?” Jack asked, following you around with his hands behind his back, restraining himself from guiding you through with a hand on your back.
“Well, we had a woman who didn't realise she was eight months pregnant who gave birth today. A priapism-”
Jack seethed. “Ouch.”
“- and a man with a toothbrush stuck up where the sun don't shine.”
“Double ouch,” he said, checking the side of you. “So you had quite an interesting day, huh?”
“You could say that,” you mumbled. “There's also a girl in five with Fancomi anemia. She came in four hours again and we're still waiting to hear from her parents. She has a half sister half way across the country that might be a bone marrow candidate that they've never tried.”
Jack nodded, listening and catching the far away look in your eyes. “You're doing everything for her,” said Jack. He didn't even have to ask to know you would be doing everything possible for the girl. Even if it meant exhausting yourself.
Jack nodded to himself, debating with himself if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. The devil and angel arguing on his shoulders. “A little birdie told me you had a date,” he said, the both of you knowing the little birdie was, in fact, Robby. “How'd it go?”
You sighed and stopped in the middle of the corridor.
He cut you off before you could start. “I'm just asking to check you're okay. That... that he was nice.”
You nodded slowly, not meeting his gaze as your hands rested at your hips. “He was- he was fine.”
Jack ignored the wince of pain as he crouched to get a look at you. “Just fine?”
If Jack couldn't have you, he loved you enough to just want you happy.
It was only four months ago you'd broken up with him, after seven months of beautiful moments. Of coming home to you in his sheets, making a coffee and waking you up to it. He wanted to steal every moment with you, choosing sleep when you went to work, spending the morning just watching you get ready. The lunch dates where he'd turn up to the ED, the place he could never escape, with a delicious home made lunch for you and sometimes extra for Robby who kicked up a fuss that he got nothing and had known Jack longer.
Jack missed the kisses in the night and the morning. He missed holding you when he had a night off. He missed when you'd think he was asleep and map his freckles, tracing I love you into his skin.
Because the tender moments were always there, yet gradually they began to hide themselves in the cover of night, when you thought he was sleeping.
Jack knew things weren't perfect. With both your schedules it was hard to balance but you tried to make it work. Then the light in your eyes started to fade and when you told him it isn’t working anymore, I love you, I'm sorry, he hadn't thought to keep your relationship alive. He'd just been fighting to keep you.
He was terrified he'd lose you.
Then what would he do?
He wouldn't survive it.
“Just fine?” he asked again.
“Don’t sound too pleased.”
“I’m not,” he denied but bit back a smile.
You looked up to him, shuddering a deep breath. “He was just... whatever.”
“Just a whatever kind of guy?”
“Why are you asking so much?” you asked, mildly annoyed.
Because he still loved you? Wasn't it painfully obvious? Weren't you just trying to act like you didn't know he was helpless for you to spare him embarrassment.
“Just, checking in on you.”
You looked down at your shoes, scuffing them on the floor. “It- he was nice but... I dunno, not what I wanted.”
Jack hummed. “No?” did you still want him? He'll be honest, he didn't think he'd hear about you going on a date. Least of all with some guy from Pedes. When you'd broke up with him he expected it had something to do with you wanting to focus on you. Rest up. The sort of stuff like that. Then he had to hear from Robby that you were going out for dinner.
There was only a small bite of anger before Jack felt sorry for himself.
“No,” you sighed.
There were deeper circles under your eyes than usual, sharp half moons dark in colour lingering there. Your eyes were dark and lifeless, scrubs hanging off you.
“Is there anything else going on?” he asked, tugging at your arm slightly to hide yourselves at a corner.
You looked up to him, lips pulled down in a frown as you shook your head. “Nope.”
His brows rose, eyes looking at you, pleading. “You can talk to me if there is, h-” the pet name he had no right to almost slipped from his lips. He gulped it down and felt it sting down his throat. “You can tell me.”
“We're...” you hesitated. “We're not together anymore, Jack. You don't have to do all this chivalry thing.”
“Can't help it,” Jack shrugged. “Not when it's you.”
Your hands wrung together and Jack looked down. There was flakes of dry skin on along your fingers. He knew the sanitiser in the ED could be harsh on your skin, but he also knew he'd replaced your hand moisturiser in your locker just two weeks ago and that you should have plenty. It was a nervous habit you had, to rub your hands together like so.
Jack remembered it from your first date. He’s used it as an excuse to reach over and take your hands.
“I'm just tired,” you mumbled.
Jack nodded, slow and listening. “That it?” he prodded gently.
He'd heard countless doctors slip those words out in answer to the everything okay type questions. He'd seen Robby break as the words chocked in his throat. You said them without emotion. Without even trying to prove your lie.
“Why don't you go home? Get some rest-”
“Ellis is-”
“- we'll manage,” he insisted. His hand had un-consciously started to move up and down your forearm in comfort.
You winced as you turned your head aside, thinking about it.
Jack didn't know how much he really wanted you to go home. He wanted you to rest, yes, but preferably in the family room with a blanket thrown over you where he could drop by and check in on you. Check you were okay.
Check you weren't doing something stupid.
He knew that not everyone felt like a ticking time bomb. That not everyone's mind would wonder as dark as his did sometimes.
But he feared you weren't far off.
“Go rest-”
At the same moment Jack spoke the ambulance doors were pushed open and two bodies were pushed through on gurneys, bloody and broken. Stats were yelled out and Jack was called for.
At the same time, Matteo popped out of five, calling for you.
“She's crashing!”
You rushed over, falling into the room with the young girl and Matteo.
With a heavy sigh, Jack followed the other path of emergency responders and doctors.
He and the team worked on them. A father and son involved in a lorry crash that ploughed right into the side. The kid was only seventeen with a broken leg and collapsed lung. The father was much better off. The boy would need surgery and Walsh was already down and wheeling him up.
It was all done in a quick blur of thirty minutes. He took care of it all clinically like ticking through a to do list, not looking to close at the kid to remember shades of hair or lines of the face.
By the time Jack was stepping out the trauma room, Crus at his side, you still had not returned to the floor of the ED.
“How does she seem to you?” Jack asked Crus, the two of them pulling off their gloves and gowns. He said your name in clarification.
“Hot!” said Crus with a shit-eating grin.
Jack glared at him. He should have known not to expect a serious answer from Henderson. Or at least he hoped that wasn't the serious answer.
“I don't know man, how do you want her to seem?” asked Crus.
“She seems tired. For a while now,” Jack noted.
“Aren't we all chasing sleep?” he asked him, leaving his side with a pat on his back.
Jack found himself at the nurses station, leaning over.
Lena's glasses slid down her nose, a chart in hand and her red hair messily pulled back. She ditched all efforts to seem busy however when he beckoned her over. “She's been in there the last thirty-five minutes,” she told him. “The little girl she'd been looking after crashed.”
“Nothing back?”
Lena shook her head.
Jack shook his head. “Shit.”
With a heavy heart he dragged himself to room five, already hearing the stillness of the monitor, the hard breathing and orders.
“Push another round of epi and charge to two hundred.”
The room smelt of septic cleaning products and the faint aroma of sweat. There was a faint burn smell from the defibrillators that had apparently already been charged and used.
Jack lingered in the doorway.
Your body was curved over the small girl, knees denting into the crappy hospital bed that hadn't been updated in years. Your hands were cupped over her chest, pumping down as Matteo pushed another round of epi. Catching Jack's eyes, he shook his head.
Jack tutted, quietly to himself. “Hold compressions, check for a rhythm.”
It took you a second but you stopped, looking to the monitor in hope.
There was nothing but a flat line.
Jack didn't tell you to resume compressions but you did anyway.
“Charge to three hundred,” you said to Matteo.
He was caught in the middle, looking toward Jack for confirmation.
Jack nodded and Matteo got the paddles, warming them and handing them to you.
Your grasped them in an all too familiar hold. “Clear!”
The small girls body lurched before flopping back on the bed. Everyone in the small room waited for a rhythm. There was nothing in answer.
Jack had no time to tell you not to carry on before you were. He took a slow step in, patting Matteo on the shoulder, in a silent gesture to have him leave.
The nurse gave a sad look before leaving, closing the door gently behind him.
There was Jack and you over the girls body.
He said your name, slowly.
You didn't react.
“Honey, come on,” said Jack. “She's gone.” He could see the tremble in your arms from the compressions you hadn't given up on.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Her parents aren't even here,” you said. “They didn't even pick up their phone when Dana called. We-we left a message. They deserve to see their daughter one last time.”
Jack nodded. “They will.”
You glanced up at him. “Alive.”
He clocked his head to the side. “That's not gonna happen. It's been forty-five minutes. She's gone.”
Losing kids were the hardest. Losing anyone was hard but kids weren't supposed to be found in hospital beds, tubes poking out of them. If they had to be found in a hospital, they deserved loved ones around them. Not strangers in black and blue.
Jack knew you were trying to do the right thing. Sometimes there was no right thing to do.
“Come on.” Jack was slow in moving around the bed to your side. He gave you time to slow down, to feel the exhaustion in your arms. His own hovered over you. “Come on.”
You shuddered when his arms fell over you, holding you softly as you slumped back into him, falling from the bed on feet that weren't ready to catch you. His arms were; strong where you were weak.
“It's okay, it's okay,” he mumbled into your hair, peppering kisses there. “You did everything you could.”
Neither of you knew how long you stood there in his embrace. Somewhere between the consoling you and you slowly leaving his arms- like it was paining you physically to do so- Jack called the time of death so you wouldn't have to, pulling the plug on the monitor to kill the sound of dying.
When he turned back you were stuck at the door, eyes downcast as if you couldn't bring yourself to look at the small body he pulled the cover over.
He returned to your side, hand gentle on your arm. “Go take some time in the family room.”
You shook your head, a tear betraying your words. “I'm fine.”
Jack reached up and cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand. He looked at you like you were still his whole world. You were. To him. His thumb delicately wiped the tear away as your gaze reached his. “Ten minutes, please. For me.”
It took some time, some great mental calculations sparring inside of you but you nodded and Jack led you from the room, closing the door behind him.
His hand was a gentle breeze against the small of your back as he led you out, giving a gesture of a nod to Lena about the room. It was enough for her charge nurse bells to go off as she nodded and sent someone over.
“Take all the time you need, okay?” Jack whispered to you.
You nodded, stepping out his hold and slowly walking to the family room.
Jack waited and watched closely, marking every step you took to the room. He only let out a sigh when he saw you close the door behind you.
“Everything okay?” asked Lena as he slouched over the counter.
His face scrunched up as he fought his own pain. Pain for the little girl but a greater pain chocked at him as he closed his eyes and pictured the heartbreak marring your face, taking over your entire body. He sniffed back his own grief. “No. No, not really.”
Slowly he explained the situation to Lena. He re-encountered the break up that had took the night crew by shock. They were all so sure it was happy ever after for the two of you. When Jack had to slowly explain the break up (he lied and said it was mutual, it was very much not) there were distraught faces as if the night-crawlers were all going through a parental divorce. He told Lena he knew something was going on with you. He told her about the girl that had just died.
“And I just-” said Jack, chocking on a cry that threatened to escape the lodge in his throat. “Sometimes when I see her, it feels like I'm gonna be seeing her for the last time.”
“Hey,” Lena whispered and reached for his hand, squeezing it. “None of that. She'll be okay.”
Jack nodded, repeating the words to himself. “Yeah, she'll be okay. Keep an eye on here?”
“Already on it.”
By the time Jack next had the spare moment to check his watch he found thirty minutes had flickered by since he last saw you. When he passed by the family room you weren't there. Instead Caleb was, talking to a family.
Jack went in search of you, checking the board for your initials. He didn't see anything up on there, nothing that jolted his heart with the usual sparks.
“Shen!” he called in passing. “Have you seen her?”
“Er, no, sorry.”
Jack cursed. He was turning around the ED, spinning on his heel and looking around every corner for you. You weren't by the lockers, weren't out in the ambulance bay. Trauma one was empty and trauma two had a large team in there already, devoid of you.
His heart beat like a drum in his chest, growing louder and louder, the thud of the bass growing the more time went on and he couldn't find you. Had you gone home without a word? Were you hiding away somewhere else?
Jack was losing hope, running on anxiety when he pushed back the curtain to fourteen hard enough to almost tear the thing.
You looked up at him from your place on the stool next to your patient, a middle aged woman with an ankle not as it should be.
“You're here,” he said, breathless.
“Er, yeah?” you said with a small chuckle. “I'm just telling Mrs Greene here about the surgery to reset the bone in her foot.”
Jack nodded, looking from you to your patient.
He wasn't an idiot. Your eyes were scratched and red, cheeks flushed. Yet you'd tried to put yourself back together. You'd scraped back your hair in a neater pin up, had clearly splashed cold water on your face, maybe even dunked your face in a bowl of it. You sat with your hands in your lap, a leg kicked over the other, caving in on yourself.
As soon as you left the room, chart in hand, Jack was hot on your heels.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
You startled, looking at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?”
“You lost a patient,” Jack reminded you, a small frown pulling at his lips. “It's tough on all of us.”
You glanced down to the chart, lifting your shoulders. “We lose people all the time. It's the job.”
He surveyed you as you slid into a seat, logging into the computer in front of you. No eye contact, distractions pulling at you. Jack knew your tactics; they were everyone else's. Ignore the pain till it went away before mounting up and crashing down at the worst time possible. Heck, he was chair of the club.
“Sure,” he mused. “Doesn't make it any easier.”
You sighed, pulling your lips up into a strained smile. “Jack, seriously, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me.”
Jack leant over the counter. “Well, you want to know a secret?”
“What?”
“I'm always worried about you.”
“I don't think it's much of a secret,” you said, moving your fingers quick over the keypad.
He wondered if your hands were steady. Or even if you were writing anything with meaning, or just trying to occupy yourself. “If you need to go home-”
“- I don't-”
“- take some time-”
“- I don't want to take time,” you huffed.
“You’re starting to sound like Robby.”
“Now that’s insulting,” you huffed. There was a moment were you fell silent, your body slumping under the weight of the argument. You dragged your hands down your face. “Jack, please.”
When you're a kid they teach you that manners are an important basis in the human condition. A show of respect. A nicety. They don't tell you the effects the simple words hold when used on the tongue of a loved one. When someone you love is begging you to leave them alone, even against your better judgement.
Jack never liked to hear you beg as it was.
He hung his head in surrender. “I'm staying close.”
“You'll be loitering.”
“Observing,” he corrected.
He loitered around you the rest of the night. He checked your name on the board every time he passed. When the parents of the young girl arrived five hours later Jack spoke to them, he didn't even tell you they had arrived but somehow you knew. A silent nod of thanks was passed. The sun started to rise and Jack had counted three coffee's, two over your usual. The granola bar he'd handed you was left abandoned at your station and before Jack could find you to make sure you eat the rest, Crus had taken it in one bite.
Six am was a blessing. The night hadn't been full of patients, no more than usual at least but it had been more stressful to Jack.
Every time you moved and he couldn't find you he was worried. Even if it only lasted a minute or two. It was the same blind panic he'd felt the day Robby left for his sabbatical, yet the relief when he saw you didn't last.
Jack had left to go to the bathroom in the morning. When he came back Robby was there, fleece pulled up and talking to you. He couldn't tell what was going on, only that Robby's hands were clasped together in a prayer like motion.
Then he saw you nod and Robby sigh before giving you a high five and leaving.
“What was that?” Jack asked, falling at your side.
“What?”
“What were you and Robby talking about?”
“Er,” you hesitated. “Langdon can't make it, there's something at home, I don't know his kids are sick or something, Abbey's away visiting family.”
Jack was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “So?”
“He's asked me to stick around for a bit, help him out-”
“You've just pulled a double,” Jack snapped.
“It's only a few hours,” you shrugged, as if you weren't the walking definition of sleep. “Beats going home.”
“I'll cover.”
“Then you'll be pulling a triple,” you pointed out. “I'm younger, more spry.”
His jaw pulled tight, hands falling on his hips. “I'll talk to Robby.”
“I've told him I'll do it,” you said, firmly. “I don't want to go home and sit with this, I'd rather be here.”
“For how long?” he asked. “You gonna stay here forever now? You can't run away from this.”
“I can't sit with it either,” you snapped back, heat rising up your neck. “I'm not like you, Jack. I can't leave the shift at the door and go home and just sleep it off. I need to... I need to do something.”
Jack stood and listened. He knew you all processed things differently. He knew that you were never good at staying still, always rising early in the mornings even if you weren't working, cooking before he'd even said he was hungry. Siting still and thinking didn't work for you.
You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. It took you a couple moments to drag your eyelids open. “I'm gonna go sleep through hand over. I'll see you soon, okay?”
Jack didn't bother saying anything as he watched you go.
Your place was taken up by Robby. He looked down the way you'd walked.
“You had no right to ask her to stay,” Jack argued.
Robby chuckled low in his throat. “You have no right to be mad that she said yes. She's not yours anymore, Jack.”
“She's exhausted!” he grit.
“Then she wouldn't have said yes.”
“She wouldn't have said no, either!”
Robby grit his teeth and backed up a step. “Brother, I know you care about her. I'm only asking a couple hours to figure things out. She's a grown up. She knows what she's doing. I don't think you do.”
Robby walked off then, leaving Jack to it.
The worst part was, Jack knew he was right. He had no idea what he was doing.
It was two days later and Jack wasn't even supposed to be in.
It was only three in the afternoon, he had at least three more hours of snooze time, lying back in his bed, counting the flecks of paint in his ceiling- if he hadn't been out on the SWAT team.
A bunch of boys- punks really- were holding hostages for a total of six thousand dollars and a PS5. Considering the wars and losing his leg and the shoot outs it was a relative easy thing to deal with. Still, when the larger one of the trio took a run at him and landed his shoulder square in the chest, pushing Jack to the floor, it still hurt.
He'd pulled up his shirt, caught a glimpse at the bruising and thought it better safe than sorry. Best to get it checked out by your hands.
Any excuse really to feel your hands touch him.
“Hey,” he greeted, walking through the ambulance doors.
It was like walking into a morgue.
Dana and Javadi were at the nurses station, both turned to look at him in shock. “Jack, honey, what are you doing here?” she asked without her usual smile.
Jack clocked his head aside. “I took a tumble, thought I could get a look at, you know.” He was hoping she'd catch just who he wanted examining him without saying your name.
Javadi gasped at her side, hands flying over her mouth. “Oh my god.”
Jack looked to her. “What?”
He glanced around the Pitt.
Princess and Perlah were in the corner, talking in Tagalog quietly while glancing at him. Others were looking at him but Robby wasn't. He wasn't around. He counted: neither Samira, Whitaker, Santos or McKay were there.
Nor were you.
Dana slowed around the counter, lifting an arm to him. “Why don't we get some coffee? I can take a look at you-”
But Jack had already found trauma two, where all the doctors he was looking for were.
Robby stilled, gloved hands and gown covered in blood. At his side Samira was much the same, behind him Whitaker too. “Jack! Get out!”
It took him a minute to realise why everyone was looking at him, why the ED had felt colder than usual. Why you'd been missing from the floor.
The blood surrounding everything was yours.
“Jack!” Robby yelled.
You were on the gurney too still, so un-natural for you. Had he not been complaining you wouldn't take a break just forty-eight hours ago?
Jack looked to each face that was frozen, wondering what to do. Whether they should work on saving you or work on getting rid of him.
Jack made their choice for them, throwing off his jacket and pulling on latex gloves over the sweat of his palms. “Talk to me!” he yelled to anyone in the room.
Robby gave one un-impressed shake of his head and a groan. “We found her in the bathrooms. Stab wounds to the left chest, two to the belly, right and left upper quadrants.”
Jack was over you know, looking down.
You were pale, eyes dark and closed and not opening as he pressed a hand to the top of your head, feeling around just to be able to touch and know you were there. It was a relief to know as much as it was a nightmare to see you. He inhaled but it was shaky.
“She- she was stabbed?” he asked.
“We think it was a patient,” said Santos from behind him. “Or-or a relative of a patient, we don't know.”
Jack shook his head, brows creasing. “Oh god.”
“Pule ox eighty-two!” called out Donnie.
Jack snatched the central line tray away from Robby, lying it out and doing it all himself. He looked at you and saw a patient. For the sake of your life he was looking at you and cutting you open like he didn't love you. “Call- call someone,” he said.
“What?” asked Whitaker.
“Robby,” said Jack. “Call- call her emergency contact. A friend. A family, I don't know just get her someone! She-she doesn't like patients being alone so for gods sake, call someone!”
Robby was adamant to argue. It was evident in the lines in his face and the frown on his lips but Jack heard the sharp tug of elastic and the sound of him giving up.
He remembered how distraught you'd been when the little girl had no family with her. You weren't going to die- you weren't. But Jack wanted someone you trusted to be with you.
“BP's ninety over fifty!”
“Okay, c'mon, c'mon, honey,” said Jack as he carefully and skilfully intubated you, the bag going on. “Don't do this to me.”
Robby had pulled over the computer, logging in and typing away.
“Pulse ox is dropping!”
“Belly is distended,” said Whitaker. “Probably an intra-abdominal bleed!”
“Get four more units of O-neg in here!” ordered Jack.
“Pressure's down to sixty!” yelled Samira.
“Oh... god,” Robby uttered, staring intently at the computer screen.
There was a harsh beeping screaming through the room and everyone looked.
“We've lost her pulse!”
By the time Mohan had finished announcing it Jack had already climbed up, compressing down on your chest.
“No. No,” he said, harshly. “You are not doing this to me. You're not! Push a round of epi!”
There was another beeping that would haunt Jack for the rest of his life.
“She's in V-fib!”
Jack grunted. “Charge to one hundred!”
“Stop!” Robby called out. His head was hung low between his shoulders, one hand held up. “Stop.”
Jack did not stop pushing down to your chest. Over you, Donnie did not stop pressing down on the bag. Nobody was stopping. “Robby, What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he snapped.
Robby was pale, his eyes down cast as he turned his body to the room but didn't have the strength to look at anyone. He rested a hand on his hip, the other stretched out to the cart with the computer to steady himself. “Her chart. She's DNR.”
Jack didn't hear him, not right away. Or he did but didn't want to. He knew the letters DNR. Sometimes a mercy for the elderly that had lived a long, good life and wanted to go out on their terms. For the terminally ill who didn't want to live the rest of their life in pain.
You were young. You were healthy. You were not dying.
“What?” said McKay.
“You're kidding,” said Denis.
Robby shook his head, spinning the computer to them.
“Doctor Mohan!” Jack called, a silent plea for her to take his place. With steady hands, she did and Jack stumbled down next to Robby.
He stared at your name, your birthday. Your file sat there staring at him, the DNR mocking all the love he held for you.
“She's DNR, Jack, I'm sorry,” said Robby, a hand on his shoulder. “We have to respect that.”
His fingers moved around the keyboard till he highlighted the DNR.
You'd signed a DNR. You'd never said anything. Why had you signed a DNR?
Jack moved around on the keypad and did the only reasonable thing. Everyone behind him waited with bated breath.
Jack dragged his finger to the bin icon and deleted your file.
Robby stared at him in shock.
Jack looked away from the now empty computer screen and didn't so much as glance at Robby as he returned to your side. “Charge to one hundred.”
A wave of shock rippled through the doctors and nurses as Jack marched back to your side. There was disbelief that you, someone so young, would ever be a DNR. That Jack- who they'd all argue was a little bit more responsible than their own Doctor Robby- would erase a file!
Jack looked around at them all. “Charge to one hundred, now!”
Santos and Whitaker were the first to jump to attention, charging and handing over the panels.
“Clear!”
The waiting room was colder, quieter and whiter than Jack was accustom to. He was used to working down in the Pitt, with its white walls and ghosts but there was always noise. Always monitors going off and names being called, usually there were wails or cries of relief.
In the waiting room there was nothing.
Only lines and lines of chairs, a fish tank that last time he'd counter had a dozen or so goldfish and a clock that ticked by every second you lay under the knife.
Every second ticked away and nobody came to fetch him, to update him.
Every second Jack was left alone to guess why you'd have a DNR order.
The door creaked open and the only other waiting woman and child in the room looked up. As did Jack.
Robby walked in, boots shuffling, lips tilting up into an apologetic smile as he raised a hand to the mother and daughter. He found Jack. “Anything?”
He shook his head. He learnt almost two hours ago not to trust his voice from shaking anymore.
Robby settled in the chair next to Jack, stretching out his legs. Not to impose but just to press his boot next to Jack's and assure him he was there. It was a small move but none the less appreciated. “The guy was only came in for a headache,” he explained quietly in the silence. “We were waiting on a psych consult from some erratic behaviour-”
“- he should've been restrained,” said Jack, through eyes that were heavy in tears. He knew that most patients came in erratic, that they didn't always have to be tied down but he still he remembered your blood all over the trauma room, your blood on everyone's gloves.
Jack had to get a change of scrubs from the lockers just to get out of his clothes stained in your blood but as he looked down at his boots he found a spec of your blood.
“The guy had no infection, we've no idea how he got the knife. He ran after the attack. Word is he's at Westbridge being treated for schizophrenia.”
“How long?” Jack asked, a shake in his voice as he angled his head down to Robby. He gulped. “How long do you think she was lying there, alone, bleeding to death before anyone found her?”
Robby's own inhale was shaky, his body wracked with it. “I don't know.”
Jack's breath shuddered. He hunched over himself, resting his elbows on his knees.
Had you been conscious? Aware of the fact litres of your blood were leaving without being able to call for help. Were you trying to call for help but un-able to find your voice? The thought had Jack's stomach churning.
“What if-”
“Don't-” warned Robby.
“What if she doesn't make it?”
“She will.”
Jack tried to imagine a world without you but he couldn't. He tried to picture walking into work and not finding your face, smiling or on the verge of collapse. He imagined not being able to text you just to say he was thinking about you and for you to just reply, don't. He couldn't imagine the last photo he'd have of you on his phone was the morning you broke up with him, when you were sleeping and he thought you looked so beautiful and at peace that he had to capture the moment.
He wanted to tell you there'd be no peace on the other side. Not if you left him.
“Two stab wounds to the belly,” Jack sniffed. “Could've been the spleen.”
Robby didn't try to sugar coat it. He only nodded and listened. “It could.”
“It could've got the heart, she was stabbed in the chest.”
“Maybe.”
They sat in silence.
Jack saw Robby watch the clock for an entire minute.
“Do you know why?” asked Robby. “Why she had a DNR?”
Jack winced at the memory. The stamp standing out to him. It was offensive to him, that you'd do such a thing. He rested back in his chair. “No. She.... she never said anything about it, not to me.”
Jack didn't need to ask what he might have meant. They knew it better than most.
Maybe it wasn't a want to die, but an indifference to live.
Yet, a DNR wasn't an indifference. It was a choice that if anything happened to you you'd never want to come back from it.
“I can't do it,” said Jack, looking down to his boots. He struggled to put the rest of it into words. “I can't... without her- I can't. And I want nothing more than for her to wake up. But... I'm so angry she's done this.”
There was grief, despair also behind that anger but the fury masked it.
“So am I,” said Robby. He was the closest thing to a mentor you had, someone to look out for you when Jack wasn't around. “When she wakes up-”
Jack shook his head. “We don't know that.”
Robby's body hunched over, focused on Jack. “When she gets out of that OR you get to argue with her first.”
Jack dared to hope in the silence that paraded between them. “You think she knows?” he asked. “That we brought her back?”
It seemed Robby didn't even have to think about it.
“She knows.”
There was another tick of the clock before the door opened again.
“Doctor Abbot.”
He shot up at the call of his name, pushing through the door with Robby following behind. Out in the hallway the lights radiated a ghostly white and Jack felt haunted already.
Garcia stood there, a mask lose around her neck.
“How-how is she?” he asked.
Garcia looked between them. “Recovering. There's a long road ahead of her, but she's stubborn. Far more stubborn than the two of you combined. She's going to make it.”
Jack let out a shudder of a breath of relief, his entire body curling. He felt the need to throw up all the words he'd wanted to say to you and hadn't. That coil in his stomach released and his last good leg trembled.
He felt Robby's hand on his shoulder and dully heard him and Garcia talk about what had gone on in the operating room but it was as if Jack was under water.
A score of surgeons started to wheel you out, pushing you into recovery.
Jack saw you in a new gown without blood, bandages around you. You were still asleep but that's all it was, a sleep. Your skin was still pale but there was the smallest bit of life in your cheeks. You moved so slow, or maybe that's how he was seeing you, trying to slow it down to memorise you.
When you disappeared Jack came back to with enough time to thank Garcia and rush off after you.
By the time you woke up Jack had gone through his mind a thousand times, trying to think of a way to approach the topic of you seemly wanting to die without coming off as angry and afraid as he felt.
You woke slowly with flutters of your eyes and your hand coming up to rub at the sleep only to be held down by the IV in your hand.
Jack jerked at the movement, claiming your hand and holding it in his, squeezing. “Hey. Hey, you're okay, it's okay,” he said, coaxing some comfort into you.
You turned to find him, eyes groggy as you blinked at him. Your lips parted, dry and chapped, just barely mumbling his name.
“Yeah, yeah, it's me,” he said with a watery smile as tears sprung to his eyes. “It's me, you're okay, you're safe.”
You glanced around the room in post-op. The blank walls with cards about various health hacks, at the monitors all around you, then down to yourself in a gown, the blanket that Jack had asked Robby to bring from his place gently tucked close to you. Selfishly, he'd wanted to keep just one thing when you left. You gulped. “What-what happened?”
Jack steadied himself. “You were- you were stabbed, one to the chest. Tw-two to the belly.”
You blinked, taking in the information. Slowly, your free hand rose and rubbed over your heart. “My-my chest-”
“Does it hurt?” asked Jack, ready to begrudgingly let go of your hand and rush to get someone.
You shook your head, closing your eyes and resting your head back in the cushions. “It... aches, a little.”
Jack knew the pain from other people winces. From the jutting of chests when they were shocked to the burn marks left there after. He'd seen your wince on hundreds of other patients, often described as a pain like being kicked in the chest.
He wondered if his heart breaking was a similar pain.
“Your- your heart stopped. We lost your pulse. We had to bring you back,” he said slowly, studying your face for any sign of grief. “We had to shock you.”
He waited.
You only slowly closed your eyes and opened them again. “Oh.” Your hand gave his a little squeeze.
Jack gulped down his troubles, shuffling closer and resting his arms on the bed, caressing your hand close to his chest. “We had to go against the DNR. Your DNR.”
You looked at him, a small knot of confusion between your brows before it quickly smoothed over. He watched you slowly avert your gaze, turning away to stare at the ceiling instead. You didn't cry- in rage or relief- you didn't say anything for a while leaving Jack to guess if you wanted him to bring you back.
“Why?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “Honey- why was there a DNR order on your file?” deep down he knew he should have been letting you rest, taking care of you and whispering soothing words but he couldn't see past the order on your file. He couldn't forget the way he watched your body lie still and bloody without breath and the dread that filled his chest when he found out you didn't want to be brought back.
You blinked a tear. “I don't know.”
Jack shuffled closer still, his knees digging into the bed. “Baby... honey, please. You-you can tell me,” he begged, holding the back of your hand to the stubble growing in stress. “Please, honey. I... I thought I was gonna lose you forever.”
His salty tears rolled onto the back of your hand and like it was acid, you cried, the sort that had your bottom lip jittering.
“I-I really don't know,” you uttered. “I guess I was young and-and stupid. I didn't want to die... didn't care much about living either. I just put there as a.... as....”
Jacks thumb slowly soothed your hand, resting it on his cheek as he listened. “As a what, honey?”
You glanced his way before your expression turned pain and you stared down at the blanket instead. “A failsafe. I didn't think anything would happen to me... but if I did I guessed it was life's way of telling me to be done.”
Jack took a deep breath that didn't reach deep in his lungs, it sat and burned. He knew it wasn't about him and he wasn't trying to make it so but he'd had a long time to think about life without you while waiting for you to come out of surgery.
Who else was he supposed to talk to if he didn't have you?
Who else was he supposed to laugh with if you weren't there?
Who else would take up all the love he had if you didn't have it?
“I did it ages ago, Jack, I swear, I forgot about it. Things were different, when-when I was with you. I just... I...”
He nodded, trying to hide his tears. He turned his head to wipe his cheek against his shoulder.
You squeezed his hand again.
“You didn't- you never said anything,” he mumbled.
You lips parted and hung open lamely. “I'm sorry.”
Jack shook his head again and looked at you with his best, un-stable, smile. “I just don't know what I would've done without you.”
Your finger tapped his hand, almost pityingly. “You'd have been okay.”
He scoffed. “Like fuck I would have,” he said, looking at you. “Do you realise how scared I was when I saw you in trauma? Do you realise what my life means without you? Nothing. Nothing, it means nothing.”
You frowned. “But I... I broke up with you?”
Jack shrugged. “So? You think I was gonna stay away long?”
You looked down at the blanket again, the one you'd picked up at a store- Jack couldn't even remember what store- he just remembered you'd seen it and said it would look good at home. At his. It was the first time you'd said his place as home and the first time he realised it could have been just that. “I dunno, I'm kind of a mess.”
Jack looked at you like you were the stars in the sky. “So am I, baby. That doesn't change anything.”
He thought to how sad you'd looked breaking up with him, like you didn't want to. All the extra shifts you'd been carrying, the silent pain. “You can't carry on like this. Being distracted, running from the pain. You have to... talk about it, face it.”
You swallowed, bitterly, as if even thinking about doing just that was the last thing you wanted to think about.
“If I hadn't been there today, I... I don't even want to think about what could've happened,” he admitted, quietly.
“How- how did you do it?” you asked. “Go about the DNR?”
Jack looked up sheepishly. “I deleted your file from the records.”
There was the smallest hint of a smirk on your lips.
“Gloria's not gonna like that,” you warned, pulling at his hand.
Jack chuckled to himself. “Gloria can kiss my ass.”
You laughed. It was small and pained but it was the first laugh from you Jack had heard in months.
He smiled at the sound.
“Jack?”
You pulled on his hand, beckoning him closer.
Jack hovered over you, checking where he could rest as to not hurt you. He rested his arm over yours, gently stroking back your hair while keeping your hand in his, resting it over your chest where the firm and promising beating of your heart lay.
“Thank you,” you said. “I don't... I don't think I'd want to have died. I know I act like it some times with... with all the work and the distance-”
Jack nodded along. It was a good start, a fresh one that he could build with you.
“But I want to be alive. With you.”
“Well that's good,” he said, tasting the own salt of his tears on his lips that were bitten down on in anxiety. “Because I want you to be alive. With or without me.”
You smiled up at him.
Jack stroked back your hair again. “But I'd prefer with.”
“So would I.”
Jack kissed you gently and slow, letting you set a pace of push him off. You did neither. Your lips puckered and were light against his but he grew solid then, an un-moving block at your side.
And you'd start again with each other, gentle and slow.
if you need help or related to the dark ideas in this fic, please talk to someone!
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