Omega!Dennis who learned he had to nest out of the way from his family's line of sight because otherwise they'll scold him for stealing what little clothes and good sheets they have for him to just lay on. He had to curl up in the hayloft with his blanket and pillow whenever he felt the craving.
Omega!Dennis who couldn't nest in the various homeless shelters he managed to land a spot in because it wasn't safe, it wasn't home.
Jack and Robby who know that Dennis is close to his heat because he vanishes along with his blankets, some of their dirty laundry, and a collection of electrolyte drinks and protein bars Jack has after his yoga.
The first time Dennis was in the attic of all places- curled up on an old futon Robby's been meaning to get rid of, purring like a motor and scrubbing his face and neck against the pillows he scrounged from a box labeled "outdoor pillows."
They kind of just stare at him for a second from the hatch door until Dennis sees them and freezes like a dog with something in its mouth.
Jack Abbot is an alpha fucking obviously. Jack Abbot probably smells super strong of it too. Like insane hormones kind of thing. That’s part of why he went in to the military, because they have the highest grade scent suppressants around. He knows it’s a lot to handle and when he was younger he covered it up all the time, but it worked out because he met his beautiful beta wife while he was in the military and his scent never bothered her because she could barely smell it. He stopped taking suppressants while he was married and after she passed he just never went back on them. Alphas and Omegas are not very common anymore, with Robby being the only other alpha in the ER, but they’ve never had issues because there’s never been an Omega in the ER before as a doctor. Omega patients are also few and far between but temporary sprays help.
Enter new interns, and in bops the new Omega resident.
Shes short and built textbook Omega build, larger hips, carries some weight around the middle, heavier upper top, and short as shit. She is aware of any claimable surface in order to reach what she needs. She is also aware of force to be reckoned with. She will not sit here and take any slander against any omegas! She has worked her way to this internship and she deserves it! For the most part people leave her alone though, because most people are too shocked to see her there at all.
Robby does a little bit of a double take when he sees her, lightly scenting the air to see if his eyes and nose are working. The scent of toasted vanilla and something musky confirms he isn’t crazy. Robby kind of looks over everyone’s heads to Abbot and he’s locked in as well, eyes a little out of it. It was going to be a long internship.
You end up following McKay around for a lot of the shift, and for some reason you think Dr.Robby is avoiding you? You’ve tried to find him to ask him questions about trauma care, but he always seems to be walking away from you? Dana is very nice though! She always is laughing at Robby like she’s in on a joke, and she keeps telling you you’re doing amazing even if you don’t know what for!
Abbott might have came in a little (very) early for his shift to see the little omega they acquired. He smells her way before he sees her, and he knows she smells him too because before he even walks through the doors she’s looking up curiously. She gets distracted by a patient but the clawing smell is still in her nose. She doesn’t want to be rude, that’s her attending. He just so happens to have a lot of pheromones, it happens! Robby puts out more than normal too and she’s been fine all day!
Carrying on:
Maybe something happens with a patient but suddenly Robby and Jack are on the defensive mode. They cannot be calmed down. Dana has tried, Whittaker has tried, hell even Mel has tried.
She, meanwhile, has no clue what happened. Some random asshole patient raised his hand like he was about to hit her and now two alphas won’t let her leave the bay. She’s currently shoved on the floor in the corner while her attending are growling at anyone who gets near her. She’s feeling lightheaded from the smells and she can’t really hear what anyone is saying. She whimpers, the tiniest sound, and two pairs of arms are around her, blocking her from everyone’s point of view. Robby and Jack release comforting smells and she calms down the tiniest bit, but hey’re still riled up.
Nobody is getting near her for the next several hours
omegaverse where omegas on the cusp of their heats tend to get... bitey. inflamed gums, sore jaws; nothing that can't be fixed by biting down, hard, into their partner's muscle (preferably their trapezius, but most omegas'll make do with an inner forearm or pectoral if need be) and squeezing. it's an evolutionary quirk, and not every omega feels the urge — the breakdown's about 85/15, 'bout the same percentage as people who taste cilantro instead of soap. but it's something that wasn't really... made public, when jack was coming up through the ranks. robby, too; it was just something that you did at home, did privately and kept the lid on as best you could in public.
he and robby hail from an era before teething toys were de rigueur in the privacy of one's own home, much less the workplace. jack feels every year of his age each time he spots mel placing sutures with the pendant of her chewy necklace in her mouth, or dennis gnawing absently at the silicone band of his ID bracelet while charting with the other hand.
jack's reminded how different the world they live in now is every time he spots the small scars on robby's knuckles, all old and long-healed, or the raw cuticles and the teeth grinding and the chewed-bloody lip whenever his cycle starts to ramp up — not at all uncommon in an omega of his age.
nobody'd think less of robby if he started using oral stims — on the contrary, jack's got it on good authority (dana's, specifically) that robby's ducklings think he's progressive as fuck for not blinking twice at designation accomodations in the ED — but every time jack's brought it up in the past, robby just gives him the same half-smile that scrunches up his eyes and asks jack, "why would I want any one of those toys when I could be sinking my teeth in right here?" as he slides his fingers under the neckline of jack's shirt to pet over the bite marks scarred into the skin there.
content: age gap (reader is early thirties, robby is fifty-ish), suggestive language (but no smut), fade to black, cursing, you’re both yearners, no use of Y/N, omegaverse, dana is trying her best to keep them from creating an HR nightmare but she ships it
18+ MDNI 18+ MDNI 18+ MDNI while this story does not contain explicit sexual content, there are very heavy suggestive themes. this work is considered mature and i ask that minors do not interact
word count: 7.4k
summary: No one has ever caught your scent and not gone running. You expect Robby to react the same. He doesn't.
line dividers from @chrisssiren, mdni banner from @cafekitsune
Omegas are indispensable to any Emergency Department. Their scents are a key factor in keeping patients calm and stopping brawls before they even start. Ever since the Study On Omegan Pheromones in High Stress Locales came out in 1986, most EDs employed at least one omega full time, if not more. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is no exception. On staff, they have at least five omegas working at any given time.
(Gloria is always talking about equity polls and patient relations. Robby is just glad she’s not like some of the older directors of medicine he’s worked with. Only thinking about having an omega around for eye candy. Glad that she lets his staff do their work with minimal micromanaging. Definitely some macromanaging, though.)
So, no, it’s not uncommon to see omega doctors and nurses in any part of the ED hierarchy. You don’t hide your scent because you’re hiding your designation. You don’t wear blockers every day because you hate being an omega. It’s because no one has ever liked your scent before. It puts people on edge, sharp and tactile. As if it will wrap around your neck and never let go. Too abrasive for any designation to have, let alone an omega. Even your roommate in college had complained about it. You roomed alone the next year, despite the extra cost.
You don’t care that your coworkers think you’re a beta. You don’t care that your friends can share their scents with you, but you will never be able to share with them. You don’t care because you stopped caring a long time ago. You had to.
It’s not like you’re hiding the fact that you’re an omega, though. If anyone were to ask directly, you would tell them the truth. If they were to check your file, they would see the ‘Ω’ under your Secondary Gender tab. It just…doesn’t come up in everyday conversation. A bit taboo, really, to directly ask someone their designation. An implication that your nose isn’t good enough to tell the difference, even.
COVID changed everything. Losing your sense of smell doesn’t completely preclude you from being affected by pheromones. But scenting is almost as important for your mental health. You read a paper that described the dissonance many alphas and omegas feel when they can sense pheromones nearby but can’t scent them. In developing or presenting youth, the issue is exacerbated. It’s a growing issue across the globe. One that no one can really solve.
But this is an Emergency Department. You don’t have time to worry about that. You sigh, grabbing the next file and asking Mateo to bring them back. Omega female. Presenting for the first time at fifteen. A healthy enough age, if not a bit late. But she seems to have a higher stress response than most presenting omegas. You nod as Mateo tells you she’s ready and you push the door open.
The scent of stressed omega hits you head on and you’re glad that your suppressants help to push back your instincts. There’s something in the back of your throat that wants to purr softly. To soothe the pup on the other side of the room. You shake your head and slip through the curtain, flicking on the scent-neutralizers as you go. The last thing the ED needs is omega pheromones stressing everyone else out. You smile at the girl and turn to the older man standing next to her. A beta. Probably her father.
“Jennifer, hi. I’m going to be your doctor today.” You quietly introduce yourself, glancing down at the screen in your hands. “I see you’ve been in pain for most of the morning. Can you describe it for me?”
“Like cramps.” She says lowly, groaning as you press gently on her lower stomach. You apologize quietly, pulling back turning to the computer to type as she speaks. “But I don’t really get cramps. Not when I’m not on my period.”
“Doctor, is she going to be okay?” The man, you look at the file and see the name David Lowe, asks. Even with his weaker beta scent, you can smell the worry coming off of him. You smile softly, turning back to the pair.
“From the looks of things, this is a regular presentation. I’m going to order some blood tests to be sure there’s nothing else going on, though.” You glance back at her file, scrolling down. You see the COVID written in the notes as you skim and take a breath in, biting your lip. David shifts, noting your change and you try to send another reassuring smile to the pair. It feels wobbly at the edges. “Jennifer, I see on your chart you had a pretty bad case of COVID a few years ago. You were treated here. Were there any lasting effects?”
The unspoken question is clear.
“My sense of smell, it…” She trails off and you nod, stepping toward the bed. You drop a hand on the edge of the bed before looking back at the father.
“The stress response is most likely due to Jennifer being able to sense pheromones but not smell them. It creates a sort of gap in the mind’s senses, which can cause cortisol levels to rise and bring about stress responses. It is common in omegas and alphas who have lost their sense of smell.” You can see the way David grips his daughter’s hand just a little tighter. They know there’s no way to fix this completely. You turn back to Jennifer. “Do you have any omegas that you trust enough to scent you? Even if you can’t smell it, the calming pheromones are proven to help reduce stress.”
Jennifer shakes her head and you look toward the father, who mirrors her action. You hesitate for a moment. There are four other omegas on shift at the moment. You could ask any of them to come in and help. But this is an ED and two minutes of scenting could mean life or death for another patient. You let out a breath and swallow before speaking again.
“If you are open to it, I could help you.” Jennifer’s eyes snap up and she scans you over once again, noting the scent patches that peek out of your scrub top as you tug the collar of your undershirt aside. You can see the hesitation in her gaze and you smile softly, if not a bit nervously, and grab her free hand. You can do this. Jennifer can’t smell. Your scent won’t affect her and the pheromones will help. “I won’t force you. We can give you some tylenol for the cramps and some suppressants to help stave off the worst of your symptoms. But scenting would be faster and have a longer lasting effect.”
Jennifer hesitates for a moment longer before nodding. You look toward David and he nods as well, letting go of his daughter’s hand. You lead him toward the door slowly.
“Okay. Dad, if you want to wait outside, I’ll be as quick as I can. You can watch through the window the entire time.” He nods and the door clicks shut behind him. You turn back to Jennifer, settling down in the uncomfortable chair next to the bed. Fans whirr softly in the vents as they suck out Jennifer’s stressed scent, running it through a scent neutralizer before cycling it back into the room. You smile softly at Jennifer. “Okay, Jennifer. I know scenting can be personal. If you get uncomfortable or want to stop for any reason, you just tell me. Understand?”
Jennifer nods again, glancing out at her father. Her shoulders seem to relax a bit at your words and you tug up the long sleeves of your undershirt, revealing the patches pressed against your wrists. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you peel the patch away. Your scent pierces the air, hard and loud. Jennifer barely responds, just watching as you reach for her wrist.
“May I?” You ask quietly, pausing just inches from her arm. She nods again. You smile softly. She must be shy. You gently lift her wrist, pressing your own against it. The result is almost instant. Jennifer melts into the hospital bed, letting out a purr instinctively. The noise makes her tense, but you run your free hand up and down her arm. “It’s okay. No one is judging you.”
The girl relaxes into the bed again and you reach for her other wrist. You ask again before scenting it as well. When you’re done, you pull a fresh patch from your scrub pants and paste it onto your wrist before tugging down your sleeve.
“Thank you, miss.” The girl finally says, her voice soft as she smiles softly. The stress is almost completely gone from her scent, replaced with something close to antiseptic but even closer to bleach. You wince slightly at your own scent mixed with hers.
“No problem, kid. I’ll call in a nurse to draw your blood and when we get the results back, you should be good to go.”
The door clicks open and you look up, expecting David. Instead, Robby stands in the doorway, brow furrowed as he looks Jennifer over with a critical eye. He steps into the exam room, glancing between the two of you. Sniffs the relaxed scent Jennifer is now giving off. You make a mental note to offer them some scent patches on the way out.
“Dr. Robby, this is Jennifer. She came in complaining of cramps and was experiencing a stress response to presentation. Likely related to loss of smell after COVID a few years ago. I scented her to help reduce stress levels and I was just about to call Mateo in to draw blood for some labs.” You quickly give him the details, hoping you didn’t miss anything. You’re in your second year of residency and your past attendings have always been sure to remind you of your place in the hierarchy. Instead, he just nods, turning his concerned look toward you.
“Good job.” He nods and you feel something warm bloom in your chest at the approval. When he leans in toward you, his scent manages to reach your nose. Deep and warm. Soft. The opposite of your own. You pull back just slightly, realizing Robby knows your scent now. Knows that there’s something inexplicably wrong with you. “Doctor, a word please?”
You can only nod. This has happened before, too. Supervisors who tell you that you can’t scent patients anymore. That you only stress them out further with your scent. You know it’s coming as you follow Robby into the break room. He closes the door softly and you fold your hands behind your back.
“Are you on suppressants?” The question makes you turn toward Robby, eyes wide. This is not what you had been expecting. He looks…concerned? Like he’s not worried about patient satisfaction. Like he’s worried about you. You can only nod, mouth gaping. You feel a bit stupid. Left out of the loop. Robby sits down in one of the shitty plastic chairs, gesturing toward the one next to him. You sit. “How long since you took a break from them?”
“A break?” You look Robby over like he’s gone crazy. Suppressants are there to suppress base instincts and regulate heats. Your mother told you early in your life that suppressants are the only thing that separate civilized society from heathens. You’re not sure you agree with her completely, but they’ve been useful to you since you started on them in college.
“Yes. You are supposed to go off suppressants in time with your heat cycle to help regulate the hormones in your body. If you don’t, it can cause a buildup of toxins in your glands.” Robby’s voice is gentle and soft, as if he’s giving a patient some kind of difficult diagnosis. You tilt your head, trying to force a smile as panic builds in your throat. Robby sighs. “The buildup and affect scents. It’s the body’s way of letting you know what’s happening. And your scent is—”
“Toxic.” You finish, staring down at the table.
“I was going to say it’s showing all the signs of suppressant overuse.” He leans forward and you catch his scent again. It’s faint under the neutralizing lotion he has spread over the glands, but enough to make your eyes widen a fraction. Robby doesn’t seem to notice. “How long have you been on suppressants?”
“A little over ten years.” You say softly, biting at the inside of your cheek. You feel like a pup again, being scolded by your father for watching a PG-13 movie. You feel small. It fucking sucks.
“Ten years? Fuck, you’re—” Robby takes a breath, running a hand through his hair. You notice, not for the first time, that his hands are huge. Bigger than yours, anyway. Much bigger. He meets your gaze and his face is as serious as you’ve seen it when a patient flatlines. You wonder how close your predicament is to death itself. “I’m going to call Dr. Yamazaki and you are going to see her as soon as possible. Then, you are going to do whatever she tells you.”
You want to argue. Mostly just to be contrary. But you can’t when Robby looks at you like that. When he uses that voice that you usually only get to hear during an emergency. So you nod. You feel like a fifteen year old girl again. A fucking pup.
The consultation doesn’t take long. Yamazaki takes one sniff of you and confirms everything Robby had said. She also takes some blood to have official tests done. They come back within the hour. Suppressant overdose. Not nearly as dangerous as most overdoses, but a silent killer to those who ignore it. With a folder of information packets that make your cheeks heat, you trudge back to the ED.
“So?” Robby’s voice behind you makes your shoulders jump as you punch in the code to your locker. You look back and see him eying the folder as it lays on the bench. One of the brochures sticks out. Your First Heat! You flush and shove the folder into your bag. You’ve had a heat before. Multiple. But that had been ten years ago. Yamazaki basically told you that your use of suppressants had reset your system. Everything would feel like the first. You remember your first heat. It sucked.
“Yamazaki said I have to go completely off suppressants until they clear out of my system. Could take months.” Robby nods, glancing out at the ED to make sure everything is running smoothly before leaning against the wall.
“Okay. Let me know when you need time off for your heat.” He says it so casually. And, you suppose, it’s no worse or more invasive than all the other shit you see on the daily. But it feels different when it’s your heat Robby’s talking about. You make another mental note to be a bit more gentle when talking about such topics with your patients. At this point, you think you’re gonna need a whiteboard in your brain for all these notes.
“About that…uh,” You pause, nervously fidgeting with the tie of your scrubs. Robby’s eye flickers down to the movement and you force your hands to still. “Yamazaki said it will be a pretty fast onset once I officially stop suppressants. Like, within a week?”
Robby pats your shoulder once and you can smell him again. Better this time, with his wrist right next to your nose. Woodsy, maybe something like cedar? And something dark and rich. He pulls away before you can identify it. “Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll explain it to Dana and we’ll put you down as on-call. Until your heat, only come in if we call. You need rest.” He takes a short breath and steps back just slightly, looking down at you carefully. “Let me know when your heat starts. I’ll get you the week off.”
Your cheeks flush. As much as the suppressants keep you less instinctual than most alphas or omegas may feel without, the idea of telling an alpha when your heat is starting makes you dizzy. An unmated, admittedly quite attractive alpha with a scent you want to huff. Okay, down girl. Time to go.
You can’t make words come out of your mouth as you nod, slamming your locker closed and practically running out of the ED.
Robby had felt something in his chest twist when he caught your scent. Ugly and abrasive, chemical. He’d caught it before, but never this strong. He could barely hear as you presented your patient, focused on the tangy undertone he could smell beneath the severe scent. It was wrong. Like an OR after a failed surgery. Too clean. Like bleach and failure. That’s now what your scent should be.
Not you, who always pushes forward. Who faces every case head-on, even when Robby can tell you’re terrified. Your scent should be bright and sharp. Only abrasive to those who are afraid of something real.
He’s imagined it before. Your scent. Always thought it was strange that you didn’t ever seem to have one. Empty space in the invisible map he creates in his head. Robby always knows where his people are. Can track them across the hospital with a sniff. Not quite as good as Dana, the bloodhound herself. Even she hadn’t caught your scent before, which had sent a shot of confusion up Robby’s spine when he first heard. He was almost proud to be the first one to catch it. Then worry flooded his entire body in a way that he has to physically suppress.
God, he hates this. Hates the way he can tell you’re scared. And instead of facing it with a bright hope in your eye, you’re shying away from him. Scared and resigned, like nobody has ever helped you before. Like you’re used to being shunted off. God, he fucking hates this.
You think about him during your heat. Not the whole time. Just when his face pops into your mind and you imagine it hovering over you while his hands—shit. And you feel bad about it. Robby may be unmated, but he has also never given an inkling of wanting to be mated. Especially not around you. So you pretend you didn’t. You pretend that nothing clicked inside of you during the two weeks you were gone and you pull into the parking garage at 6:48 like everything is normal.
The patches on your neck and wrists are thin and scratchy, but Dr. Yamazaki had said anything stronger would only slow your recovery. So instead of the soft, thick, medical grade scent patches, you get to use the ones from the dollar store that are cheerfully labeled suppressant free! like it’s a feature. They don’t hide your scent the way the other ones had. Just dull it down enough that it won’t affect anyone while you work. No lotion, no extra-strength scent patches.
“Hey, kid.” Dana greets you first as you trudge through the parking lot. Your undershirt covers the patches but does nothing to further dampen the newly exposed scent. Dana sniffs the air. She’s got the best nose you’ve had the displeasure of meeting. “That you? Suppressant overdose?” Her voice is gentle and it grates at you a little. Pity is the last thing you want.
“That obvious?” You try to joke. Dana grins, swinging an arm around your shoulders and messing with your hair. You don’t miss the way her wrists brush against your shirt. She’s scenting you. The acrid smell of suppressants (that you hadn’t thought was too bad when you left for work) disappears under her honey and cigarette smoke. You can’t help letting out the tiniest rumble of a purr. Dana doesn’t comment on it.
“It’s no big, kid. We’ve all forgotten to take a suppressant break at some point.”
You smile, something relieved finally relaxing against your ribs. You must smell better now if even Dana’s nose can’t tell how much shit you had put your body through.
Dana pushes open the employee door, holding it behind her as you step through. She doesn’t even seem to register the action and you wonder if this is some kind of alpha thing. If she’s scented you and now she feels responsible. Even if it’s just little stuff like holding the door. You decide very quickly that it doesn’t matter. You just want to get on with your shift.
Handoff goes well. Quick and efficient. You don’t want to say that the night shift had been quiet, but the estimated waiting time is only three hours. At the moment. You know that number will only go up. So you pick the name at the top of the list and get started. You don’t see Robby until afternoon. Really, it’s a shock it took this long. He’s usually everywhere, but you try to stay on triage. Easy stuff. Hopefully nothing deadly. By the time you glance up at the clock again, its 2:03 and your stomach is going to plan a revolt if you don’t give it a suitable sacrifice soon.
“I’m taking my lunch. Don’t call me unless someone’s dying and everyone else is elbows deep.” You call out to Dana as you drop off a tablet at the charging station. She just laughs and reaches out to run her wrist along the inside of your arm. You manage to hold back the noise that wants to escape this time.
The break room is a quiet haven from the chaos of the ED. Noise is muffled and soft through the door and you can almost pretend you’re back in your shitty apartment as you take a bite of cold pasta. It would be better warm, but you’re afraid someone will actually start dying and you’ll get called away before you can take a single bite. The door opens and you hold back an annoyed groan as sound fills the room again before muffling once more. Robby stands in front of the door, staring at you with his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.
You can smell him. The first thing you realized after stopping on suppressants is that your own nose improved. Sharper. Maybe a little more biased toward certain scents. The second thing was that no one else wears the medical-grade patches that you had. They use light ones that dampen their scents enough to be decent, but release enough to tell people who they are. For the past few years, you’ve been negative space. Scentless and invisible.
“Dr. Robby.” Your voice is carefully neutral as you bring your sleeve closer to your face, pretending to scratch at your cheek. Dana’s scent is stronger from this close and it drowns out Robby’s deep forest. He still hasn’t moved from the door. You tilt your head, unaware of how the action exposes the top of your scent patch.
“You smell like Dana.” Is all he says, finally moving toward the coffee pot on the counter. He curses at the empty pot and pulls out a filter. You watch, brow furrowed at his statement. Because it sure as hell hadn’t been a question. You decide that an explanation is probably in order anyway.
“She caught me in the parking lot. There’s still some chemical-y stuff left in my scent from the suppressants, so she was helping cover it up.” Your eyes catch on the way Robby squeezes a mug in his hands. His knuckles aren’t quite white, but they’re pale enough for you to worry that he’s about to shatter the ceramic in his hands. “Is that against hospital policy? I can ask her to stop.”
“No, I just…” Robby’s voice trails off as the coffee machine gurgles. You wait for a few minutes in silence as he stares at the machine. Finally, the mug hits the counter with a clack and Robby turns toward you. “If you wanted, I could…uh, help.”
Your face must be on fire from how hot your cheeks are. The idea of being covered in Robby’s scent all day, claimed, makes you glad you’re sitting. Had you been on your feet, you’re sure your knees would have given out. You clear your throat, hoping the flush that’s quickly spreading down your neck isn’t too visible. You can’t. You’re sure that focusing on work would be impossible. And you cannot let yourself entertain the idea of Robby. In any way. Dana is safe. She’s married, mated, has two kids of her own. You enjoy her scent because it feels like a warm hug after a long day. Relaxing on the front porch with a smoke. You quickly shake your head.
“Thank you, but I think I’ll be okay.” You hope your voice sounds even. Robby doesn’t want you. He wants to help you. As your boss. As your friend? But not as a mate. This isn’t courting. You push out of your chair, stomach suddenly feeling like a revolt again. Robby watches as you practically run out of the break room, leaving behind your half-finished lunch.
Robby assumes it’s just an instinctual thing, the way his chest tightens when you reject his scent. It must be one of those things deep down that Robby is always trying so hard to ignore. He’s not sure why it’s so hard to do that this time. Maybe it’s because he had caught your scent on the way out, underneath Dana’s. Still sharp, but less chemical. Something sweet buried under it all. A scent he wanted to follow out the door. He thinks he might have—if you hadn’t smelled like another alpha.
(It’s Dana’s scent, Robby has to remind himself. Dana, who was just trying to help. Dana, who is mated, who treats you like a pup. Like she does with all the residents and interns. The reminder doesn’t help as much as Robby had hoped it would.)
He’s snapped out of his thoughts as the break room door swings open. Samira’s scent catches on his nose as she moves toward the coffee pot. Spice and sweet bread. Not quite as sharp as yours seems like it would be. Fuck. Robby leaves, pushes past her back out into the chaos of the ED.
Robby spends the rest of his long shift moving from one patient to another. Even if he’s not their physician, Robby doesn’t leave a bedside for more than a moment. Doesn’t stand in front of the screen deciding which patient he wants to check in on. He just moves from intern to resident to patient and back to a new intern. He pointedly skips over you on the imaginary roster in his mind. Maybe it’s on accident, the way you always seem to be with another patient or checking on chairs when he stops by your patients’ rooms.
It’s not until he’s walking home that his brain finally quiets down enough for the thought to break through. It was a rejection. Maybe not a conscious one, but a rejection nonetheless. Robby had offered you his scent and you denied him. Even if Robby hadn’t meant it like that (did he?), even if you hadn’t taken it that way (did you?). Somewhere, deep down, you had decided you didn’t want his scent on you. The thought makes Robby’s chest burn hot and sharp. Why does he even care? You’re just his resident. Nothing more. Right?
He may not be the most expressive person around others, but Robby knows his own feelings. He spends a lot of time alone with them. The one clawing at his chest from the inside out isn’t one Robby thinks he’s felt before. He imagines this must be how patients feel during open heart surgery. He tries to ignore the sensation as he shoves open the door to his apartment.
“Jesus, brother. What happened to you?” Robby spins around to see Jack sitting on his couch, nose scrunched. The other alpha’s prosthetic leans against the coffee table and he holds the remote in loose fingers. Robby rubs at his forehead, letting out a long sigh.
“Jack, what are you doing here? You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack.” Robby grits out, forcing himself to breath slowly. God, he’s getting old. Maybe that’s why you don’t want him. You’re a young woman, a young doctor. You have a whole life and career ahead of you. Why would you want some old man like Robby?
“Seriously, man. I know it’s your place, but you stink.” Jack’s voice is teasing, but Robby can catch a hint of concern under it all. Robby tries to rein in his scent, wet and smoky like a forest fire. He can tell from the look on Jack’s face that it’s not working. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Maybe after a beer. Or four.” Robby sighs as he moves toward the kitchen. He pulls two beers out of the fridge and tosses one to Jack. He catches it and Robby grins, applauding mockingly. Jack flips him off. “Remind me why you’re in my apartment again?”
“Dana called. Said you were acting weird.” The can hisses in Jack’s hand as he pops it open. “She tried to talk to you at the ED, but apparently you’re avoiding her. She could smell you from across the room, man. I didn’t believe her at first but that was before you came in and filled the place with your stank.”
“It is my place, you know. Pretty sure I’m allowed to stink it up all I want. Especially when my company is uninvited.” Robby cracks open his own beer, taking a long sip. Shit. He had known he was avoiding you, but Dana? He hadn’t meant to. It’s not her fault you don’t want Robby. Damn it, now he has to apologize. “You really came all the way here just ‘cause Dana called you?”
“You know she’s not one to worry unless it’s called for, Robby.” Jack levels him with an unimpressed glare.
Robby downs the rest of his beer in three gulps and crushes the can in his fist. “I need a shower. I assume you’re not leaving until we…talk?” Robby shivers exaggeratedly as he says the word. It gets a chuckle and an easy nod from Jack as he raises his can in a mock salute. It’s Robby’s turn to flip off Jack now.
It takes a few hours and three more beers for Robby to finally start talking. Jack stuck around because he knows Robby. Knows he needs some lubrication before talking about anything remotely important.
“I was rejected.”
Jack pauses, his drink halfway to his mouth. He glances over at Robby, brow scrunched. “Okay…”
“No, not—I mean…” Robby sighs, putting his can down on the low coffee table and turning his body to face Jack. He wrings his hands nervously, cheeks heating. Maybe Robby is too old to get this worked up over a rejection. When he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet. Small. “I offered to scent an omega. She said no.”
“Oh.” Jack’s can slips in his hand, wet with condensation. He catches it before it can fall, but Robby barely even notices.
“Yeah.”
“Do I know her, or…?” Jack sets his can down on a coaster on the table, turning his body to face Robby as well. Robby hesitates for a moment before whispering your name. Jack nods slowly, recognition in his gaze. His hand reaches out, warm against Robby’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, brother. I promise.”
Robby lets Jack tug him close. Lets his friend wrap warm arms around him. Lets himself breathe shakily. Jack doesn’t tell him he’s overreacting. He doesn’t tell Robby that he’s weird for being so invested in a resident. Doesn’t really say anything. Just holds Robby close. It helps.
Your next heat isn’t supposed to happen for at least a month. That was what Dr. Yamazaki had told you. But when you swing by her office to ask about the pre-heat symptoms you’ve been feeling, she just smiles gently and tells you that being on suppressants for so long can mess with your heat cycle. It will regulate itself again soon. You wish soon could happen sooner. Especially with how Robby has been avoiding you lately. You wonder if he can smell your pre-heat. If he hates the scent so much he can’t bear to be around you.
The day before your second heat leave within a single month (how embarrassing), you shove your things into a bag at your locker. Robby stands stiffly a few feet away and you almost want to reach out. Want to ask what you did so wrong. But you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, much less speak to him. So you hide behind your locker door and pretend to busy yourself until he leaves.
“Robby, I got a question about the guy in North 7.” You turn down the hall to see Abbot standing there in his scrubs, glaring down at the screen in his hands like it personally wronged him. Robby sighs, moving past you as he pulls on his glasses. The way his eyes look behind those lenses, the way the frames compliment his face, it really shouldn’t affect you this much. You tell yourself it’s just your pre-heat and shove your locker shut.
You don’t know why you glance down at Robby’s bag. Don’t know why you lean over to look into his locker. The small space smells like him. Not super strong, but enough for you to take a deep breath in before you realize what you’re doing. Despite the heat rising in your cheeks, you can’t pull away. You glance both ways down the hall before your hand shoots out, grabbing at a piece of fabric in the locker. A jacket. You sniff at it. God, it smells like him. Your eyes catch on the logo fading on the fabric. The jacket Robby wears almost every day. The one he keeps in his locker in case he gets cold. The one he will most definitely notice if it goes missing. You shove it into your bag without another thought, wondering if you’ve finally gone crazy. That’s it. You need to get out of here.
Dana calls out a goodbye as you rush out the door and you can barely send a distracted wave over your shoulder. You can only hope that no one caught Robby’s scent around you. Maybe it’s not as strong as you think. Maybe you’re just locked into it. Or maybe you’re just panicking.
But, god, he’s all you can smell. You practically slam your car door shut as you collapse into the seat. Breaths come fast and rough as you hug your bag tight. Robby’s scent seems to fill the car and you feel dizzy. You toss the bag into the footwell of the passenger seat and shove your keys into the ignition. A sigh escapes from your mouth as the window rolls down with a buzz. Fuck, you really should have taken today off.
Robby’s day hasn’t been great. Nothing serious. No lost patients. Just you walking around in fucking pre-heat. You, with your scent that’s been clearing up so nicely. Still sharp, but just enough to catch your attention. And you’ve been catching Robby’s attention. The whole shift had consisted of Robby trying to stay as far away from you as possible. He can’t get his brain to form words, let alone diagnose patients, when you glide across the open doorway of an exam room. His distraction meant more annoyed patients, which did not help his speedily declining mood.
And now his jacket is missing. He stepped away from his locker for five seconds and now his jacket is missing. The ambulance doors slide open and a cool breeze blows past Robby and he can feel the goosebumps over his arms.
“What’s wrong with you?” Robby turns to see Dana leaning against the wall outside the ambulance bay. She has a thick jacket zipped up to her chin as she takes a drag from her cigarette. Robby steps toward her, letting his back hit the wall with a soft thud. When Dana holds out her cigarette, he barely hesitates. The drag he takes is probably too long.
“Been a long fucking day already and now my jacket’s gone and I’m walking home.”
Dana snorts. When Robby looks up to shoot her a glare, she levels him with a look so unimpressed, Robby is almost embarrassed that he tried. “Wasn’t your girl by the lockers with you?”
“She’s not my—” Robby cuts himself off, warmth burning in the apples of his cheeks. Dana laughs, taking her cigarette back. He barely notices, leaning more heavily against the wall. The jacket had been there before Jack called him away. By the time Robby returned, both you and the jacket were gone. “She rejected me. Why would she take it?”
Robby doesn’t look to see the face Dana makes at his admission. He can see her drop the cigarette as he looks at his feet, watching as she smashes it under her shoe. “I’d tell you to ask her yourself, but she’s on heat leave.”
“I know.” He mutters. Robby lets out a long sigh, leaning his head back against the concrete. “She told me a few days ago.” The hand gripped his arm before Robby could even realize what was happening. Dana was looking at him with an expression that said are you a goddamn idiot??
“An unmated omega told you their heat was starting? And you think she’s rejected you?” There was something deeper than disbelief on Dana’s face. Maybe bewilderment. Definitely some disappointment. “Jesus. Your mind, Robinavitch.”
“Well, I asked her to—“
“Michael, that’s harassment! You can’t just ask your subordinate to tell you when their heat is.” Dana’s voice is a low hiss, but Robby can see a gleam of smug satisfaction in her gaze. “That’s more direct than asking to scent them, you idiot. Christ, I can’t believe you!”
He looks down at her with wide eyes. Her lips are pressed tightly together. Holding back laughter, he realizes after a moment. Robby tries for a glare, but he can feel his cheeks practically catching fire. His voice stutters just a bit as he speaks. “So you’re saying she might—”
“I’m saying that she didn’t report you to HR for asking which week she was going to be fucking herself silly. I’m saying you’re both idiots!” She pulls her hand away, smacking Robby’s arm as she does. He winces. Dana finally releases her laughter, grabbing Robby’s hand. She takes a pen out of her pocket and scribbles across his palm. Robby’s flush spreads to his cheeks as he reads the address written on his hand. Most likely your address. Dana doesn’t release his hand yet. “If you fuck this up, I’m throwing you into the incinerator in the basement.”
Robby nods, not hesitating for even a second. If he hurt you, he deserved that much at least. Dana looks him over once before releasing his hand. She shoves him gently, grinning. Robby can only make himself wave as he jogs in the direction of your street.
You’ve finally settled in front of your television, wrapped in that warm jacket, when you hear the knocks. Soft, almost tentative. Like whoever is here doesn’t know if they should be. You sigh, pushing off the couch and slowly making your way toward the door. You don’t even bother looking out the peephole. It’s probably just someone lost in the apartment complex. Wrong floor, most likely. Happens sometimes.
You keep the chain locked on the door as you pull it open just enough to greet whoever is standing there. Words elude you as Robby’s familiar silhouette fills your field of vision. He’s in scrubs, just a tshirt under his scrub shirt. No jacket. Because you stole his jacket. You’re wearing his jacket. While the undiluted scent of your pre-heat rolls off of you in thick waves. Just the sight of him is enough to make you lean against the doorframe, knees weak.
“Dr. Robby, I—I can explain.” You murmur, gripping at the jacket. His eyes flick down and something shifts on his face as he sees the fabric hanging off of you. A noise escapes your throat as you watch him sniff the air. Your scents combined. Dark woods and sharp citrus. Morning dew and crushed berries.
“Can I come in?”
The words make you freeze. Robby is an alpha. He knows you’re slowly falling into your heat. Robby is an unmated alpha. He just asked to come inside. You’re still wearing his jacket. A thought flutters through your mind and the air immediately sours. Rotten fruits scent the hall. Robby immediately shifts, looking around for what could have possibly upset you. (Was it him? Is he moving too fast?)
“Is this just because of my scent?” You force out, voice steadier than you thought it would be. Robby opens his mouth to say something. “I’ve liked you for a while. I didn’t say anything because you’re…you. Chief Attending. One of the best ER doctors in the East. I’ve respected you since we first met, so if this is just because I smell like an actual omega now, I can’t…”
“No! I mean, yes, your scent probably made me realize it, but you are one of the best residents I’ve ever had.” He reaches his hand out, pausing inches away from the door. The physical barrier between you two. “You’re a quick study and I’ve always liked the way you smile when you do a difficult procedure. I think—I have probably liked you since that first day. I promise you.”
You stare at him for a few seconds. Your heart is beating at about a million miles an hour and you push the door shut. The chain rattles as you pull it away and reopen the door. Wide enough for Robby to step inside as you hold the door handle with sweaty palms. He slides past you, brushing his shoulder against yours. Fuck, he’s scenting you. Another noise escapes you, something like a chirp. Robby doesn’t turn to look at you, but the corners of his lips twitch up. You can see the warmth on his cheeks as he does that adorable shrug. You want to climb him like a tree. You take a deep breath in, exhaling sharply as his scent fills your lungs.
“Do you want tea?” You turn toward the kitchen, nervously playing with the long sleeves of Robby’s jacket.
“You’re making it real hard to want anything but you, sweetheart.” You feel his hands on your hips, not grabbing, just resting. He’s not hold you against him, you could easily step out of his grip if you wanted. You think that might be the last thing you would ever want. “Fuck. You look so good. Smell so fucking good.”
His nose presses against your neck carefully, just barely brushing the skin. A shiver slips down your spine and you shift to face Robby. His face is warm between your hands and you can see the red tips of his ears. How can he be so adorable? You force your eyes to stay on him as you cradle his jaw in your hands. He practically melts into the contact.
“Robby—”
“The name’s Michael, sweetheart.” Robby murmurs, pressing his lips against your palm. His beard scratches against your palm and you’re glad you finally get to feel this. You never could have imagined this sensation. Even if you tried, it wouldn’t do this justice. You grin.
“Dr. Robinavitch,” You say instead, leaning up toward him. He meets you in the middle, your foreheads pressing together. His laughter puffs against your lips and you can’t help grinning. The scent glands on his neck are so close. You finally give into that instinct, pressing your face against his neck to breathe in deep and fast. Laughter vibrates through his vocal chords and you force yourself to pull back (very difficult) and study Robby’s face (very easy). “What’s so funny?”
“I just think I really, really like you.” His voice is low and soft as his lips brush against yours. Finally. You can’t respond as he presses harder against you. But you do tell him, hours later, as you both lay next to each other, exhausted.
Imagine if... omega!reader doesn't realize how strong her scent is, even with suppressants.
O!reader who is already emotional as it is, her scent proving that fact.
O!reader who smells sweet, but not sickeningly sweet, when excited.
O!reader's scents only gets sickeningly sweet and sour when she's pissed.
O!reader who will eye her attendings in confusion when they go to scent her scrubs (trying to cover her in more of the "hospital scent"), not seeing the creepy patient in room 3.
O!reader who will absolutely make secret nests all over the department, lips twitching upward nervously when called out.
"... why is there a pile of hoodies and blankets under the desk?"
"How did you find that?"
"I smelled it. It's hard to miss."
"Uh... pizzazz?"
"No-"
O!reader who growl deeply at an unruly patient, shockingly getting them to cooperate most of the time due to how her scent seemed to layer onto itself so intensely.
O!reader who also gets sheepish about it afterwards.
"I, uh... didn't mean to do that. Sorry."
O!reader who gets kind of amused at how possessive and protective everyone gets... until it's not funny.
"... be carefu-"
"It's just an IV! Shut up!"
*Scrambles away.*
O!reader who will absolutely glare and growl at anyone once she hears a stomach rumble or see any signs of dehydration and hunger.
"Did you eat? I made bagels, they're in the breakroom."
ABSOLUTELY LOVED how you wrote pup to be the protegé of Park the Shark!! Something about him taking pride in her after he's moulded her to be the perfect Orthopod... everyone in the ED coming around to defer to her too,,, yeah I fear he'd only get more obsessed over her
( gif credits to the lovely @parktheeshark for this crisp gifset ! )
☤ ─ MIRAGE ; Park the Shark
a/n. Dynamic previously established here in this fic. Don’t worry folks this 700wc drabble is NOT the continuation of Pearls Before Swine— Just a part 1.2 to buoy the Shark frenzy rn while I work on part 2. Enjoy!
A COLLAR BONE displacement sinks you to the demersals of PTMC, much to your obvious chagrin.
“Alright,” you sigh, snapping your gloves on while sailing into Trauma-2 swiftly. A streamline path unconsciously parts open for you like water slicing through the prow of a ship. The Med Students comically shrink from you like anemone. “Let’s quickly get this over with, please?”
“Look’s like Shark’s favourite pup is in,” Garcia, brows to hairline, hums. She watches you eerily circle the gurney like Park would, shark-like; the same pensive look in your eyes as you zero in on the angry, violaceous mottle swelling right above the patient’s sternum.
“I said please, didn’t I?” you shoot lazily over your shoulder.
Robby and Garcia share a look. Half-amused, half-stunned. Enough for the bay to shift and click into place: It appears you’ve inherited a bit of Park’s notorious bite since they’ve last seen you down the ED.
“Got pulled out a once-in-a-lifetime procedure for an open scapular fracture all for a…” You straighten up from the bedside expectantly. “X-Ray, please? Thanks.”
You lean towards the machine revealing a—
“Posterior sternoclavicular displacement,” jumps in an obvious gunner, “which, presents rarely at 3% of all shoulder-related dislocations. So, kind of once-in-a-lifetime, too.”
A glacial beat drifts pass.
Beside him, Robby can see Whitaker visibly grimacing; steeling for the familiar, sharp Orthopaedic snap of, I’m not blind, to spear poor Ogilvie through like a hapless carp the same way he’d endured the humiliation from Park the Shark.
But—
A snort is all you allow; and there ends all acknowledgement of the lanky MS’s existence.
…Arguably worse.
Garcia has to bite back an unnerved laugh. Fills in the chilling silence by presenting the case as you move to palpate the unconscious patient until Robby eventually runs down the list of concerns.
Head, chest, abdomen clea… nd O2 looks good… irway patent since transport… don’t think it’s pressing up against her tra… Radial pulse has been strong and stea… hoping for a…
“Closed reduction should be possible,” you conclude, after taking one final look to reckon the dislocation on-screen of the mobile X-Ray. “But I want her sent up to CT before she wakes. It’ll be the only window we can get her flat on her back without any complaints.”
“Alright,” Robby begins—
“Uh,” cuts in Whitaker, before he can stop himself, “Will the Shark be on this, considering it’s an uncommon case?”
You suck in a sharp breath at that, unimpressed. It’s enough to suspend the bay again into quiet stillness.
“There’s always a bigger fish,” comes your curt answer. It’s not hostile at all, but subtly edged enough to feel the nip from a familiar set of jagged, serrated teeth.
It makes Whitaker wince again.
“Doctor Park,” you correct, “sent me down personally to consult this case.” You circle back round to the exit in an efficient glide once more, snapping your gloves off pointedly. “If you have a problem with that,” you make a vague, cavalier jerk of your head upwards, “take it up to the Shark.”
The Resident deflates, wide-eyed. “Oh, no, no, I just… he’s my patient— I’m just, concerned—”
“Hey. I get it,” you dismiss, as courteously as you can muster. Try to shed that bracing energy that seems to follow you and have people defer uneasily at your feet. “Go follow her up, then. And make sure the dislocation isn’t agitated into something acute enough that’ll need a signed consent trip to the OR.”
Whitaker looks to Dr. Robby for assent, who shoots an amused nod of consent in return. “Go ahead. Dr. Park sent her down— means he trusts her.”
“Thank you. And you’re welcome, bottom-dwellers,” you mock-flourish, turning on your heel and immediately out the door.
Then:
“Are all of them like that upstairs?” Ogilvie shudders, once he’s sure you’re out of earshot.
The bark of laughter Robby lets out is met in unison with Garcia’s.
“Better toughen up, kid,” she scoffs. “She said please, thank you and you’re welcome. That’s the kindest Ortho consult you might ever experience in your entire career yet.”
The next time he’d been caught in an elevator trip up with the one and only fabled Shark of Ortho, Robby couldn’t help but muse aloud, “You sent your finest the other day.”
(If Robby had noticed the way Park visibly perked up at the mention of you, however, he didn’t make it known. Files it away with the other curiosities he’s noticed between you two inside his head.)
“Scared the shit out of my poor juniors,” he continues.
Park simply hums in amusement. “Good.”
And if the tinge of uncharacteristic pride in Park’s tone isn’t enough to stun anyone into place— then the unexpected, tiny, curl of his lips in a rare flash of open affection, would.
Maybe she breaks a bone on her day off, and Park shows concern over her/them? Even better if she's sarcastic and he doesnt scare her!! 🤭🤭💗💗💗
broken bones
brendan park + attending!reader
ending up in the hospital on her rare day off, arm in a cast after a student accident. what surprises everyone isn't her injury, it's the shark lingering, visibly concerned. around her, he isn't intimidating. just tense, watchful, and oddly careful. why?
The blinding lights of the PTMC hummed with a low-frequency buzz that usually faded into the background of your consciousness. Today, however, that hum vibrated straight into the marrow of your shattered radius.
You sat on a gurney in Trauma Room 3, your left arm resting on a blue sterile towel, looking remarkably like a piece of abstract sculpture that had gone horribly wrong. Your wrist was deformed, caused by a silver fork that screamed of a high-velocity impact with a hardwood floor and a misplaced rug.
"I told you the rug was a death trap," you muttered, voice still tight. You were sweating, the fine hairs on your neck damp.
"Dr. LN, please stop talking and keep the arm still," Whitaker said, his hands hovering nervously over the splint supplies. He looked like he wanted to bolt.
The entire ED felt like they were on edge, and it wasn't because one of their own was injured. It was because of the man currently stalking down the hallway.
The sound of shoes on the floor didn't tap, it thudded. It was a rhythmic, predatory sound. Brendon Park didn't enter a room so much as he occupied it. He was a wall of muscle draped in blue scrubs, his facce a mask of terrifying indifference.
He didn't look at Whitaker. He didn't look at the chart. He walked slow around your gurney, his eyes fixed entirely on the mangled limb.
"Distal radius," Brendon said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Colles' fracture. Dorsal displacement. Significant."
"Good catch, Sherlock," you snapped, though a hiss of pain caught in the back of your throat. "Glad we got an expert in."
The room went deadly silent. Whitaker stopped breathing. The residents peering through the glass door looked ready to hold a funeral. Nobody talked to Brendon Park like that.
He was the man who had once reduced a senior surgical resident to tears because the man had asked if he wanted a coffee during a fourteen-hour spinal reconstruction.
Brendon stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze shifting from your wrist to your face. His expression didn't soften, but it narrowed into something focused, something private.
"You fell," Brendon stated.
"The rug won the argument. Are you going to keep doing your Jaws impression, or are you going to fix me?" You said, your jaw clenched.
Brendan stepped closer. He didn't use the gentle touch most doctors employed. He grabbed the side of the gurney, leaning over you, his scent flooding your senses.
"You need a reduction. Then a plate. I'm taking you to the OR."
"I don't need a plate," you argued, even as a fresh wave of agony made your vision swim with white sparks. "Just pull it back into place, cast it, and let me go home. I have a shift tomorrow."
"You aren't working tomorrow," Brendon said. It wasn't a suggestion. He turned his head slightly toward Whitaker. "Hematoma block. Now. Lidocaine, ten ccs. And get me a finger tap setup."
"Dr. Park, the anesthesia team said--" Whitaker started.
"I didn't ask what the anesthesia said," Brendon interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold enough to frost the windows. "I asked for the block. Move."
Whitaker scrambled.
You watched the younger boy flee and then looked back at Brendon. He was already prepping a syringe, his movements terrifyingly precise.
"You know, you're a really fun time, Brendon. I can't imagine why everyone has a betting pool on which day you'll finally crash out."
"They're inefficient," Brendon replied, his eyes never leaving your arm. He swabbed your skin with iodine, the liquid stinging. "Small talk is a waste of breath."
"And what am I?" you asked, voice softening as the pain spiked.
Brendon paused. He held the needle above your skin. He looked up, and for a fleeting second, the Shark mask slipped. There was a raw, jagged edge of concern in his eyes that he couldn't tuck away.
"A nuisance," he whispered. "A loud, sarcastic, stubborn nuisance who shouldn't have been standing on a rug she knew was dangerous."
He didn't wait for your retort. He plunged the needle in. You gasped, your fingers twitching, but he caught your hand with his free one. His palm was huge, calloused, and incredibly warm.
He squeezed, a grounding pressure that anchored her through th eburn.
"Deep breaths, YN," he commanded.
"Don't tell me how to fucking... breathe," you panted.
He waited. He didn't leave your side while the numbness spread. Usually, he'd disappear to shout orders from across the room. Instead, he stayed, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic path over the back of your knuckles.
"Is he... touching her hand?" Whitaker muttered.
"Looks like he's gonna bite it off," Santos whispered back. "Look at him. He's doing that shark thing again."
Brendon ignored them. Once the block took hold, he hooked your fingers into the metal traps, suspending your arm in the air. The weight of the hanging weights began to pull the boens back into alignment.
"This is going to feel like a lot of pressure," he said, stepping into your personal space again.
"I've dealt with patients like these, Brendon. I know what pressure--" He shoved the bone back into place with a sickening crunch and a heavy, wet thud of shifting tissue.
Your scream died in your throat, replace by a low grunt. Your head fell back against the pillow, your eyes fluttering shut.
"There," Brendon muttered. He didn't look triumphant. He looked exhausted. He stepped back, checking the alignment with a portable X-ray. "It's perfect. But the fracture in unstable. You're going to surgery. Tonight."
"I hate you," you breathes, the adrenaline beginning to crash.
"I know," he said. He leaned down, face inches from yours. "I'll see you in the OR. I'm doing the closure myself. Nobody else touches you."
Six weeks later, the cast was off, replaced by a removable brace that you took off the second you walked through the door of Brendon's apartment.
No one in the ED knew. They suspected, of course, mostly because Brendon had become slightly less likely to snap at paople when you were in the building, but the full extent of you both remained a secret.
The apartment screamed Brendon. Minimalist, sharp, and expensive.
Brendon was in the kitchen, his back to you. He was wearing a thin grey t-shirt that stretched across his massive shoulders, the muscles jumping as he chopped vegetables.
"You're late," he said without turning around.
"It was a circus today. Some guy tried to swallow a lightbulb because of a dare," you said, dropping your back and walking uo behind him.
You slid your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his warm back. "I'm tired, I'm cranky, and my wrist aches."
Brendon put the knife down instantly. He turned in your arms, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over the dark circles under your eyes.
"Show me."
"It's fine, Brendon. Just the weather."
"Show me," he repeated.
You held your left arm. He took it with gentleness and manipulated the joint, feeling the play of the tendons, his brow furrowed in instense concentration.
"The scar's healing well," he noted. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the thin, pink line of the incision.
"Yeah? Is that the official medical recommendation?" You teased, your heart doing a slow roll in your chest.
"It's a start," he said. He looked up, his eyes dark. He didn't wait for you to speak. He hoisted you up, your legs wrapping instinctively around his thick waist.
The next morning, the ED was in its usual state of chaos. A multi-car pileup that had sent a stream of trauma cases through the doors. You were back on duty, moving through the bays.
You were standing at the central nursing station, reviewing a set of labs, when the familiar thud-thud of footsteps echoed down the hall.
The people nearby stiffened. Ogilvie actually dropped his clipboard. "It's him. He looks like he's in a bad mood."
Brendon rounded the corner. He looked as intimidating as ever. Jaw set, eyes scanning the room like he was looking for someone to audit. He stopped at the nursing station. His presence causing a three-foot radius of empty space to form around him.
He didn't look at you. He looked at Dana. "Bay 4. The hip fracture. Why hasn't the pre-op been started?"
"We're waiting on the cardiac clearance, Park," Dana said. "The consultant is stuck in the OR."
"Unacceptable," Brendon said. "Get them on the phone."
"Can't do anything 'bout it, Shark."
He turned to leave, but as he passed you, his hand brushed against yours on the counter. It was a fleeting, lightning-fast contact, but he let his pinky finger linger against your nuckles for a fraction of a second.
"Dr. LN," he said, his voice flat and professional. "A word."
You looked up, expression a mask of bored annoyance. "If it's about the patient in Bay 6, I already told you, it's just a soft tissue injury. He doesn't need a consult."
"The patient in Bay 6 is a moron," Brendon said. "I'm talking about your lunch break. You're taking it at 12:30."
"Am I?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were in charge of the schedule now, Dr. Park."
"12:30," he repeated, his eyes boring into yours. For a split second, the corner of his mouth twitched--the ghost of a smirk. "Don't be late."
He turned and strode away. Ogilve stared after him in stunned silence.
"Did he just... tell you when to eat?" He whispered, looking horrified. "And he didn't even yell."
"He's just very concerned about hospital efficiency," You went back to your labs, but you couldn't hide the small, triumphant smile playing on your lips.
You looked down at the hand he had touched, the hand he had meticulously put back together.
"He's not so bad," you said, voice light. "Once you get past it all."
The residents exchanged skeptical looks, but you just tucked your chart under your arm and headed toward Bay 4. Across the ED, Brendon paused at the door of the trauma bay.
He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze finding yours in the crowd. You caught his eye and gave him a tiny, imperceptible wink.
Brendon Park, the man who made grown surgeons tremble, felt a strange unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. He turned back to his patient, his voice regaining its sharp professional edge.
Summary: Nobody knows that (Y/n) is married to the frightening ortho surgeon. But when a patient attacks her, Park the shark is the only person (Y/n) is asking for and will let help her. The Pitt is shocked.
(Descriptions of patient becoming violent)
Enjoy.
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"You're a very competent doctor."
Was that supposed to be a compliment or a snide, sideways remark? Was that something to take kindly and say thank you for, or was it something (Y/n) should be taking offence to?
Unsure how to react, she couldn't quite hide the confusion or the unease from her expression as her brows furrowed and she lifted her head from the computer where she was sat. Her hands paused over the keyboard, halfway through typing up one of her patient charts to try and stay on top of them.
She had seen Trinity struggling for the last few days to try and get all her notes finished in a timely fashion so she didn't have to stay hours behind to do them. (Y/n) seemed to have a better time at getting on top of things than Trinity did at the moment.
Her eyes lifted so she was looking up at who gave her the odd compliment- if it could even be called that.
Oglvie.
He had been hovering around her quite a lot the past few days, which was starting to make (Y/n) feel drained. She didn't like how close he got when he hovered, whether he was observing or joining in and tending to a patient with her. He was just so off-handed, he could be crude with his remarks and he didn't care who he offended. If he graduated med school and became a resident, he was going to develop a God complex. (Y/n) had no doubt about that.
"Uh, thanks." Her lips pursed as she looked back down at her charts, hoping that he would take the hint that she didn't want to talk and wander off to hover and irritate someone else.
Instead, she felt him lean even closer as he arched forward and rested his forearms on the desk next to her, looking down at her as she tried to type up her notes. No way was (Y/n) dictating them onto the computer, not with the amount of errors that caused, especially when it picked up background chatter in her notes too.
"I'm sure I could learn a lot from you."
"I don't know about that." It seemed a modest answer, plus (Y/n) didn't want to agree because it would be like signing a contract to have Oglvie hovering over her twenty-four seven to observe and learn from her. Which she certainly didn't want.
"Probably even more, outside of work, don't you think?" Again, he spoke so casual and prompt as if it were just an observation or a truth he expected her to agree with.
That certainly was different from the other times people had tried to flirt with her at work. That would be down at the bottom of the list though.
All it had taken was one sharp look from Brendon in the beginning and a whispered pick up line in her ear about how he would 'open her eyes' to something that thankfully no one else in the trauma room had heard. Four years later and they were still together; no other pick up line had ever come close.
"So do you think-"
Whatever Oglvie was about to say was cut off promptly by Dana's arrival like a guardian angel who knew exactly when and where she was needed.
"How's that hubby of yours, I haven't seen him in a while."
She had one hand on her hip and the other arm slanted on the back of (Y/n)'s chair, looking down at her with that piercing look that told (Y/n) that Dana had got her back, she would stop this kid from pestering her.
(Y/n)'s hand instinctively moved to hover over her chest where her necklace hung low behind her scrubs where her engagement and wedding rings were seated neatly. Waiting to be slipped back onto her finger once she was out of this place.
"As sweet as always." She hummed quietly, looking up just in time to see Dana quirk a brow.
Now that was not a word that Dana would use to describe Doctor Park, but she suspected he must be very different on the other side of these hospital walls. Once he was out of work, away from the drama and concentration and pressure, he probably didn't need to use intimidation tactics or scowls.
It was very likely that he was loving and sweet when he wasn't here, but Dana couldn't picture such a burly man being anything but frightening. She knew it was true though, the amount of times (Y/n) would come to work with a smile on her face and that faraway look in her eyes as she toyed with the wedding ring on her chain.
Dana was the only one who knew that Brendon was (Y/n)'s husband. A few of the others knew that (Y/n) was married, though she never talked about him and kept her home life very private. And they had all seen the wedding ring on Brendon's finger.
It was always a shock to everyone to think that the shark was married, some thought he wore it as a joke. Especially Whitaker, he couldn't believe Brendon was anything different to how he was when he came by for a consult. Cold, snappy, quick-witted and brash.
"Hm. Well North six needs a doctor, have at it kid."
With a nod of her head, (Y/n) closed the tab on the computer and pushed up to her feet, not sparing Oglvie one glance as she snagged an Ipad and weaved around the desk.
They couldn't keep the patients waiting and if someone wanted her attention then (Y/n) needed to go. She would never refuse an order from Dana, she wouldn't dare.
Her fingers darted around the screen as she weaved in and out of nurses rushing past to go about their jobs. She clicked on the room number to find the patient assigned to the room, briefly glancing over the notes as she tucked the Ipad against her elbow to get on a fresh pair of gloves. The door opened easily when her hip pressed on the handle and she headed inside, nudging it closed with her foot.
"Hi Dylan, I'm Doctor (Y/l/n). Am I okay to take a quick look at you and see what we're dealing with today?"
The patient was sat on the bed, though he sat forward like he was about to drop his head down into his knees. He had one hand scratching the back of his neck so methodically it was like he was trying to scratch all of his hair out, not that he had that much hair to begin with.
When he didn't respond, (Y/n) approached the side of the bed and sat down on the stool. She was tender as she pressed her finger beneath his chin and tilted his head up a little so she could see to the wound on his temple, her Ipad now resting on the unit beside her.
He didn't seem bothered when she began to clean the wound on his temple. His eyes constantly darted from his lap up to look at (Y/n) and then went back down to his hands that were now fiddling on his lap. He was shaking his hands and curling his fingers like he was losing sensation in his hands, but (Y/n) guessed it was because he was high and packed with adrenaline.
His chart said they had picked him up from a brawl in the street and there had been drugs found. They suspected by his behaviour that he was either drunk or high.
(Y/n) worked in silence, mainly because he didn't seem to care and didn't want to interact with her. He didn't flinch when she applied some suture strips to keep the wound closed since it wasn't deep enough for glue and small enough that this was better than stitches.
"You're pretty." His voice was almost as sleezy as the smile that suddenly appeared on his face.
His words took her by surprise, mainly because they had been sat in silence for a good five minutes before now.
He reached his hand out, whether to touch her cheek or maybe cup her face, (Y/n) wasn't sure but it didn't matter since she cautiously leaned to one side to be just out of his reach. But not enough that she offended him or looked rude.
"Thank you. Can I set you up on the monitor?" She pointed to the ECG machine in the corner and grabbed the clips that would need to be attached to his chest, but he didn't reply.
This time, when (Y/n) leaned over him and tried to motion to his chest, he seemed to come to life. His arm flung out and whacked her wrist, sending her arm jolting down to the side and causing a dull sensation to sting towards her elbow.
So he didn't want the monitors on.
(Y/n) took a deep breath and put them down. He wasn't about to go into cardiac arrest and he had refused, she couldn't force him to wear the monitors.
"Head up for me please." She swiped the flashlight from her top pocket and leaned in front of him so she could check his eyes.
He grunted and pulled back when (Y/n) lifted his eyelid and shone the light over his pupils. They were blown wide and not reacting as good to light changes. His nose scrunched and he huffed when (Y/n) grabbed a stethoscope and listened to his breathing and his heart, but he didn't hit her away this time.
The police at the scene thought he might be concussed after the fighting that had broken out and had gotten his head bashed against a brick wall. He was here more for observation and to go for an MRI than any immediate wound care.
(Y/n) wondered if he was mute and sometimes unresponsive because of the concussion. He certainly needed an observation for a good few hours to make sure he didn't have any adverse reactions, and he needed a scan to check for any bleeding or trauma to the brain.
"Can I take a blood sample from you, and then we can get you scheduled for an MRI."
(Y/n) moved over to the small unit in the corner of the room and got what she needed to take some bloods. She pulled the small stool over towards the bed and sat down, laying the items down in a dish on the side table.
His left arm was closest to her and (Y/n) tried to be tender and careful when she pulled the blue elastic around his bicep to cut off his circulation. The action made him grunt again and he looked down at her with a raised brow and confusion plastered on his face.
"What're you doing?"
"I need to take some bloods from you, it will sting a little but only for a few seconds. Okay?" She got the needle ready and poised at the crease of Dylan's elbow, but the moment she tried to slide it into his vein, he came alive.
His grip was fierce when he scrunched his hand around her wrist and yanked until the needle was pulled away from his vein after barely scratching a drop of blood. He pulled (Y/n)'s arm towards his lap until it felt like her shoulder was going to dislocate and she had to fight to get her hand out of his hold.
"Listen, just sign the forms so I can get out of here."
(Y/n) took a deep breath and got to her feet when Dylan swung his legs over the side and hopped onto very unsteady feet. She didn't want to fight him, but he really did need to stay here for observation. If not, she would have to go and get Robby to talk to him and get him to sign a waver if he was adamant that he was leaving.
"I'd really advise against that, you've got concussion. Why don't you sit down and when I've taken some bloods, we can get you set up on an IV." (Y/n) couldn't discharge him in this state, not without him signing the waver but even then she wasn't sure he was in a fit, coherent state to understand it.
"How about we do somethin' else instead?"
"Would you like a different doctor or even a nurse to come do your bloods and do a neurological exam, and I'll go ahead and book that MRI for you?"
"Hm, I don't think so sweetheart."
He moved far quicker than (Y/n) would have anticipated for someone in his concussed state. Before she could step back, there was a hand gripping ferociously around her left wrist and her hand was bent at such an angle with sudden force that her whole arm trembled and it felt like her wrist was going to snap.
Her free hand grabbed his wrist and she pushed her effort into her arm to try and make him relent. Any second now she was expecting to hear her wrist snap from the brute force he was using.
"Let go."
Her hand was trembling when Dylan finally relented and released her wrist that was pulsing from lack of blood to her fingers.
She coiled both arms to her chest and tried to take a deep breath. This was a case she was going to have to hand over to someone else. Maybe Donny, he was good with tempermental patients like this or even Robby if he was free for five minutes. She might have to ask security to come and keep an eye on him too.
If Dana were in here right now she would have lost her temper at seeing someone grabbing at the staff. She took staff safety very seriously and if anyone so much as rose their voice at a worker, Dana would be there sitting them back down and putting them in their place.
"Oh, you wanna play?"
No. No she did not.
Her wrist was already pulsing in a manner that told her it was going to bruise later, and if Brendon saw bruises on her skin he would be in a sour mood at work and become overprotective at home. The only kind of bruises (Y/n) accepted on her skin were the hickeys Brendon liked to leave beneath the collar of her scrubs.
She was already aiming for the door to escape when those rough hands clamped down on her hips and tried to yank her back. His fingers were pressured and his nails pinched against her skin as he yanked her so forcefully that her feet bent at odd angles and she stumbled.
"No- no get off. Now." It didn't seem to matter how stern she made her tone or how demanding and loud she shouted the words. Either he was too zoned out to hear them, or he simply didn't care.
(Y/n) tried to stumble forwards when she felt his grip releasing, but she shrieked when his hand switched from her hip to latch into her hair tied up to be out of her face. Her scalp burned from the tension and the force and tingles spread throughout her nerves beneath her skin as she crashed into his chest when he yanked her backwards.
She had never been in this situation and she didn't imagine she ever would be, either.
Most of the people down in the ER were seeking help, they didn't want to lash out or cause inappropriate situations because they knew their care could be refused and they could be sent out. They got angry when they had to wait, sure, or when they thought someone else was getting preferential treatment, but it was usually raised voices or a push or grab of the wrist they had to deal with.
Physical assault was a once in a full moon kind of thing, it happened just enough to have everyone aware and vigilant, but not enough to be an every day occurrence.
"Where'd you think you're going?"
He seemed to try and twist (Y/n) around to face him, but she fought against him, turning her body in the direction of the door, desperate for an escape. And she tried her best not to turn her head in his direction, wanting to face anywhere but at him so he knew by her body language that she was not okay with this.
Both (Y/n)'s arms coiled up in front of her but it did no use. She predicted Dylan would swoop down and try to kiss her, with the way he was pulling her back to him and leering down at her. She didn't expect him to thrust her to the side and crash her into the bedframe. The beds in the emergency room all had plastic frames with rails around the sides and at the bottom to keep patients stable and secure.
That plastic frame felt like metal when (Y/n)'s forehead collided with it and when Dylan slammed into her, the left side of her chest cracked against the bed frame. It knocked all the air from her lungs in the form of a scream and her eyes snapped closed as she felt her body tingling and turning numb.
She crashed to the floor, gasping and trembling through coughs and when her body seemed to come back under her control, (Y/n) could feel a horrible ache pounding in her chest.
Had she broken her ribs? She'd never broken anything other than her fingers before. She didn't know what it was supposed to feel like, but this horrible impaling feeling was close enough.
Her arms were trembling too much and her hands were too numb to try and push herself onto her side or belly to get her hands and knees working and get herself up. She was willing to crawl out of here if it would get her out and safe in a timely fashion, but nothing was coming back under her control.
When a loud thump beside her signalled that Dylan had landed to his knees and she could feel his fumbling hands scratching and clawing at her, she screamed.
She wasn't ashamed to belt out a scream, which ended in a cough from the tightness of her ribs aching and pressing into her lungs until they were shrivelled up and empty. Her body writhed, arms still encased to her chest despite the pulsing aches that rolled through her and made her feel like she was her heart personified, her whole being tensing and squeezing in time with her throbbing, erratic heart.
Her heels scraped against the floor, trying to move herself in some fashion, but she couldn't fight off Dylan's hand that wrapped around her throat.
What little air she could scrape in, bellowed out into "No… h- help!" as she began to flail her legs and tried to jab her elbows at Dylan while her gloved hands raked down his wrists and arms.
Nothing worked. She couldn't sit up, and she couldn't move Dylan off her either.
Someone had to hear her. Someone had to come to her aid and get this man off of her. They had to stop him before he did some real damage or did something unforgiveable, because (Y/n) couldn't fend him off on her own and she was already losing the battle.
A sob got stuck in the back of her throat when the door swung open so fast it collided with the wall and made the window frames shudder and the glass vibrate. As much as (Y/n) had yelled for help and was relieved she would soon get out of this situation, that also meant having her colleagues seeing her in such a state. She didn't like the thought of that.
Her eyes remained closed though it did nothing to stop the tears that flushed down her face and soaked into her hair. Bubbling gasps left her lips when the hand was finally released from her throat and she could actually breathe without feeling like she was sucking in air through a straw.
Something akin to "Fucking bitch!" blundered past Dylan's lips when hands were grappling with his shoulders.
(Y/n) didn't need to open her eyes to know who had grabbed Dylan. She could hear Robby telling him to stop, to relent and get the Hell off one of their doctors. She was sure it was Jesse who was also telling him to back off, clearly the both of them were pulling him out of the room, yelling for security to come over.
(Y/n) tried to open her eyes when she knew he was no longer there to pose a threat, but she could barely see a thing for the spots covering her vision.
She could hear Dylan screaming and the thrashing about in the hall, they hadn't managed to get him far away. They would have to sedate him. (Y/n) knew the drill, she knew a psychotic outburst like this meant they would sedate him and strap his wrists to the bedframe so he couldn't hurt anyone else when he came round. He would be in room two with the foam bed and walls and the door that only opened from the outside.
"(Y/n)? It's okay hun, let me take a look at you."
Shudders rolled through (Y/n)'s frame when she felt Dana's cautious touch on her shoulders, trying to help her up into a sitting position so she didn't have to lie on her back trying to curl into a ball.
A horrible, thumping headache raged behind her eyes when she was finally sitting up, and the more she tried to breathe deeply, the worse her coughing became until shallow puffs was all she could manage.
She felt Dana's fingers ghosting over her neck that was no doubt bruised, her windpipe one inch away from being crushed in the attack. But she flinched away from the touch. Her head craned to her left despite the ache it caused and she bound her arms around her aching chest until she was curling forwards towards her knees that she brought up to her abdomen.
"Hey…" Trinity tested the waters with a hand to (Y/n)'s lower leg, closer to her ankle than her knee to try and make her feel more comfortable.
She earned a jerk of (Y/n)'s leg pushing at her side to get her off. (Y/n) didn't want to be touched, by any of them. Her feet shuddered as she dug them into the floor and pushed herself back, scooting across the floor on her bum until her back was up against the far wall.
"Br- Brendon…"
"Is that his name?" Trinity's head snapped to the left, looking towards the door where Jesse and Ahmed had the guy pinned on his stomach on the floor with his hands behind his back while they waited for someone to bring them a sedative.
A quiet moan left (Y/n)'s lips before she uttered "Park. I- I wa- I want Park."
Utter confusion draped across Trinity's face, her nose scrunching up as she looked at Dana. Why on Earth did (Y/n) want the shark himself to come down here? Did she want him to be some form of security and protection? Granted, he was intimidating without having to say a word, but they already had the attacker pinned and under control.
"You want the shark? Why?"
She didn't want anyone else's help. (Y/n) wouldn't let any of them touch her and if they tried, she was going to scream. The only person she wanted was her husband.
With a deep breath, Dana reached across and touched Trinity's arm, ticking her head to one side to signal for her to leave the room and give them some space.
As soon as Trinity was out the door, Dana murmured "I'll call him hun," before she too got up and left the room.
"Princess, Whitaker." She hollered as she stepped out the door and caught sight of them both. "Get in there and keep an eye on her, see if you can check her over, she's wheezing, might have broken ribs. I need to make a call."
The sound of incoming footsteps made (Y/n) wince. Her arms were pressing down against her chest so tightly she could scarcely breathe, and with her knees coiled up too, she was compressing herself far too much. If she stayed like this she wasn't going to get in enough breath and she would pass out. But she didn't want to move. She couldn't, her body wasn't cooperating anymore.
It was too much effort to open her eyes, and (Y/n) wasn't sure she would be able to keep them in focus even if she managed to open them.
"Are you hurt?"
(Y/n) found herself holding her breath when she heard Whitaker's voice. He sounded so close, and she cringed at the sound of him snapping a pair of latex gloves over his hands. It sounded like a whip cracking against her ear.
"Can you open your eyes for me?" His voice was soft, full of understanding that (Y/n) didn't want to hear.
Nor did she want to open her eyes, but she felt another pair of hands reaching out for her, trying to warmly touch her arm to gain her attention or give her comfort, she wasn't sure which, nor did she care.
It seemed easier to open her eyes, to know who was trying to check her over and calm her down.
It was Princess knelt beside her, that calm look etched across her face with sorrow building up in her eyes. She retracted her hand from (Y/n)'s thigh when she realised the touch was provoking her to start shaking uncontrollably.
Now that she had her eyes open, Whitaker leant forward until his stomach creased and his chest was near his knees so he could be level with how confined and compact (Y/n) had become. He shone his pen light over her eyes which constricted as they should, before he reached for the stethoscope around his neck and gently pressed the bell to her chest to hear her heart. Erratic.
He hated the way she flinched when he moved his hand to her shoulder, trying to ease her away from the wall just an inch or two so he could move the stethoscope bell to her back and listen to her breathing. Crackling, just like Dana suggested.
Whitaker sighed and looked over at Princess. They couldn't move (Y/n) yet when she was still this shook up, and they couldn't give her a proper exam or try and help her injuries when she would barely let them look at her. It was going to take a while.
Robby's hands fell to his hips once he watched Donny, Jesse and Ahmed struggle to get the patient down the hall to central two.
God, he was going to have a lot to deal with. Making a report, calling Gloria to inform her what had happened, getting the police involved. Sorting that patient and making sure he was well enough to be taken by the police into custody once they were called down here. And he didn't even want to think how this was going to affect (Y/n) and how she had already been hurt.
Tilting his head back, Robby stared up at the ceiling and closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing through his nose as he tried to regulate his system and gather his thoughts and senses.
He wasn't sure what made him open his eyes first. Perhaps it was the little murmurs he could hear, the whispers that got his attention over the dull atmosphere in the ER that had gone quiet after hearing the screams of one of their own residents. Maybe it was the harsh, thundering steps that seemed to shake the walls which caught his ear.
Whatever it was, Robby looked around until his brows furrowed and his gaze set on someone he hadn't expected to see down here.
"Shark, we didn't call up to Ortho for a consult-"
"Personal call."
No one had called for a consult with Ortho, and that was the last thing on any of their minds when they all needed to get back in order down here. They needed to look after (Y/n) and get her checked out.
Robby's eyes narrowed, lips curling into a look of perplexion as he watched the younger man pass him by without a second glance. Brendon looked like he was a man on a mission, in a complete world of his own. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, so tight and compact that there seemed to be no blood flow past his knuckles to his fingers.
His breathing was very laboured, his chest rising and falling like he was straining against his dark navy scrubs that looked too tight and about to shred to pieces over his broad frame.
His expression was the most frightful part of him. Those narrowed eyes with frown lines etched across his temple. That pointed nose looking striking and fearfl combined with the straight line his lips were meshed into. His jaw tight and tense, muscles cutting themselves on the sharp jawbones as his neck tensed and strained.
Robby didn't miss the look on Donny's face when he clocked the orthopedic surgeon walking briskly down the hall. He watched the nurse turn in the other direction to be out of Brendon's path, muttering under his breath:
"Shark attack."
He looked a frightful man on a mission; but no one knew what that mission was or where it would lead him.
With her arms folded over her chest, Trinity leant to her left towards Victoria. "(Y/n) wanted him here; maybe she thought some muscle might stop the guy from trying again. Shark does look like a bouncer."
She gave a little shrug after her words, unsure what else could be the reason (Y/n) had asked for one of their most frightening colleagues. No one asked for Shark to come down here unless they had a dire patient that met his high standards. As annoying and blunt as Garcia could be, they all preferred to deal with her.
And here (Y/n) was, actually asking for the shark himself. But no patient would dare mess with him. He could stand outside the room as if acting security, and no one would dare utter a word to him or attempt to get past him.
Brendon ignored every pair of eyes that was now attached and oggling him like he was an alien that had landed right in their laps.
He didn't need to ask where to go, it was rather evident with the crowd gathering outside the room on his right that his wife was in there. No doubt about it. And he was glad the door was open so he didn't have to barge in and frighten her, though he didn't mind intimidating her colleagues if it would mean they would listen and do as he said.
Whitaker's hands twitched on his lap and his ankles burned from how he was crouched beside (Y/n). But he didn't want to move away from her in case she calmed down enough for an exam, and he couldn't leave the room. They needed to check her over at some point and get her help, and he and Princess were in the room to make sure no one else got in or caused any drama.
Although when he looked up at the sound of impending footsteps, he felt like his heart had been given a shock with the defibrilator.
"Shark, wh- why're you down here for an assault?"
Who on Earth had called for him? If he was here for a consult then he was in the wrong room. If he was here for an assault, then he had well and truly lost his mind.
"Get out."
"What?" Whitaker's mouth scrunched up to one side and his nose curled at the end as he stared at Brendon.
Normally he could never bear to look at Brendon for long, he was too intimidating and always came out with snide remarks that Whitaker couldn't find an answer or rebuttal to. But that was just plain rude. Who did he think he was, ordering them about in their own department, especially when this was not his speciality?
He almost cowered back when Brendon's head snapped in his direction and those dark eyes narrowed in on him.
"You deaf now as well as incompetent? Get out."
The gravelly tone to Brendon's voice and the way he snarled the words made Whitaker take an involuntary shuffle away from (Y/n). But when Brendon clicked his fingers at the door and ticked his chin up, Whitaker's jaw loosened and he found himself aiming for the door with hands curling into tight fists. He wasn't going to argue in front of a colleague when she was clearly shell shocked, but he wasn't going to forget this either.
Princess stayed knelt by the side of the bed, her eyes wide and lips pressed together in a tight pout as she looked up at Brendon, waiting to be told whether or not she too had to leave the room.
He didn't say anything when she shuffled back a few paces, but he didn't tell her to get out either. He let her stay where she was near the bed, he didn't mind a nurse staying just in case he needed an extra pair of hands when helping (Y/n).
His hands moved to his knees as he slowly lowered himself down to kneel on the floor in front of (Y/n) who was still cowering back against the wall.
With a deep breath, Brendon leant forward, taking his time as he slowly moved his hands towards her legs. His touch was so precise and careful that (Y/n) wondered if she had suddenly started to imagine it in her haste to have her husband down here with her.
His hands traced a path up (Y/n)'s legs until they were carefully laid over her knees which he eased away from her chest and pushed down until her legs were laid down against the floor. He didn't want her curling up like this, hiding herself away from him, especially if she was hurt and making any of her injuries worse.
He hated to see her cowering back like this, hands clasped over her face like she couldn't bear to look at anyone. But the moment those hands lowered and those watering eyes blinked into focus, it was like a spotlight had beamed down upon (Y/n).
"Brendon," relief lit up (Y/n)'s voice now that he was here in front of her. His features looked like they were carved out of stone, but the longer their gazes interlocked, the more he started to loosen up and mellow down.
A quiet sob bubbled past (Y/n)'s lips when he leant over and took her hands cautiously in his. The feeling of his thumbs smoothing across the back of her hands made her shake.
She watched the intensity in Brendon's eyes as he studied her hands which he turned over to examine every inch of skin. She saw his gaze lingering on the bruises on her left wrist where his fingers danced over each mark beginning to blossom and appear as the seconds ticked by.
Her stuttering breaths lodged in her throat and halted completely when one of Brendon's hands let go of her hand in favour of curling beneath her chin instead. His thumb traced the dip in her chin, fingers soft yet firm and intent as they pressed into the underside of her chin near her throat.
He tilted her head back towards the wall, making her eyes strain to keep looking at him rather than up at the ceiling where her head was aimed.
His other hand reached out for her skin and he was relieved she didn't flinch or pull away from him like he knew she would have if Whitaker or any of her other colleagues tried to check her over. Brendon knew the moment he stepped into the room that they had gotten nowhere trying to examine and look after his wife. She would shut down in situations like this; they didn't know her as well as he did.
The pad of his fingers traced her throat, over her trachea and the soft skin and muscles on the sides of her neck where fingerprints were starting to appear and would no doubt linger for a few days.
The expression on Brendon's face made (Y/n) wince.
He was livid.
Brendon almost pulled away when (Y/n) sobbed. He blinked, snapping out of the rage fuelled trance he seemed to have slipped into as he noted the injuries and bruises that should not be tainting his wife's skin.
He didn't have any chance to pull away before (Y/n) was moving instead.
He tensed up so she didn't topple him over with her force as she shuffled up from where she was sat against the wall so her weight was now on her knees instead. (Y/n) smothered her face into Brendon's scrubs until each breath she took fanned against his sternum and made heat and moisture cling to his skin.
Despite the ache it caused within her, (Y/n) wound her arms around his chest and shuffled until her knees were resting in between Brendon's know parted thighs. Her frame was totally engulfed by him, encased in his arms that slowly curved around her to keep her safe and show her that no one was going to try and break her out of his embrace. He wouldn't let that happen.
Tilting his head down, Brendon smothered his lips and nose into her hair, quietly hushing her as one hand curled around the back of her neck and the other arm secured rather loosely around her waist as not to inflict any pain onto her. He didn't know the extent of her injuries.
He found himself rocking back and forth until his knees and ankles were aching and throbbing against the floor with each movement.
"I've got you sweetheart. You're alright now."
With a jaw that was almost dropping down to the floor, Whitaker turned to one side and waved his hand towards Trinity. He tried to be discreet when he pointed to the window he was stood beside; he had left the room as Brendon requested but he didn't move farther than the door. He wanted to be nearby in case he and Princess were needed to help (Y/n). Clearly no one else but the shark was necessary.
"She's married to the Shark?" He found himself muttering as Trinity leaned to take a look, eyes widening in the process.
"Damn, I didn't guess that… I've never seen him look so, so human."
A good two minutes passed with Brendon's arms encased around (Y/n) and his broad, stoic frame slowly moving them back and forth. He turned his head so his cheek was against her hair and his eyes closed as he tried to focus on taking deep, calming breaths so he didn't get too wound up and lose his temper. He could wait until he set his sights on whatever manic patient did this to lose his temper with them.
He could feel (Y/n)'s breaths changing from shallow sobs and hiccups to mellow, short puffs. But every now and then her nails would dig into his skin and she would flinch like breathing was causing her some kind of pain or issue.
Loosening his arms around her, Brendon leaned back on his heels and slid his hand from the back of her neck to nudge her chin up once again.
"What's hurting?"
(Y/n) didn't want to, but she undid her tight grip on his scrubs and shakily hovered her left hand over her chest. "I hit the bed, when he pushed me."
She bit back a whimper when Brendon shuffled back a bit so he could look at her without craning his neck down to see properly.
(Y/n) bit down on her lip and closed her eyes as he nudged her arms out so he could gently press his fingertips down on her ribs. He checked each rib on both sides, going along and tracing them like he was a oersonal X-ray machine that could feel the breaks he was searching for.
The three times (Y/n) mewled and flinched away from his touch where when he felt the fourth, fifth and seventh rib on her left side, more on the curve of her waist than near the front of the back. A rough place to break them.
A growl vibrated past Brendon's lips as his nose curled angrily. "I count three broken ribs; we'll book you an X-ray soon."
When (Y/n) flopped her head into his chest and groaned, Brendon curled his hand around the back of her neck and pressed a longing kiss to her temple.
"Are we gonna sit on the bed now sweetheart, rather than the floor?"
Although it was a question, Brendon didn't wait for an answer. He could feel how relaxed (Y/n) had gone against him so when he moved his hands down to cup over her hips, he felt no resistence as he moved to get up. (Y/n)'s hands pressed down on his shoulders as he got to his feet from his aching knees and slowly hauled (Y/n) up with him, his lips searing a kiss into her temple along the way.
Seeing them move, Princess too got to her feet and moved out of the way, though her eyes were still as wide as black holes as she watched how easily Brendon had calmed (Y/n) down and convinced her to move.
He turned her around until the edge of the bed was pressing up against the back of her knees and (Y/n) sat down with Brendon stood in between her thighs. Her face now cupped in his hands so he could lean down and capture her lips in a warm, heart-felt kiss.
"How are we doing in here?" Robby's voice was soft, quiet, testing the waters in case Brendon told him to get out or give them a few more minutes alone.
But he had managed to get (Y/n) calm, up and sat on the bed and he had clearly looked over her injuries, which was further than anyone else had gotten when they tried to help her.
"She needs an X-ray and then an exam with your head nurse." The X-ray was the first and foremost thing that (Y/n) needed right now, but Brendon knew she would still need to be checked over after that, and help with a bandage around her chest if her ribs were broken like he suspected.
He knew Dana was the one person (Y/n) would be most comfortable with helping her with that.
"Okay, I'll make the call now."
"You better not have let him get away with this." Brendon's head turned sharply to the left, locking eyes with Robby as a dark look passed his pupils. He hadn't been told the specifics. When Garcia passed the phone to him and said Dana wanted to speak to him specifically, Brendon had been a little more than confused.
When he got told that a patient had attacked his wife, he hung up the phone and got in the lift, no questions asked and no explanations given as to where he was going. He hoped they had apprehended the patient and didn't let him get out of the ER after this. Brendon would make all their lives a living Hell if they had let him abscond.
Shaking his head and pointing behind him, Robby sighed. "He's in central two, padded room all locked and secured."
The attending had a sneaking suspicion that security would have one Hell of a job trying to keep Brendon out of that room to teach the patient 'some manners.'
jack “i’ll pay for it” abbot who gets his partner one of those 3d printed wand things with his card in it amd says it’s so his partner doesn’t lose it but it’s really so partner has to use his money (his partner doesn’t know it’s his card)
The Wand™️ Incident (jack abbot x reader)
author's note: a short but cute one from this lovely request!! this was so so fun to write. also, a little self indulgent because i did buy myself this bag after saing for monthssss for it - i would've loved a lil jack abbot to buy it for me too hehe
pairing: jack abbot x female!reader
word count: 2.6k
warnings: fluff, little bit of a goofy one, fem!reader, mention of suffering w/ periods, jack abbot learning to love and be loved
description: jack comes up with a solution so you can stop losing your card all the time. turns out that solution also includes th answer to your personal financial gain.
Jack Abbot's love language was not physical gift giving. Jack showed up in different ways - like, how last year for your birthday he booked an all expenses paid trip to Niagara Falls because he knew you had a secret obsession with the episode of The Office where Jim and Pam get married. Anytime he gifted you anything, it was an experience, or a dinner, or a night away just cause. He didn't really wrap things in boxes and throw a bow on to it.
That was the thing. That was the part that made this whole thing so — so Jack, so perfectly, infuriatingly, specifically Jack, that when you finally figured out what was going on you had to sit down and stare at the wall for approximately thirty seconds just to process it.
He had given it to you three months ago, on a Sunday, completely unprompted, presenting it with the energy of a man completing a practical errand rather than giving a gift. It was small and pink and wrapped in a little bow. It was a 3D printed case shaped like a wand, the kind you clipped onto a keyring, the kind that opened with a tap and held a card flat inside it.
"So you stop losing your card," he said, setting it on the kitchen table in front of you.
You had looked at it. "That's really cute."
"It's practical."
"It's pink."
"You like pink."
"You got me a pink card holder."
"I got you a practical organisational tool," he said, in the tone he reserved for things that were clearly not just practical organisational tools. "I put your card in it."
You had put your card in it.
Except, and this was the part that would not fully compute when you looked back on it later, he had handed it to you already assembled. Already with a card inside. And you had assumed, without really thinking about it, because why would you think about it, because he had said I put your card in it and you had taken that to mean the card was already in there ready for you to use, that it was yours. That's literally what he had said.
It was not yours and you would not know this for three months.
The Brooklyn Coach bag had been a goal.
Not an impulsive goal, not the kind of want that arrives suddenly and loudly and is usually best waited out. This had been the slow, considered, patient kind. You had looked at it first in October, maple brown leather with the gold hardware, and thought: one day. You had checked the price, done the mental arithmetic, and started the quiet background process of working toward it. Before you became a doctor, you struggled more often than not with making ends meet. God only knows how many times you chose paying rent over eating good food for the week as a med student. When you started making good money, the concept of spending large amounts of it was still not the easiest concept for you.
You had a savings habit. Jack knew about the savings habit. He had, on one occasion, described it as admirable and unnecessary, which you had correctly interpreted as his way of saying he would happily have bought it for you and was restraining himself out of respect for your independence, which was — that was the thing about him, actually. He understood the difference between wanting to do something for you and you wanting to do it for yourself. He didn't always like the distinction, but he understood it.
So he hadn't bought it for you.
He had, instead, done something considerably more clever, and in the three months between the wand and the bag, you had bought a great many things.
This was the part, when you looked back on it, that made the scale of it land properly. It hadn't just been the bag. It had been everything. The weekly grocery shop you did every Thursday, coming home with bags you'd paid for without thinking, putting things away, making dinner. The coffee you grabbed before shifts, three dollars at a time, adding up across weeks and months. The pharmacy run for the good painkillers when your period had been bad in February. The birthday dinner for Trinity where you'd quietly covered your portion and hers because she'd had a bad month. The tank of petrol. The new scrub top. The replacement umbrella after you'd left the last one on the train.
Three months of ordinary daily life, running quietly and without incident, funded entirely by Jack Abbott.
On a card in a pink wand that he had told you was for organisational purposes.
You bought the bag on a Friday. A proper, intentional, this-is-the-day Friday. You'd checked your balance that morning, confirmed the number, felt the small quiet satisfaction of something saved-for being within reach. You went to the store on an afternoon off with Trinity, who had been informed of the occasion and treated it with the appropriate gravity.
"This is a big day," Santos said, standing beside you at the counter.
"It's a bag."
"It's a goal bag." She looked at it in your hands with genuine appreciation. "The maple brown was the right call."
"I know."
"The gold hardware is perfect."
"I know, Trinity."
"Abbot's going to pretend he doesn't notice and then notice immediately."
"He always does that."
You tapped the wand to the card reader and just like that, the transaction went through. It was kinda funny, you had thought at that time, the kick of using a wand to pay for something like you were the fairy godmother from Shrek, but like, not as unapproachable and terrifying.
You walked out of the store with the bag in the paper carrier and Trinity making a sound of vicarious satisfaction beside you, and felt, genuinely and completely, like you had earned something.
The not-adding-up happened that evening.
It was a habit checking your balance after a big purchase, just confirming the damage, closing the loop on the mental accounting you'd been doing for months. For smaller, every day purchases you didn't usually bother. Knew you were in a comfortable enough position to be okay, anyways. You sat on the couch with the bag on the cushion beside you, opened your banking app, and looked at the number.
You looked at it again. You did the subtraction in your head. You did it again, because the first result was wrong.
It wasn't wrong.
Your balance was higher than it should have been. Not slightly. Meaningfully. By approximately the cost of a Brooklyn Coach bag in maple brown with gold hardware, give or take.
You sat very still for a moment. Then you scrolled back further.
And that was when the full picture arrived.
Transaction after transaction — groceries, coffee, the pharmacy, the petrol, Trinity's birthday dinner — there was nothing. The last transaction that came out of your bank account was your $19 monthly fantasy book subscription service. And your own balance, sitting beneath all of it completely untouched, growing quietly in the background for three months because nothing had been coming out of it.
Nothing had been coming out of it because nothing had been going to it..
You opened the receipt from earlier today, found the bag purchase, looked at the card number.
Four digits that were not yours.
You put the phone down. You picked up the wand. Pressed the release. Slid the card out.
J. Abbott. The little shit.
Jack was in the kitchen.
Of course he was. Making dinner with the calm, unhurried efficiency he brought to everything, and he looked up when you appeared in the doorway, and something in his expression. The very slight, very controlled quality of a man who has been waiting for this moment for approximately three months, told you immediately that he knew exactly why you were standing there.
You held up the card. He looked at it. Looked at you.
Went back to the stove.
"Jack."
"Mm."
"This is your card."
"Is it?"
"It has your name on it."
"Hm."
"Jack." You took two steps into the kitchen. "I have been using your card for three months."
"Have you?"
"Every grocery shop. Every coffee. The pharmacy in February. Santos's birthday dinner." You looked at him. "The bag."
"Mm."
"You have been secretly funding my entire daily life for three months via a pink 3D printed wand that you told me was a practical organisational tool."
He turned something in the pan. "It is a practical organisational tool."
"It's a con."
"A con would have benefited me."
"This benefited you. You got to pay for everything I specifically wanted to manage myself." You set the card on the counter beside him. "Why?"
He was quiet for a moment. Just the sounds of the stove, the low hum of the kitchen.
"The groceries," he said, finally. "You do the shop every Thursday. You've done it every Thursday for eight months. You always do the whole thing yourself and you never ask me to contribute and I—" He paused, in that way of his, choosing the words carefully. "It bothered me."
"It bothered you."
"It didn't sit right."
"Jack—"
"You make the coffee in the mornings," he said, and his voice had shifted, dropped out of the deflecting register into something quieter and more real. "Every morning. You always make mine without asking. You check whether I've eaten on long shifts. You notice when I've had a hard case before I say anything. You—" He stopped. His jaw moved. "You do a lot of small things. Constantly. Without making a fuss about them."
"Because I love you," you said. "That's just, that's what you do when you love someone."
"Yes," he said. "It is."
You looked at him.
He turned from the stove then, properly, and looked back at you, and his face was doing the open thing, the real thing, the thing that only came out in kitchens and quiet evenings and the particular privacy of the two of you alone.
"You take care of me," he said, simply. "In all those small ways. And I know you don't do it to be owed anything. But I—" He exhaled. "I wanted to do something back. And you would have said no if I'd offered."
"Because you don't owe me anything," you said, and there was something in your voice that was trying not to be emotional about this and failing. "You don't owe me for loving you, Jack. That's not — you just deserve to be loved. You deserve someone doing the small things for you. You don't have to pay for it."
Something moved in his expression.
"I know that," he said, quietly.
"Do you?"
A pause. A real one, the kind that meant something was being considered properly rather than deflected.
"I'm working on it," he said.
You looked at him for a long moment. At this complicated, careful, quietly generous man standing in your kitchen with his card on the counter between you, who had spent three months secretly making sure the ordinary daily costs of your life didn't touch you, and who had just admitted, in the least fussy and most Jack way possible, that he was trying to learn how to accept love without feeling like he needed to earn it back at scale.
"You can't just put your card in a wand," you said, softly.
"I can, though," he said. "I did. It worked for three months."
"Jack—"
"You have the bag."
"That is not the point—"
"And your savings are intact."
"You are completely—"
"And," he said, and something shifted in his expression into something that was almost, almost a smirk, the rarest and most dangerous version of Jack Abbott's face, "I'm not going to pretend that paying for things you need doesn't—" He paused, choosing his words with entirely too much composure. "Do something for me."
You stared at him.
"I'm sorry?"
"Providing for someone," he said, with great dignity, "is not a purely financial act. It's—"
"Jack Abbott, are you telling me that secretly paying for my groceries is a turn on for you?"
He said nothing. He picked up his plate.
"Dinner's ready," he said.
"Oh my god."
"The food is getting cold."
"You are telling me that you bought a 3D printed pink wand, put your own card in it, convinced me it was mine, funded three months of my daily expenses, and that this was in some capacity enjoyable for you—"
"I said providing," he said, setting his plate down at the table with the composure of a man who has already decided how this conversation ends. "I said it does something for me. I didn't specify what."
"You absolutely implied—"
"Sit down."
"I'm not going to just—"
"The food," he said, "is getting cold."
You looked at him. At the carefully neutral face and the slight warmth behind it and the complete and total lack of repentance anywhere in his entire body.
You sat down.
He sat across from you, and the kitchen was warm and quiet, and after a moment he reached across the table and put the card in front of you.
"Keep it in the wand," he said.
"Absolutely not."
"For practical—"
"I am not keeping your card in my wand, Jack."
"You've been doing it for three months."
"Under false pretences!"
"You didn't lose it once," he said, and the almost-smile was fully present now, tucked into the corner of his mouth, warm and unbearable. "Which is arguably the best argument for continuing."
You looked at him across the table. At the bag on the couch behind him, maple brown and gold hardware, exactly what you'd wanted since October. At the card sitting on the table between you. At the man who had coordinated with Samira Mohan on the colour of a 3D printed wand, funded three months of your life without saying a word, and just told you, in the most Jack Abbott way possible, that looking after you was something he actively enjoyed.
"I hate you," you said.
"You don't."
"I really, sincerely—"
"You don't." He picked up his fork. "Eat your dinner."
You picked up your fork.
You ate your dinner.
Later, getting ready for bed, you stood at the kitchen counter and looked at the wand on your keyring for a long moment.
You opened it. Slid his card back inside. Closed it.
Put it back on the keyring.
You were not going to tell him.
He would notice in the morning when he went to pay for his coffee and found his card missing from his wallet, and he would say nothing, and you would say nothing, and that would be, that would be its own kind of language, the kind the two of you had always been better at than the other kind.
You turned the light off.
He was already in bed, reading, and he looked up when you came in, and his eyes went to your keys on the nightstand, and then to your face.
He said nothing. You said nothing. He went back to his book.
You got into bed.
And somewhere in the quiet of the room, in the particular warmth of a Tuesday night with the city outside and the lamp on low, you thought about groceries and coffee and a pink wand and a man who was working on believing he deserved to be loved without owing anything back, and who showed it, in the meantime, in the most roundabout and specific and entirely himself way imaginable.
You closed your eyes.
On your keyring, on the nightstand, J. Abbott sat tucked inside a small pink wand.
Summary: While on shift, (Y/n) starts experiencing absent seizures. And when they start to get worse, Jack is there to take care of his wife.
Enjoy.
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For once, (Y/n) was glad she was dealing with an unresponsive patient.
Usually she preferred patients who talked to her, ones who could explain their symptoms and problems and let on what they needed help with. Someone to talk to, to drown out the noise of the ER and bring some clarity or just someone to reassure and calm down.
This was not one of those times when (Y/n) wanted a patient like that. She was glad the lady on the bed was currently under sedation- though she had been unconscious when she was brought in- with a respirator giving her each breath she needed. Perlah was keeping check on vitals, Whitaker had just finished with the stitching to the patient's lower leg and Robby had been guiding Javadi through making the incisions in the patient's abdomen.
Everything was all go, but at least the patient was knocked out. (Y/n) wasn't sure she could cope with a patient panicking or crying or asking persistent questions. Not when she felt like this.
All day she had been plagued by the worst headaches that were delving quickly into migraines until (Y/n) was practically seeing spots if she turned her head too quickly.
It was starting to make her feel sick; she had been zoning out on all the chatter in the room while she focused on packing away the ultrasound she had just done and making sure the IV and cannula were ready for any other administrations they would need.
She barely lifted her gaze when Robby uttered "I'm in," from his side of the bed opposite (Y/n).
Although he was teaching the others about what to do and coaching them through procedures, Robby had taken charge on this one. The patient received a lot of internal damage and trauma from a bus crash, they couldn't spend too much time teaching procedures when this needed to be done expertly fast. Robby would teach what he could and handle the rest himself.
When the pounding headache throbbed worse and made her eyes feel like they were about to pop out of her skull, (Y/n) tilted her head forwards. Both hands clenched into fists, relaxing then tightening again and again to try and gain some control over her senses and ignore that headache that was now at the forefront of her head and mind.
She tried to focus herself, to ignore the glint of the flurescent lights that shimmered and sparkled on the edges of the safety goggles she wore.
Reaching out to the little tray beside her she took the two metal clamps, ready for whenever Robby needed help to cut off the internal bleeding. There were a lot of little haemorrhages in the patient's stomach and intestines, they would have their work cut out for them clamping and sealing them all off.
"BP's dropping, gotta stop the bleeding soon."
(Y/n) glanced from Perlah to Robby, who nodded but didn't respond to those words. He was trying to do exactly that, he could see the BP on screen and the numbers that were starting to decrease. They could all hear the heartbeat monitor becoming louder as the pulse began to waver and turn faint. They didn't have long before they would have to get the crash cart involved.
The sound of the monitor and that rhythmic, fluttering beat was almost like a bass drum ticking away in the background. An unsteady rhythm that was about to change in tempo. It seemed to sound louder in (Y/n)'s ears than in anyone else's. She found herself focusing on that sound rather than any of the voices around her.
Everything felt like it was slowing down. The headache she had been so frustrated about all morning now felt different, weak, unbothersome. It was being pushed to the back of her mind as a fog started to roll in on her mind.
"Alright, (Y/n) clamp the bleeding in the stomach." Robby gave a little nod of his head as he spoke, his eyes intently focused on the incision he'd made.
He could see quite a lot of blood, and he was relieved he didn't have to say anything for Whitaker to lean over and begin suction to try and get rid of some of the blood so they could see what they were dealing with.
But then something caught Robby's attention. (Y/n) hadn't moved.
"(Y/n)?"
A frown morphed onto Robby's concentrated features and he lifted his head to look across at her.
His eyes creased, brows furrowing down as he tried to gage why she hadn't made a move. He'd told her he was ready, he said earlier she could help him clamp off the bleed and try and make some repairs while they had the patient open and ready. No point making incisions and doing very little to end up sending them up to the OR.
Fear struck Robby's chest as he analysed (Y/n), who looked so much like a statue that Robby actually contemplated the thought of her being frozen in time.
She was spaced out, that much was clear from her blank expression. But when Robby narrowed his eyes, he realised that (Y/n)'s pupils were blown, there was barely any iris left to see, just black voids that acted as black holes, drawing everything and everyone into them.
Her head was tilted to the right, her chin almost touching her shoulder as her body seemed to lean in that direction too, but she was as unmoving as a statue.
It didn't take long for it to dawn on Robby what she was doing, and why. She was having an absent seizure.
It had been a long while since Robby had seen (Y/n) have a seizure at work. With her doing more day shifts than nights, Robby was her attending and he had to know she was epileptic in case this happened or she collapsed while at work. He had to keep an eye on her, especially since Jack was always reminding Robby to check in with (Y/n). If she had a bad day or wasn't feeling right, chances were that Jack would message Robby and give him a heads up.
But he hadn't seen her have a seizure at work in a good few weeks, maybe even months.
"Whitaker, clamp the bleed instead."
He motioned towards (Y/n) before he looked back down, not wanting to cause any sort of scene. As long as (Y/n) was breathing and okay, they just had to wait for her to come back around.
Whitaker looked very dubious as he moved towards (Y/n) and he almost trembled as he reached over to take the clamp scissors from her hand and the tweezers in her other hand. He was surprised to see her fingers stayed taut, held in place like she was still gripping the instruments.
His eyes kept glancing back up at (Y/n), wondering if she was about to snap out of that state and snatch the scissors back off him or if she would be upset that he had taken over. It didn't take much to figure out she was having some kind of episode or seizure.
His elbow brushed her arm as he leant forward and took her place, beginning to find the bleed and cut off the artery that was leaking out like a hose pipe into her stomach.
It felt like a bumble bee was trapped inside (Y/n)'s head. A horrid buzzing filled her ears and made her head spin when her eyes came back into focus.
Everything had a hazy aura around it, like everyone had shimmering lights within them that were shining to the surface. Her eyes were so dilated and blown that it hurt to look around, she had to blink, close her eyes and look rapidly around the room to get them to zoom out again like a camera lens that was far too focused on one block of an image.
Her fingers flexed and a little gasp parted her lips when she looked down and realised there was nothing in her hands. No tweezers, no clamp scissors, just latex gloves rubbing and itching against her skin that felt just as tight and itchy.
(Y/n) managed to lift her head and get her vision back to normal in time to see Robby pointing for Whitaker to cut off another bleed in the patient's stomach.
She hadn't missed much, he was still trying to sort out the stomach, he hadn't moved on to check the liver or down to the bleeding in the intestines yet. Only a few seconds, maybe a minute had been skipped over.
"I- I'm sorry. What should I do?" Her voice was oddly breathless but her words were aimed at Robby, nobody else.
She didn't want to look around and see her colleagues glancing at her with worried expressions or panic written across their faces. She didn't want their pity or any smirks or funny looks. (Y/n) had dealt with enough pity over the years and people who tried to tell her she couldn't do this kind of job with her epilepsy.
With a curt nod of his head, Robby motioned for her to switch sides now that Whitaker was beside her.
"Come round here and take over suction for me." The understanding in his voice made (Y/n) want to cry.
Robby wouldn't make a scene, that was never his thing and he wouldn't ever want to embarrass or upset her. It had been a brief blip, just a little absent moment and as long as (Y/n) was alright and could get back into focus, Robby wouldn't send her out of the room. She was with them, she wasn't going to be a liability.
It took them half an hour to get the patient stable, all the bleeding under control, a transfusion in place and the woman sent up to the OR for the finishing touches she needed that they couldn't do down here.
(Y/n) looked down at her gown and gloves, all splashed with blood like she had been decorating a bedroom the shade of Ladysmith apples.
The headache that had plagued her all morning was still rolling through her mind and pounding at her temples, but it didn't feel as violent as it had done earlier. It must have been an indicator of the seizure, letting her know one was about to roll in like a storm.
Shedding the gown and gloves in the bin, (Y/n) tossed her goggles in the bucket beside the door and slowly left the trauma room behind. Her feet felt sluggish, legs barely able to lift them off the floor with each hollow step she took, but at least she wasn't trembling or being sick or so disorientated she had to go and lie down.
A hand fell on her shoulder when she was in the hall and she tensed, turning to look to her left in time to see Robby now standing at her side.
He had that tender look on his face, that warmth in his smile and a knowing look in his eye that told her not to bother lying to his next question.
"Are you good?"
"Yeah, yeah I've just had a headache today, that's probably why." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to touch her temple as if to prove her point, but she dropped her hand when it made her temple throb.
It felt like hours passed between them while Robby narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down, silently giving her an assessment. If her speech was slurred, if she couldn't stand upright or focus or make a coherent sentence then he would have sent her straight home. But (Y/n) snapped out of that seizure within moments. She got right back into the chaos without a grumble or a single complaint.
"Okay, well maybe try and keep King or Whitaker around you, in case you have any more. Don't want a patient getting confused if you freeze up."
The way he worded it was kind, understanding, more friendly than anyone else would have said, but (Y/n) knew Robby wasn't asking. He was telling. That was an order if she wanted to stay on shift today.
They couldn't have (Y/n) treating a patient alone and then suffering a seizure out of the blue. If she froze like that or if she started to shake or twitch or go into a full clonic seizure it would cause panic and complications not just for the patient but for (Y/n) too.
She needed another doctor or resident around her, someone who could take over if she froze up and be there to help just on the off chance this happened again. (Y/n) and Robby both knew that this might not be an isolated incident, she could be prone to more seizure activity today.
"Yeah, sure."
(Y/n) was used to feeling like she was being babysat. When she was at school and college, when she was taking her exams or doing her studies or doing her internships. She would have to tell people she was epileptic, she had teachers and mentors watching her closely, observing over her shoulder, checking in with her.
She'd been partnered up with other residents when she suffered little seizures or when she informed them she felt prone to a seizure like one was on the horizon.
It wasn't something (Y/n) felt bad or ashamed about, as long as no one started to make jokes or pry about it, then she coule cope just fine with being partnered up with someone for the remainder of her shift.
***
The quiet drumming of her nails against the apple to her left was starting to make her fingertips go numb, but (Y/n) didn't bother to stop. The rhythmic sound and feeling was soothing, and it helped to keep her mind focused on the notes in front of her rather than the headache that hadn't left her alone.
Both Robby and Whitaker had checked in with her every time they passed, making sure she felt okay. She didn't tell Robby her persistent headache still hadn't relented yet. Jack was on shift today and she didn't want Robby telling him and making her husband worry unnecessarily. She would tell them if she needed to.
She was sure she was about to puncture a hole into the apple she hadn't bothered to eat yet despite having a good few minutes spare, but she didn't feel like it. It had taken (Y/n) a good ten minutes to force herself to eat the pasta she and Jack had both packed for their lunches today, when usually she didn't need any persuading or coaching to have whatever meal she could scrounge up when she was on shift.
Closing her eyes, (Y/n) lifted her hand and cupped her throbbing temple, the pen still clasped between her fingers. She leant back in her chair and tried to take a few deep breaths to clear her mind. Maybe another drink would make her feel better.
"Hey, can you give me a hand with the patient in room two? She's been really vague about her accident, I think something's going on."
Opening her eyes, (Y/n) turned to look over her left shoulder and locked gazes with Santos.
The pair of them got along well enough, though her constant joking and abrasive attitude did grate on (Y/n)'s nerves from time to time. Santos was abrupt and forceful and did things without thinking or asking.
At least she was asking for help and for a second opinion right now, she wasn't bustling ahead with ideas and jumping to the worst case scenario.
(Y/n) tried to force a smile onto her lips, but she couldn't quite manage it. Her hand stayed massaging her temple as she nodded. A break from all the words on the charts in front of her might make her feel better and give her something different to focus on.
"Yeah, you th- you think s… she…"
The words wouldn't come out. They caught on (Y/n)'s tongue like they were trying to scramble back into her mind.
Her slow speech eventually trailed off, words left unsaid as her head lolled to the side and her hand dropped from her head, bashing down against the counter of the nurse's station in front of her.
A frown morphed across Trinity's lips and she cocked her head to one side as she looked down at (Y/n) sitting before her.
After a quick deduction, the dilated pupils, hanging jaw, slow breathing and the motion of (Y/n)'s head giving little jerks and twitches, she guessed it was a seizure. Trinity hadn't had the luck of seeing (Y/n) have one at work, she'd only heard the others when they asked (Y/n) how she was feeling or the gossip if she froze up or collapsed at such inappropriate times.
"Okay, maybe not."
With a shrug, she moved to lean against the desk, elbows digging down into the counter as she arched her lower back out. Her eyes kept drifting back to (Y/n) in between looking through the charts (Y/n) had previously been working over.
Though she did raise a brow when she felt someone brush past her, their aim clearly for (Y/n).
"Everything okay?" Mel gave Trinity one glance before she crouched beside (Y/n), being as tender and gentle as possible when she reached out to hold (Y/n)'s wrist to check her pulse. She could hear her mellow breaths that seemed to crackle ever so faintly like there was static in her lungs.
"Twitch over here is just having a moment." A slanted smile graced Trinity's lips as she nodded. It was nothing to worry about.
"Who the Hell is twitch?"
The hairs on the back of Trinity's neck stood on end and her frame bristled when that voice rung out through the air.
There was no humour in that voice, but no malice either as if she were being scolded for the nickname. But she knew she would within seconds when that person realised who she was talking about.
Both Trinity and Mel turned at the sound of Jack's voice, finding the other attending stood against the other counter behind them. His eyes were focused on the Ipad in his hands but after a moment of silence where he didn't get an answer, Jack looked across at them.
Being on the night shift so often meant he missed out on the day time gossip that he had to hear second hand from (Y/n) or Robby or when he had a catch up with Dana. The odd occasions when he did days meant he had to catch up on the little inside jokes that flitted about here. Although in Jack's opinion, they had much more fun on the day shifts.
But when Jack realised who was sitting rather silently in the desk chair, with her head ticking to one side and Mel crouched beside her, his skin bristled. He set down the Ipad and moved to stand beside them, his tense arm nudging against Trinity until she took a step back, unnerved by his hardened expression.
"Find a new nickname for my wife."
Despite usually having a comeback remark for just about anything, for once Trinity stayed silent, unable to lift her gaze from her feet at the crude tone to Jack's voice. She wouldn't be using that nickname anymore, whether Jack was on shift with them or not.
Mel quietly backed up. She might not be in on all the inside jokes and gossips around the Pitt, but she knew that Jack was (Y/n)'s husband, so she knew if he was here right now, she wasn't needed to watch over (Y/n).
His knee cracked as he crouched beside (Y/n), one hand on her thigh while the other reached up to cup her chin. His fingers danced around the feel the flutter of her pulse while he listened to her breathing that was shallow but starting to pick up.
It didn't take long before Jack was watching her pupils constrict and those beautiful irises came back into view.
"Hi," (Y/n) breathed, slightly stunned that her husband had appeared at her side, seemingly out of nowhere. At least to her.
"Hey, you back with me? Feeling nauseous?"
The feeling of his thumb stroking along the inside of her thigh was comforting and (Y/n) tried to focus on the soothing touch. She tilted her head back up straight, feeling the strain in her neck from whatever movement she had been doing during another absent seizure. Her second one of the day, how lovely.
She tried not to pull back or wince when Jack retrieved the pen light from his pocket and shone it across her eyes, checking they were constricting properly and going back to normal.
"Just a headache… sorry." Her words were a bit slower than usual, as if her tongue felt foreign in her mouth, but she was okay. She felt alright and Jack could see she had snapped out of it quickly. Not like the dozens of times he had held her after a seizure and seen her disorientated or frightened and confused or simply tired and unable to stay awake.
"Maybe you should go on a break, that's the second one you've had this morning."
Jack's brow raised and he glanced over at Mel, her words coming as a surprise to him. Why had no one told him that news? Why hadn't he known before now that his wife had already had a seizure today? This was important information that he should be kept up to date on.
When (Y/n) tried to loll her head down and look away, she found Jack's fingers curling around her chin, gently but firmly tilting her head back up so their eyes were level again. He was assessing her, looking for any anomaly or sign that she needed to go on a break or in fact go home.
"One more and you go home. Now go take a break."
There was no room for debate in Jack's voice and (Y/n) was nodding against his hand before she knew what she was doing.
She tried to hold back a sigh because she knew he was right, if she had another she couldn't stay on shift she would have to go home and rest. Three in one day was a lot of activity and it would start to take a toll on her.
Her lips curved into a smile when Jack leant against her knees and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, letting his hand linger beneath her chin and his other hand gave her thigh a squeeze before he got up. He had to get back to his patient, but he would be keeping a closer eye on his wife now.
With a mellow sigh, (Y/n) pushed up from her chair and tested her legs out, aiming for the break room. Perhaps a drink would make her feel better.
***
Trauma two seemed like a good place to be. For the last two and a half hours, (Y/n) had been drifting around the ER with Mel, going from triage to trauma, then back out to deal with a few minor patients that could be in and out within half an hour.
When a new trauma rolled through the doors, (Y/n) thought it would be a good idea to go along and help out.
Not only were Mateo and Javadi helping out on this one too, but Jack of all people had waltzed through the doors to take charge.
This way, (Y/n) wasn't doing anything on her own, she wasn't at risk if she had another seizure, no patients would be confused or at risk. And she could still do something to help out her colleagues and make herself useful.
With the patient's airways now clear, (Y/n) reached out for the clear plastic mask attached to the airbag. Once it was situated over the man's nose and mouth, (Y/n) began squeezing the bag in time with her own breaths. It wouldn't be wise to put him on a ventilator yet, they needed to see how his airways reacted once the pressure was off them and the bleeding was stemmed.
If he could breathe on his own after the strain was gone, then there would be no need for a ventilator. But while he was currently choking on blood and struggling to take a breath on his own, the manual breaths were necessary.
The chaos in the room was all second nature to each of them, but the longer it curdled in the air, the more (Y/n) realised she couldn't make sense of much of it anymore.
The voices all seemed to be mingling together. The air was thicker, like she too was struggling to catch a proper breath, like their patient. Her mind, still shrouded with a thumping headache that had persisted all day, now felt horrid like there was a thunderstorm raging behind her eyes and overtaking every single nerve within her body.
It was with a harrowing realisation that (Y/n) found that along with her focus that she struggled to contain, she was also finding it harder and harder to keep squeezing the air bag in her hands.
Her hands were tense, her fingers were starting to cramp and lock and her arms were subtly beginning to tremble.
Her eyes might have stayed in focus, unlike every other part of her body and senses, but she wasn't truly seeing very much. Her eyes were staring at a fixed point on the patient's shoulder, but her mind was already drifting as if she was about to turn into standby mode.
"S- switch."
Jack's head snapped up the moment (Y/n)'s wavering voice caught his attention, and he saw it on her face. The worry, the uncertainty, the faraway look in her eyes that were struggling to stay open.
She was about to go into a seizure. Jack's own hands tensed, blood dripping over his gloves and up to the sleeves of his gown as he fought to divide his attention between the patient and his wife.
"Mateo take over breaths; Perlah go next door and get Robby in here now."
Jack wasn't messing around and he wasn't going to turn a blind eye to this. He knew now that (Y/n) had already suffered two seizures today and she was about to go in for a third, he wasn't letting her stay at work any longer. He was going to sit with her through this seizure and then make sure she went home.
He needed Robby to come in and take over the trauma in here, then Jack's full attention could be on his wife.
Moving his hand to (Y/n)'s shoulder, Mateo gently weaved around her and stood at her side. He waited to see if she would move her arms towards him, but she was trembling so much she was barely squeezing the bag anymore. So he carefully took the air bag from her hands and began to give the breaths instead.
It was a relief that (Y/n) managed to take a few steps back so she wasn't crowding round the trauma bed. She didn't need to be up close with the patient if she couldn't help, especially if she was going to go into a seizure.
When Jack glanced up again, he was relieved (Y/n) was stood near the glass pannel wall that separated the larger rooms they used for trauma. The blinds were closed, keeping privacy in tact for the patients, and (Y/n)'s right shoulder brushed against the blinds as she managed to get herself out the way before it happened.
That distant look in her eyes that were barely staying open this time. The way her breaths became heightened and shallow like someone was constantly pushing down on her abdomen, not letting her take in a proper breath. how she became so still except for the way she wavered back and forth almost inperceptively. She was seizing.
Jack's attention snapped back down to the patient when the door behind him slid open and approaching footsteps snagged his attention.
Robby's hand briefly touched Jack's shoulder as he leant forward, trying to find out what was going on in here to need both attendings. "What have we got?"
"Two GSW to the abdomen, take over from me I've got most of the bleeding clamped off."
Just before a frown took over Robby's face and he was about to ask why Jack was stepping back, he happened to lift his head. He clocked sight of (Y/n) stood in the corner, looking much the same as she had done this morning when she had her first seizure.
"Sure."
The two attendings took care to try and switch places, so Robby could reach into the incision and press down where Jack had been applying pressure whilst Mel helped cut off the bleed and find the bullet.
As they traded places, Jack lifted his head to look ahead at (Y/n), wanting to make sure she was alright and see whether she was about to come out of the seizure or if it would last a bit longer than earlier.
But as he looked her up and down, his heart surged into his throat and his voice dropped an octave.
"She's gonna drop!"
No sooner had Robby taken his place than Jack stepped back, yanking off his gown and gloves that were drenched in blood and oil and gunshot residue from the patient's clothing.
He jerked forward and reached out just as (Y/n)'s body became unstable and started to wilt forward as she succumbed to jerks and trembles. She was going from an absent seizure into a clonic one.
Her head bashed into Jack's shoulder, arms flailing in between them as he held her against his chest, one arm around her waist while his right hand came up to cradle the back of her neck. Jack wasted no time in lowering them both down to the floor, he knew he couldn't stand here and try to hold her while she writhed and seized. She needed to be safe and on the ground.
(Y/n)'s body flailed over Jack's knees, her chest digging into his thighs in a manner that would undoubtedly have been uncomfy if (Y/n) were alert enough to sense and feel it. His hand slid around from her neck to cradle her temple so she didn't bash her head against the floor, but Jack could hear her breathing becoming ragged as she started to froff at the mouth.
"Who's next door?" His voice was low but his words were loud, crashing around the room like the waves hitting the shore as he pointed at the room next to him.
"I think Langdon's got an unresponsive kid in there, stable."
That was all Jack needed to hear.
With a nod of his head, he fumbled to try and lean forwards, creasing his abdomen over (Y/n)'s frame so he could reach out for the sliding door hidden against the blinds. With one rough swing, he slid the door open that connected the two rooms.
When Javadi turned away from the trauma patient and looked as if she was about to try and help Jack, one sharp look was all it took for her to freeze to the spot. He didn't want her help, nor did he need it. (Y/n) was his concern, his priority and he could take care of her just fine.
Jack slid his arms beneath (Y/n)'s jerking, writhing frame before he started to shuffle backwards.
He knew he must look a sight, the toes of his boots scraping against the floor, his muscles straining as he dragged his wife along with him like they had both been caught up in a brawl or as if he were attacking her.
Once he was over the threshold, he slid the door shut again and when he looked over his shoulder, he found Langdon and Mel staring at him with bewildered expressions and confusion pooling within their eyes.
"Uh, Abbot what are you-"
"She's seizing and I can't have her in trauma where she'll get hurt. Needed a nearby space."
Staying in the trauma room wasn't an option. Jack couldn't have kept (Y/n) in there, writhing and spasming in such a contained space like that. She would have been too close to equipment, to other colleagues who would have had to step around her and Jack and try not to bump into them.
People could, have tripped over her. (Y/n) could have hurt herself if she flailed near equipment or knocked it over. Jack wouldn't have her gaining any other injuries or having everyone staring at her or trying to get involved.
At least in here, this room was contained. It was only Langdon and Mel in here, treating a child who's parents clearly weren't in here at the moment. The child was unresponsive, they wouldn't see (Y/n) having this seizure and become afraid or cry or cause a scene. There was enough space in here for Jack to stay knelt on the floor with (Y/n) where she wasn't at risk of getting hurt or knocking into anything.
"Right…" A blank expression overtook Langdon's features and with a tip of his head, he nodded at Mel to go and help. He could spare her for a few minutes to give Jack a hand.
After pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Mel crouched down in front of Jack. She locked eyes with the attending, silently waiting for an indication that he would be okay with her helping out because she didn't want to overstep any boundaries or cause issues.
The small nod of Jack's head was all Mel needed to inch forward. She slid one hand beneath (Y/n)'s neck, cautiously cradling her head with her other hand on (Y/n)'s back. When Jack moved his grip down to (Y/n)'s waist and thigh, they both eased her off his lap and onto her side on the floor.
This was the safest position to keep her in, where she was okay to have her limbs jerking, spasming and tensing like this without hurting herself or anyone else. And her breathing had gone shallow as spit started to foam at her mouth, they didn't want her choking or throwing up and inhaling anything into her lungs.
As soon as she was laid on her side, Jack cupped his hand against the back of her neck, taking Mel's place so (Y/n)'s head was tilted forward and his other hand curled softly around her hip. He didn't want to cling tightly to her or put any weight on her and cause any further damage, he just wanted to keep her steady and safe.
He watched Mel intently as she curved her chest over her knees so she could peer down at (Y/n), gently parting her lips just to make sure she wasn't biting down on her tongue or choking and to see that she was breathing alright. She felt her pulse, making sure it was stable along with the shallow breaths she was taking.
"Breathing and pulse are good- oh, okay." Mel reached down to grab onto (Y/n)'s forearms when one arm jerked and recoiled towards her chest, causing her hand to smack straight into her own neck.
As carefully as she could, Mel tried to pull (Y/n)'s arms down a little so they were stretched out in front of her. They didn't want her gaining any bruises or tender spots if she hurt herself during the seizure.
"There we go, come back to me baby." Jack mused softly, curving his hand over her neck so he could scrape some of her fallen hair away from her face and tuck it back behind her ear.
Her movements were less severe now, less violent and tense, though the shaking was still surging through her limbs.
They waited patiently, another minute rolling by while (Y/n)'s limbs finally began to mellow from their rapid movements. Jack knew she was going to have bruises littering her arms and probably a few on her chest tomorrow, but they wouldn't be severe. It wouldn't be as bad as it would have been if she hadn't of had any forewarning about the seizure. If she had fallen into any equipment or went straight down to the floor with a bang.
The shaking continued to roll through (Y/n)'s limbs like lasting shockwaves that were trying to evict themselves from her system. Her arms were shuddering against the floor and her shoes were lightly tapping against the gleaming tiled floor like she was becoming impatient for something.
A cough mixed with a groan spluttered past (Y/n)'s lips when Mel's pen light shone across her eyes and made her head jerk back with a wince. Her breathing differed when Mel's hand pressed gently to her neck, feeling her pulse to triple check she was alright and not in need of any meds to mellow out her system. Though they would have to check her blood pressure once she had settled down as that might be rather high after a seizure like that.
Mel seemed satisfied that (Y/n) was okay, so she rose to her feet and made her way back over to Langdon who had a stoic, calm expression on his face. It was clear he had only snook a few glances to the floor since Jack had shuffled into the room with (Y/n) on his lap. Langdon didn't want to intrude or stand around and stare, he knew it wasn't nice to get blatent looks and staring, nosey colleagues.
Now that (Y/n) was stable, Jack shuffled back a pace and smothered a groan as he shifted his legs around.
Kneeling down on the floor wasn't the easiest on his right leg, it made his knee ache horribly and caused his prosthetic to grind and itch at his leg. He moved so he was sitting down on the floor, both legs stretched out in front of him which felt a lot easier on him.
Once he was settled, he reached forwards and ever so carefully eased (Y/n) back towards him.
"Come here," he murmured as he eased her back up against his chest, letting her head lull back against his sternum while he curved his arms around her frame and attached his lips to her temple.
"Are you with me?"
At first, he gained a grumble, a vibration that he felt rocket through (Y/n)'s chest and shoot straight into his own. Then her head moved, nudging her cheek agains his scrubs as another whine left her lips and her violently shaking arms tried to coil up towards her chest.
"Jack, m… my head, hurts…"
"I'll fix that, baby." His lips pressed to her cheek, breathing in her scent as he tried to calm down his raging heart.
Once she was a bit more lucid and feeling more like herself, Jack would get either Mel or Robby to go get (Y/n)'s bag from her locker where her medication was. She could have that and then they could get her something from the pharmacy to try and settle her brain activity and hopefully prevent another flare of seizures.
"I'm gonna take you home soon." As soon as (Y/n) was lucid enough to go and had been checked out, Jack was going to get her back home where she would be safe and comfortable and could rest.
jack abbot x nurse reader, word count: 2.7k
miscommunication, hurt/comfort, tiny bit of angst
It was no strings attached. It was off the books. It was casual.
It started with flirty comments in passing—when the shift got long and the nights grew suffocating it was a relief. Then the one off comments started to become everyday occurrences.
Then came some light touches when nobody was watching. Until finally he just walked up to you and decided enough was enough.
"Dinner at mine next week and before you say no, I already know you have off so you can't use that as an excuse."
You continued to stare down at the computer in front of you before finally caving and looking up at him. "What's in it for me?"
"Dinner," he said with a shrug as he picked up a tablet and headed towards his next case. "Dessert too."
Dessert seemed to be the main attraction and after you had your first meal you kept coming back for seconds. And you knew that it was messy to get involved with a coworker but none of that crossed you mind while he was pining you to his bed. You didn't even think about it as you did a walk of shame back to your place that night. Your actions only processed in your mind as he came up behind you at the nurses station and his hand slide across your lower back.
It was then that you realized that you fucked your superior. And based on the way your stomach tightened every time he even looked your way you knew that there was no going back. Unless going back meant going back to his place because you did that nearly every week.
The rest of the staff wasn't blind to the musing of their widower attending and their work obsessed charge nurse though. They noticed how he'd linger by the nurses station or how he began coming in with two cups of coffee. And they definitely noticed when you started coming to work at the same time.
You tried to play it off.
"My car is in the shop."
"I owed him coffee."
"My place is on the way and we have the same shift."
You couldn't lie for shit and everyone made sure to remind you of that. But after a few months the novelty of you two hooking up had passed and nobody batted an eye at the way his hand always guided you towards his car at the end of your shift. But just because it was something everyone knew about didn't mean you had any idea what exactly you were doing.
You were sleeping in each others beds. Your belongings had made their way into his apartment. He even had a designated spot in your dresser.
There were no labels because it was supposed to be easy. You guys were just having fun but sometimes it's hard to have fun when your mind keeps asking questions. You couldn't exactly ask Jack what you were without rocking the boat so for months you went with the flow. You picked up when he called, you went out for drinks when he suggested, and you stayed the night when he told you to. You were agreeable.
The only thing wrong with being agreeable is that sometimes you can get walked all over. And when you entered central 8 only to see him shirtless with Samira next to him you figured that was exactly what was happening.
"What are you doing here?" Samira asked, smile on her face. "I thought you had off."
She was right. It was your first real day off in weeks and if you were called for any other reason you would have sent the call to voicemail. You were supposed to be taking it easy, kicking up your feet, maybe drinking a glass of wine. Instead, you were at your place of employment with hair covered by a baseball cap and random pieces of clothing tossed on.
"You're looking at the reason," you said motioning to Jack. "I got a call from Dana telling me he was in a shooting."
A pin could've dropped against the tiled floors and everyone would have heard it. Nobody ever confirmed that there was something going on between you two. Up until then it was all hearsay but you just made it clear as day that, regardless of what, there was something going on between you and Jack Abbot. And it whatever it was, was enough to make you speed over to the hospital in fear.
Samira was quick to step back after cleaning up his wound before offering you a more comforting look. She might have been on the day shift but she knew that, label or no label, you belonged to Jack. You just couldn't quite tell if he belonged to you.
"I'll leave you to it," she muttered before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
You continued to stare at him, secretly inspecting his body for any other injuries. Him being a SWAT medic wasn't new. He had been volunteering with them for months, hopping on to calls whenever necessary. You had asked him if he thought there was any risk involved but he shook his head, saying that bad things could happen anywhere. You just really didn't like the idea of bad things happening to him.
“Dana shouldn’t have called you."
You weren't sure what you expect him to say but it wasn't that. You figured maybe an 'im okay' would be the first thing out of his mouth but instead you got attitude.
You shoved your hands into your pockets to keep from getting worked up and talking with them. It was a habit you were trying to break but as your feelings began to bubble up you couldn't help but motion around in frustration. “I’m sorry. You get shot and I’m supposed to not bat an eye?"
He rolled his eyes and he lifted his shirt. “She shouldn’t have called you because—," he paused, his sentance lingering between you both.
“Because we’re not together," you said, filling in the gap. “Right, well next time the guy I’m fucking gets shot at I’ll keep that in mind.”
“That’s not what I said."
He was eerily calm and that only made you angrier. It was like he was throwing water on an oil fire.
"No but you meant it." You looked up for a moment, trying to push your frustrated tears back into your eyes. "I'll go get Samira and we can forget that I came down here in the middle of my nap on my day off for your ungrateful ass."
You didn't bother sticking around to hear him explain his actions or defend himself. You were sleep deprived, emotional, and short on forgiveness.
"Is he all right?" Dana asked as you stormed past the nurses station.
"Oh he's just dandy." You rolled your lips together as you chose your next words carefully. "Next time he turns into a patient please remind everyone that we are not dating and that I do not wish to be informed."
Your words carried and caught the attention of a few coworkers, mainly the interns and residents that were addicted to whatever gossip hit their ears. You couldn't even blame them. You served them up a delicious plate of drama that not only involved an attending but also a charge nurse.
You were a grown woman. You did casual hookups for years, none of which ever felt how your situation with Jack felt. You never felt like lines were blurred and if they ever became blurred you called it quits. With Jack, you simply just let every single line become invisible.
Oh you want me to stay over? Sure.
You want me to be your date to that fundraiser? Of course.
You want to take care of me when the flu knocks me on my ass? The keys under the mat.
All of that for him to throw it in your face that you two were nothing. You were someone who didn't deserve a call after he was injured. You were someone he didn't want around after he was hurt.
But Samira was. And the worst part about that was that she was incredibly likable. You couldn't find it in you to hate her even when every bone in your body told you to despise her for being someone he allowed to help him. You couldn't even really find it in you to be mad at him. That was a lie. You were furious at him, but you were more so just mad at yourself for allowing boundaries to be crossed and for letting yourself get taken advantage of.
And for hooking up with your coworker.
How could you have been so dumb. That was rule number one. Don't fuck your boss. And what did you do? You fucked your boss. Repeatedly.
You thought about how to approach your future shifts, but nothing was ideal. You just had to go in and do what you did best which was run the ER. That approach worked on your first day back since he was off, but when he returned it was awkward. You stayed out of his way and when you spoke, you kept your eyes anywhere but his.
Eventually he cracked. "We can't keep doing this."
"There's an incoming trauma that needs your attention Dr. Abbot," you said, holding the landline to your ear. "Male, teens, degloving after riding an ATV."
He clapped his hand down on the counter. "We're gonna talk about this."
"We're not dating and we're no longer hooking up, so were done," you said, finally ditching your previous approach of faking formality. "Jack there's nothing to talk about."
He shook his head. "Well we can't keep working like this."
"Agreed."
The night shift was your baby. You worked your way up to your position over ten years and you cherished it. But you cherished your sanity more and so you decided to switch to a few day shifts. It started as a refresh from the tension but then it became a way to avoid seeing Jack.
Days were different and your body struggled to make the adjustment but it was Jack who took the shift change the hardest. He was used to you. He knew how you organized rooms, how you oversaw residents and patient discharges. He was used to you.
It was bad enough that his pre-shift routine was sullied by the fact that he no longer rode to work with you beside him, but now he had a charge nurse who didn't speak his language or understand his neurosis.
"Dana we gotta get her back on nights," he begged as he stood at a high top table at the nearby bar. "They're going to shit without her."
She clicked her tongue. "Uh, uh, I don't get involved in domestic disputes."
"Dana."
"Whatever you said to her that day was enough to make little miss sunshine snap so I think you're the only person who can solve that problem."
"I didn't say anything," he argued. "She assumed what I was going to say."
Dana tipped her bottle towards him. "Well she's a smart girl, so I'm guessing she assumed right."
He wanted to argue but he couldn't because while he didn't say that you guys weren't together he did nothing to say you were. He could have tried and blamed it on heightened emotions or adrenaline but even if that made up for his actions in the moment, he didn't chase after you or call or text. He let you sit in sadness for far too long.
So even if you returned to the night shift things were never going to return to the way they were. You no longer looked at him the same way. You now looked at him the way that you looked at your exes.
"When are you coming back?" Parker asked you as you stood next to the lockers. "The shifts ass without you."
"The shift would be worse with me and Jack in a mexican standoff over our quasi-relationship."
"It's been a month. Can't you two kiss and make up?"
"I made a bad judgement call when I mixed my personal life with my professional life and this is the best solution for everyone."
"But its not." She reached her arm towards your locker and blocked your path. "We're swamped and we need you back steering the ship."
You sighed. "If I come back things aren't gonna be the same."
"The same for me or for Abbot?"
"I didn't leave my shift for him," you said while sliding past her. "I left it for me and if I return it'll be out of pity for all of you sad, sad attendings and residents who can't function without me."
When you returned to the night shift it was most certainly out of pity. You couldn't take the begging and you hated having to rationalize your actions to others when they always knew you were lying. They knew you left nights to avoid Jack even if you said it was because of your desire to stop being nocturnal.
"It's good to have you back," Shen smiled as he passed by you. "Wasn't the same without you."
"It's good to be back."
It wasn't a complete lie. You loved working nights. You were used to the midnight crazies and the way things got eerily quiet right before a trauma came in. Most of all you were used to being in charge.
"You're here."
You didn't need to turn away from the board to know who was behind you. "In the flesh."
You kept every interaction short. No more than a sentence was spoken at a time and if you caught yourself wanting to tell him more you just shoved your face down into your work.
"It was good having you back. We missed you," he said as you packed up your stuff for the day. With Dana already at the desk you were ready to leave. You just had to have one last awkward conversation.
"So I heard," you joked as you tossed your bag over your shoulder and started to make your way towards the doors to the ambulance bay.
"I know this isn't the time, but this isn't right. This isn't how we work."
You turned around, finally coming face to face with him once you were both outside and away from prying eyes. "Jack, I got a little too comfortable playing house and I forgot that you were my coworker and I can't do that again, so actually this is right."
He shook his head. "No, you didn't do anything wrong."
"If I'm not mistaken you made it clear that I was wrong when I showed up to check on you that day."
"I wasn't upset that you were there to check on me. I was upset that I was being looked at like a patient."
He took a step closer to you and it took everything in you to not take a step back.
"The last time someone walked into my room after I was injured it was my wife and I was down a leg," he admitted. "Seeing you storm in like that was a blast from the past and it had nothing to do with you."
You had known Jack for nearly three years. When you first started working you took notice of the ring but then a year past and it disappeared from his hand. You never questioned it or pried into his life but you knew his past and you knew it well enough to feel like you received a kick to the gut when you finally processed what he was saying.
"And Samira being there was okay?" you asked as you tried to deflect from the embarrassment of being wrong.
"Yeah," he said, "because I don't love Samira."
"You can't say stuff like that."
"Why not?"
"Because we're not together," you said, fumbling with your words. You were fresh off a long shift and your mind was running a million miles a minute.
Jack's hands reached fo your waist, urging you to come closer.
"We were just having some casual fling," you added as you tried to wrap your head around what was happening.
His laughter caught you off guard but his smile made your feet feel like bricks, keeping you in place. Of course he had loved you. He knew you more than anyone else. He knew that you needed the AC blasting in the car and how you couldn't stand horror movies. He knew you took your coffee in whatever form it came in and he knew you well enough to know that you weren't gonna believe his words the first time around.
"Let me be extra clear, " he said, his mouth inches from yours, "there is nothing casual about how I feel about you."
Summary: No one knows at the Pitt that Jack is married. They finally get to meet her...when she walks in as a patient. She cut her finger needing stitches. Jack can handle blood and chaos what he cannot handle is his wife on an ER bed.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Female!Reader
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Descriptions of blood, needles, and Guillotine Cutter.
Jack Abbot wore his wedding ring on a chain beneath his shirt.
Not because you were a secret. Never that. If he wanted to, he would proudly declare that he somehow managed to marry a young, beautiful, sharp-tongued second grade teacher with the softest heart he’d ever known.
But he liked to separate his work life with his private one.
The hospital was known for bright fluorescent lights, blood, and grief. Which he carried all in silence. When he stepped foot into your guys home, saw the dinner you prepared for him, your slippers by the couch, and the fridge covered with drawings made by your students he felt weight leave his shoulders.
He didn’t want those worlds colliding. So you never met his coworkers. You wanted to of course you did but you respected that he moved at his own pace. Especially when he worked at an ER.
He never told you details about the shifts he worked, just the surface things.
“Someone passed away.”
“A kid broke his arm when he fell off the bike.”
“Drunk patient."
You never pushed details out of him. You saw the way his jaw would tighten when he didn’t want to talk about it.
You were preparing for the next day's assignment for your students at home, when you sliced the tip of your pointer finger on your left hand with a guillotine cutter. You had been rushing, trimming laminated worksheets, when the blade came down wrong. You didn’t register it right away. Not until you saw the blood. A lot of it. You reacted faster now grabbing a hand towel and wrapping it around your finger.
Jack had warned you about that damn cutter before.
You ordered an uber instead of driving yourself. You wish Jack was here to help but he was volunteering for the SWAT as a medical personal. You believed the last thing he needed was you panicking him mid-shift over something you thought was small.
You pressed your injured finger to your chest as the car pulled up to The Pitt. You walked through the metal detector and stood in line to talk to the front desk lady. You could ask for him and skip the wait. But as you looked around you could tell there were people here who needed treatment more than you did.
When you finally reached the desk, the woman behind the glass glanced up. Her name tag read Lupe Perez.
“Hi–” you started. Then you were shoved hard from behind. A tall man stormed forward, yelling to Lupe about wait times and incompetence.
“Hey! Don’t you see everyone else is waiting? They’re busy. Sit down and wait your turn instead of causing a scene.” Your teacher's voice came out without noticing. The man looked down at you eyes wide with anger but you stood your ground then, unbelievably, he backed off.
Lupe smirked and then looked up at you smiling. “Thank you, sweetie. Name?”
“Y/N Abbot.”
You watched as her fingers paused over the keyboard at your last name. She then brushed it off, she's met thousands of people. Could just be a last name.
“What brings you in?”
You lifted your left hand that was still wrapped in the bloody towel. “Guillptine cutter. It’s..not cute.”
“Alright, here is a packet you will give to them. I will call your name when ready.” She explained handing you the packet.
“Thank you.” You smile softly then take the packet with your good hand. You looked around and saw a seat in the corner. You sat down and waited to be called. You thought about what Jack was doing.
Three hours later, you were a little sleepy and your hand was aching from constant pressure.When your name was finally called, you stood up stretching your legs. A nurse met you at the entrance of the double doors, he swiped his card and led you inside.
That's when you saw the chaos. Nurses and doctors running around everywhere. You saw white boards set up all over the floor.
“Dana, are there any rooms available?” The young nurse asked, a blonde woman holding a clipboard looked up.
“Room 5!” She points in the direction, the nurse nods his head and walks you to the room.
You were ushered inside.
“Is it always like this?” You asked softly. The nurse starts taking your vitals.
“No…our uh systems are down.”He said softly then a doctor walked in.
“Hi,” She took your packet and read through it. “I’m Dr. Santos…Y/N Abbot huh..any chance you’re related to Jack Abbot-” Dr. Santos smirked softly; she couldn’t help but joke around.
The curtain snapped open again.
“You called,”His eyes met yours immediately. He froze, all color from his face drained.
“Y/N?! What are you doing here-what happened!?” He quickly walked towards you, eyes dropping to the bloody towel.
Dr. Santos looked between the two of you, a grin already forming.
“So..how do you two know each other?” Dr. Santos said with a smirk on her face, enjoying this far too much.
“She’s my wife.” He said softly his focus still on you.
Santos' mouth fell open then she turned and bolted out of the room like she’d just been handed the gossip of the century. The nurse followed her out not long after when he finished with your vitals.
You winced slightly as Jack gently took your hand.
“How did this happen?” He asked as he started to carefully unwrap the towel, it looked like he was mentally preparing himself.
“I was cutting some assignments using the guillotine cutter-” You admitted.”What are you doing here, I thought you were with the swat team-”
“I told you to wait for me when you use that thing,” He muttered, worrying through slight frustration. “Someone got hurt and we brought him here..” You frowned softly and placed your good hand on top of his to calm him.
“Jack.” Your voice is steady and grounding. “ I'm okay, I promise.”
“I know, but seeing you hurt in the ER I can't–I don’t like it.” He said softly, you watched as his shoulders slumped seeing your bloody pointer finger.
“See not that bad!” You said your tone positive, trying to ease the mood.
“You’re going to need stitches.”
“Good thing I married a talented Doctor.” You said. That finally earned you a faint smile. He looked at you and let out a deep breath. He then kissed your forehead standing up.
“Stay here, I'm going to get the supplies” He kissed your good hand and you watched him turn to leave.
The moment he stepped out, the curtain flew open again.
“There she is! Jack Abbot’s young hot wife!” Dr. Santos announced far too loudly. Behind her was Dana and two other doctors. You read their name tags, Rabby Robinavitch and Dennis Whitaker.
You straightened automatically, a little embarrassed. “Hi.”
“Well I'll be damned.” Dana said, smirking. “So you’re Jack's wife.”
“Right! I didn’t even know he dated.” Trinity whispered to Dana.
“Nice to meet you Y/N.” Robby, the tall one with the beard said, he gave you a small smile. Jack has told you about him.
“It’s really nice to meet you all. I’d shake hands, but uhm..” You lifted your injured finger. Your wedding ring glinting under the lights.
“And how did that happen?” Robby asked.
“Oh It was a huge paper cutter, I was prepping worksheets.” You said softly lowering your hand a bit embarrassed. They looked curious so you explained why. “Oh I’m a second grade teacher.”
“Of course he would bag an elementary school teacher.” Trinity said, grinning softly.
The curtain opened again. Jack stepped in and scooted past the audience with a tray of supplies. He took in the scene in one glance.
“Is there a consult I missed, or are you all just interviewing my wife?” Jack said evenly. He set the tray on the small table next to your hospital bed and then sat on the stool.
Immediate silence fell as they had been caught.
Trinity was the first to leave, dragging Dennis with her. You could hear them whisper but couldn’t make out the words. Dana excused herself shortly after giving you a warm smile. Robby just smiled.
“We’ll talk later, Jack,” He said softly, crossing his arms. “Nice meeting you Y/N” he walked out of the room leaving you and Jack alone. He was quiet and prepping your finger.
“They were nice.” You said softly. He picked up a needle and your eyes widened.
“This is going to numb your finger..One..Two–..” He poked your finger and you winced. He had all his focus on your finger but you knew something was off.
“Jack.” He doesn’t look up as he strings the thread through the needle. “What’s wrong?” Your voice was soft and warming which only stung Jack’s heart more.
“Nothing,” he said quietly.
“Jack.” You said more firmly, he started stitching your finger, but your eyes were just on him not your finger.
“I just,” He finished one stitch. “I don’t like seeing you here..in these rooms.” He finally admitted.
You took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” You said softly while watching him work. He stitched carefully,methodical, and controlled. His thumb brushed your knuckle like he needed to confirm you were real.
“Don’t be sorry,” He said, finishing the last stitch. “Just be more careful.” He finished the stitch and then added some neosporin and started wrapping it in gauze.
“I will be..” You said assuring him. He was cleaning up the mess. You placed a hand on his cheek, leaning forward and kissed him. This kiss was soft at first, he melted into it and his shoulders relaxed.
“And please next time,” he murmured against your lips. “ You tell them you’re my wife and you’ll get the special treatment you deserve. No more waiting for hours.”.
“How did you-”
“I asked Lupe,” he said softly. He looked tired already. You could see it in his eyes this was a long shift that had just begun.
“Okay, I’ll follow your orders,” You kissed him again this time a little more slowly and deeper. His hand slid to your waist all the way to your hips. you pulled away from the kiss then whispered in his ear. “And maybe when you get home..I’ll reward you for taking such good care of me”
Jack cleared his throat trying to keep his thoughts clean…he was working for fucks sake he had to keep his thoughts clear. His grip tightened slightly on your hips.
“I called you an uber.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I do.”
His forehead rested briefly against yours.
“I'll take care of your injury when I get home.”He said in a firm but protective way. “You rest and wear that thing you bought on Valentine's Day.”
“Doctor's orders?”You asked teasingly.
“Always, Darling.”
When he got home he definitely got special treatment…and a lecture because Jack forgot to tell you about the bullet that grazed his back.
Description: You’ve been secretly losing your mind over Dr. Abbot for months. One slip on ice later, and your giant crush on the night attending becomes everyone’s business thanks to a concussion and a mouth that won’t stop calling him gorgeous.
or, Cristina Yang slips and gets saved by Owen Hunt in uniform, but make it The Pitt ✨
Tags/Warnings: Nurse!reader, you're so down bad for him, descriptions of a concussion and a mild icicle injury to the stomach, suggestive comments, banter and flirty Abbot.
Note: Once again a Grey's anatomy inspired fic lol. I had a lot of fun writing this one, enjoy!
Masterlist
You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad,
You make me so happy, it turns back to sad
Jack Abbot is ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know.
He goes to work every day completely unaware that somewhere across the hospital, you, a licensed, very mature and very competent nurse, is being driven insane by the simple fact that he exists. And quite frankly, you hate him for that.
Because he’s kind and smart. Annoyingly smart. Calm in a crisis, quick on his feet, always three steps ahead, always knowing exactly what to do. Patients love him. Nurses love him. Residents love him. Dr. Robby loves him. You lo–no, no you don’t.
And to make matters worse, he just had to be gorgeous too.
That salt and pepper thing he has going on? Unfair. The way he shows up wearing those black shirts out of nowhere? Mega unfair. The way he holds eye contact while expecting you to focus on doing your job? Sick and twisted, actually. And don’t even get started on his hands. Or his voice. Or his bedside manner. Or his…everything.
It’s infuriating.
He’s the kind of gorgeous that has you staring at a particular spot on the floor for too long, in the loneliness of your apartment, when you remember the way he said ‘Good night, you did a good job today,’ during shift handover. Because the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that you barely get to see him. Your lives only overlap in scraps that mean nothing and everything to you.
You’re a day nurse, he’s a night attending. That’s your 13th reason.
No, actually, you know what it is? I know you do. We’re all thinking the same thing here.
That uniform.
That stupid, cursed, virtue ruining SWAT uniform that makes you forget you’re a professional. A professional who has, on more than one occasion, had to physically remove herself from the nurse station and hide by the stairwell to look at the lava lamp video Dr. King so kindly shared with you, because Dr. Jack Abbot walked in wearing camo, and the devil on your shoulder told you to jump him and bite those biceps.
So yes, without being dramatic or anything, he is ruining your life.
By being hot. By being kind. By being good at everything he does. By flashing you those little smiles when your shifts overlap, when he has no idea what they do to you…or maybe he does. Because he always requests your help when he comes in during the day, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send you straight into the land delusion for the rest of your shift.
You tell yourself it’s because you’re a good nurse, despite it all. Princess says it’s because he likes you.
But Princess is insane. Maybe as deluded as you are, to be honest.
And having a silly work crush was fun at first, but it’s not fun anymore when all you do is wait for those tiny moments. When 7 p.m. has become your favorite and least favorite time of day. When you catch yourself smoothing down your scrub top before shift change, just in case. When you know the sound of his voice from three trauma bays over. When you start wondering whether switching to nights only for him would be that crazy after all.
All while Jack remains oblivious to the fact that he is the reason you’re stepping outside the ambulance bay at 6:30pm on a freezing Friday evening, completely exhausted, yet still hopeful enough to be the first one he says hello to on your last break.
You sigh as you lean on the brick wall near the entrance, tucking your hands deeper into your jacket’s pockets looking at nothing in particular. The snow has been shoveled away from the ambulances path, but there’s still a few patches of ice glistening on the asphalt.
“There you are,” a voice behind you makes you startle. You turn around slightly, finding Princess walking to you with a knowing smile. “You’re gonna freeze yourself out here.”
“I’m just excited it’s Friday,” you say, but there’s no actual enthusiasm in your voice. “Can’t wait to get out of here.”
“Ohhh, you got big exciting plans for the weekend?” She wiggles her brows, nudging you with her elbow. “Someone to warm you up?” That makes you snort, shaking your head and nudging her back.
“I wish. It’s just me and my couch…and my dog.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
“That bad,” she teases, but you know there’s no malice in it. “Tragic,” she sighs, before perking up just as quickly. “Me however…”
“Oh the firefighter?” You chuckle, watching a stupid little grin spread over her face. “You’re seeing him tonight?”
“Third date,” she sing songs. “You know what that means.”
“Hmm. Bunch of cardio.”
“It keeps me healthy,” she shrugs, beaming. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, assume I died happy.”
You both start giggling, and you feel genuinely happy that at least your best friend is getting wrecked by a man in uniform. Not that you have imagined something like that. Actually, you’ve imagined a lot of things. Some more HR friendly than others. You let out a sigh without noticing, and Princess bumps your shoulder this time.
“See, that little pathetic sigh is why you need to do something about your little situation,” she starts.
“What little situation?” You don’t even turn to her, but you know she’s glaring at you. “What?” you say again.
“Oh I don’t know, maybe the one with the silver fox attending you’re into.”
“Princess!”
“What? Honey you’re already halfway through a shift switch petition.”
“So what? It has nothing to do with Dr. Abbot,” you snap, but realize your mistake as soon as the words leave your mouth.
“I never said Dr. Abbot,” she drawls.
You groan and look away as heat crawls up your face. At least it brings comfort against the unforgiving winter air.
“It’s not like that. I just think the change of pace could be interesting,” you excuse yourself, very poorly.
“Uh-huh. You just wanna stare at him more often,” she says, less teasing than you expected. “Have you ever thought he might like seeing you more often too?”
The sole idea of it makes you snort. “Yeah, sure.”
“I am serious, girl. I really think he likes you,” she reassures.
“No, he doesn’t,” you shake your head.
“He always asks for you.”
“Because I’m good at my job.”
“I’m good too, but he smiles at you differently.”
“Princess,” you warn, because living in delulu land has done nothing for you these past months. “Stop.”
“I’m just saying,” she shrugs with a little smile. “One day you’re gonna have to admit that man is ruining your life.”
Oh he is. And you know it very well.
“Yeah yeah, call it whatever you want. Now let’s go back inside before we freeze to death and Dana kills us for dying,” you chuckle despite yourself, making her laugh in agreement.
You turn toward the doors, a little disappointed to not have spotted the subject of your discussion yet, but you don’t have much time to mourn when your shoe skids on a thin layer of ice you didn't see, sending you flying back in a matter of seconds. Princess almost slipped too trying to catch you, but your head hit the pavement before she could.
For a second you only see the blurry lights of the ambulance bay, and a few glistening icicles lined above you. And because life loves you, when your vision manages to focus more, you catch the horrifying moment when one of the icicles breaks from the roof and falls straight into the side of your stomach. The impact makes you groan, Princess gasps and covers her mouth with both hands.
“Ouch…” you wince, trying to lift yourself up to see the damage but your head feels too heavy.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” she panics, kneeling next to you and slapping your hand away when you reach for it. “No, no. Don’t touch it! Hey–are you…are you okay?”
You barely lift your head, only to stare blankly at her, not exactly sure why you’re on the floor. She expects you to curse, cry or scream at her. Anything. But all you do is giggle in response, completely out of it. She looks like she has two faces, and stars around her.
Red flag.
“Alright, alright, don’t move Cristina Yang. I’m getting you help, just wait for me babe,” she says, already getting up and running inside.
“Nooo, don’t gooo,” you say softly, but it sounds more like you’re amused than an actual cry for help. “Help…” you whisper, chuckling at how funny you sound.
You lie there, on your back in the ambulance bay, wondering if this is what rock bottom looks like. Attacked by an icicle after daydreaming of the hospital’s McSteamy, like you’re part of some medical drama.
You giggle again.
Yup. That can't be good.
You hear loud footsteps approaching you, but they’re not coming from the direction Princess took. You yelp when a face hovers over you, upside down from your perspective, and that face is none other than the one you’ve had at least a thousand inappropriate fantasies about.
“Well, what do we have here?” He drawls, tilting his head when he sees the icicle and the little patch of blood around it staining your grey scrubs. The amusement goes away in an instant.
He drops to one knee beside you, lifting your head a little to check for any blood under, but your hair is only wet from the leftover snow on the asphalt, making him exhale in relief. His hands hover near the icicle without touching it. It’s only when he’s closer that you notice he’s not in scrubs, but in his god forsaken SWAT uniform, no vest.
You can’t really find yourself to complain in your hazed state.
“Oh no…” you gasp softly, in a failed attempt to hide your sudden giddiness. He already looks like he has little pink hearts floating around his head.
“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he coos, oblivious. “Can you tell me what your name is?”
“Of course I know my name, silly,” you snort, proudly reciting your full government name. He bites back a smile at the jab, nodding.
“That’s good. Do you know what day?”
“...Wednesday?” You narrow your eyes, he just shakes his head softly.
“Already went through that one this week. Come here.”
He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other carefully under your knees, making sure he doesn’t bend your abdomen too much as he hauls you up with a groan. Your brain blocks the pain and decides this is the funniest thing in the world, giggling into his long sleeve camo shirt as he stands. Once he’s got you in his arms, with his face close enough to hurt more than the piece of ice inside you, he grins at you.
“What about my name?” He asks playfully. You huff in offense.
“Oh Dr. Abbot. You’re a hard one to forget,” you sigh dreamily, drawing circles on his chest. “With that face…and those eyes…and that uniform clinging to that bod–“
“Okay, honey. That’s a concussion speaking for you,” he cuts you off with a chuckle, telling himself the blush on his cheeks is due to the cold. “I’m gonna get you inside, alright? We’re gonna keep your new friend exactly where it is until it's safe to take it out.”
If your head wasn’t in wonderland right now, you would’ve probably coded over the fact that he just called you honey.
“Mmm. Whatever you say, doc,” you hum, resting your head on his chest. He can’t fight the smile this time.
“You day shift girls really know how to make an exit…” He mumbles fondly with a shake of his head, making his way back inside. The glass doors slide open, and Princess nearly collides with him, her sneakers coming to a stop in front of him.
“Dr. Abbot! There you are,” she yelps. “We were just talking and she slipped, and then BAM, an icicle! So I went to get you, of course. Or any doctor–actually, no, preferably you. She definitely prefers you–”
“I got her, Princess,” Jack snickers without breaking stride, carrying you in his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You barely lift your head to grin at her, and manage to point at the man carrying you while mouthing an ‘oh my god’ to Princess. She nods just as giddy, turning away so Jack doesn’t see her expression.
The chilly air gets replaced by the warmth and noise of the ED, all heads turning in your direction when he strides in, suddenly turning into the most interesting thing happening on that floor. That’s on you for giving them the material anyways. Jack Abbot, in full camo, carrying a giggling, icicle stabbed day nurse? It’s free real estate!
“Oh shit, is that an icicle??” Dr. Santos calls from the charting station, propping herself up over the desk to get a better look. “Can I go in there, Dr. Abbot? Please tell me I can go in there.”
“You’re off the clock, Santos. Go home,” he says, ignoring the way she mutters something under her breath as she turns back to the computer. “Lena, what’s free?”
“Trauma two,” Lena replies, eyes widening when she sees the thing sticking out of your stomach. She stands up from her swivel chair to trail after you into the room. “What the hell happened?"
“Winter hates me…” you say with a little laugh, before falling back into Jack’s chest. “Or maybe it did me a favor…” you mutter under your breath, making Princess and Lena exchange a knowing look.
Jack sets you down so, so gently on the bed that you fight the urge to kick your feet at the contrast of his rough hands adjusting your body delicately. Princess is already hooking you up to monitors you can’t really manage to read right now.
“Winter assault indeed,” Jack chuckles, popping on a pair of gloves as he analyzes your injury from multiple angles. “Penetrating trauma, left lateral abdomen. Looks superficial, but I want imaging before I yank this thing. Can you page Dr. Shen for me? This has his name written all over it.”
“Are you sure you want Shen here?” Lena raises an eyebrow, cutting your scrubs open with some scissors, as Jack briefly checks your pupils with a penlight.
“Oh, he’ll be offended if I don’t call him for an icicle,” he says, pocketing the penlight. “Mild concussion, no need for a CT.”
“Alright,” Lena says, putting down the scissors and patting your leg in reassurance before she leaves. “How are you doing, kid?”
“Booored,” you sing, trying to lift your body up but your head swims and your abdomen screams in pain before you can. “Ow ow–”
“Hey, hey. Easy,” Jack says, pushing you gently back onto the bed. “Stay still for me, alright?”
“Just get it out already!”
Jack catches your wrist just before you can grab the icicle piercing your side. “Uh-uh, what did I say?” he scolds. “We’re not doing an extraction yet.”
You groan in frustration, unaware of the way Princess and Jack exchange looks.
“What do we have?” Dr. Shen asks from the entrance, iced coffee in one hand as he walks to his rightful place beside Abbot. He tilts his head at you and your stupid icicle, and whistles. “Wow. I don’t wanna see the other guy.”
“Don’t worry, John. Dr. Abbot saved me,” you huff out a weak laugh.
“Of course he did,” Shen glances between the two of you, amused. “Our noble SWAT doc.”
Jack keeps his gaze on you with that maddening smirk, only breaking eye contact when Princess lets him know the XR tech is there. People start moving around you, and by this point you start to feel everything catching up to you because things don’t seem so funny anymore. You feel so tired all you want is to go to sleep. You try to fight it by blinking at the ceiling, trying to count the lights but failing very quickly.
Jack is suddenly by your head, one hand braced on the bed near your shoulder, closely monitoring the process.
“Hold your breath,” he whispers, way too close to your ear. “Just for a few seconds. You’ve seen a hundred patients do this, right?”
“Have I?” You try to joke, but you sound more drowsy than amused to him.
That makes him frown and straighten up to check your pupils again. “Maybe you do need that CT...”
You squint at the intrusive light, trying to push his hand away but the tech mumbles not to move. “Stop with that–I’m okay, just let me take a nap here…” you say, already closing your eyes.
“No, no. Eyes open,” Jack orders, snapping his fingers in your face to keep you awake. “Stay with me, trouble.”
Your lashes feel heavy but you manage to drag your gaze up to his. It’s easier than trying to focus on anything else anyways. You feel the XR ray tech pulling away and leaving the room.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Jack tells you, so serious that you’d debate if he’d just picked you up from a dumb fall or if he'd saved you from a building engulfed in fire. “We’re gonna patch you up, and maybe get you a few days off. Milk this for all the sick time you can get. Okay?”
You nod, managing a small tired smile. He’s leaning over you now, allowing you to admire his face from up close. His beautiful hazel eyes, his jaw dusted with stubble, the salt in his hair shining under the harsh lights. You can even see the little lines at the corners of his eyes.
That’s when the single neuron left in your brain produces a thought. And you should definitely not say the thought.
You absolutely say the thought.
“Dr. Abbot, you’re so gorgeous,” you announce, loud and clear.
The entire room freezes. Jack feels heat go up to his cheeks. Shen’s eyebrows go up as he sips loudly from his straw, and Princess, who was in the corner pretending to look busy with the vitals machine, bites her lip to stifle a laugh.
“I–“ Jack starts, then stops. Why’s he getting so flustered? “Once again, concussion talking,” he clears his throat, looking around him.
“But I mean it,” you insist, fighting the urge to close your eyes out of pure spite. “Look at your face.”
Jack’s mouth twitches, trying very hard not to smile. Princess is just fighting the urge to pull her phone out and film the whole thing.
“And your stupid SWAT uniform,” you continue, groaning dramatically. “Out of all days you had to wear it today. Ugh. You’re so–you’re so gorgeous it makes me so mad.”
Jack decides this is the perfect moment to turn to the computer in the room, for “charting purposes” but completely forgets the part where he has to tap his ID on it and just stares at the hospital’s logo on the screen.
“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he mumbles under his breath.
Shen and Princess exchange the most dramatic side eye in the history of side eyes and then both simultaneously pretend they heard nothing.
“Abdomen films are back,” a nurse entering the room says, offering an iPad to Jack.
He takes the tablet, shoulders dropping as he scans the images. “Good news! Our icicle is more dramatic than dangerous. No organ involvement. Superficial muscle at most.”
“Boring,” Shen mumbles, chuckling when Princess glares at him.
“We’ll do it here,” Jack decides, handing the iPad back. “Local and a quick pull. Shen, wanna do the honors?”
“I’ll just watch,” Shen shrugs, placing his iced coffee on a table nearby in case he’s needed. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”
“Okay, little pinch,” Princess warns you. You take a breath as the needle goes in, your hand flies up instinctively, but Jack catches it and redirects it to grip his forearm instead.
His muscles feel solid under your fingers, and this feels like information you should not have in this condition. You squeeze your eyes shut, because if he keeps looking at you like that–
“You’re doing great,” he reassures. His voice is so close, so warm and so low and SO UNFAIR.
You crack one eye open, and immediately regret it. It’s the light brown eyes with little green flecks for you.
“God, that hurts,” you whisper. Not a single sane thought behind your eyes anymore.
“The icicle?” he asks, ready to order more anesthesia.
“No,” you say, a little breathless. “Your face.”
Princess makes a weird strangled noise next to you. Jack actually laughs this time.
“That’s a new one,” Shen says.
“Alright,” Jack smiles at you. “Before you say anything else that’s gonna end up in the groupchat, let’s get this thing out.”
He positions himself above you, one hand pressing your hip to stabilize you, the other wrapping around the base of the icicle, careful not to push it in further.
“Deep breath in. I’m gonna count to three, okay?” he says. You do as you’re told, trying to avoid his gaze. “One–keep looking at me. Two–“
And then, still keeping that steady eye contact, he pulls. The icicle slides out in one slick motion, leaving behind a sharp sting that makes you squeak.
“You took my icicle out before three!” you gasp, scandalized. “That’s not nice!”
“We’ll get you another one next Christmas,” Jack chuckles, tossing the thing into a tray as Shen presses gauze firmly to your side.
“You did amazing,” Princess tells you earnestly, running her hand through your arm. “That was so cool. I mean–not cool that you got stabbed, cool that you–uh never mind. You’re very brave, babe.”
“Best story at the nurse’s station,” you smile at her, throwing up a peace sign.
“Easy there, Winter Soldier. Best story in the group chat, at best.” Shen says, managing a little snort from you.
“Oh the group chat will hear about this,” Princess adds.
Jack shakes his head, but there’s fondness in his features as he strips off his gloves. “Okay, here’s the plan. Observation overnight for the concussion, pain meds for the side, no lifting, no heavy shifts for a few days. And no more confessions, alright?” He smiles down at you, winking playfully. “You’re gonna be okay.”
You stare at him again, taking in his stupid perfect face, his stupid perfect hands, his stupid heroic camo long sleeve.
No, you’re so not going to be okay.
You open your eyes and immediately regret it. Your head pounds, there’s harsh white lights shining down on you, and the familiar ED noise coming from outside the room doesn’t help.
What on earth happened?
You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but the moment your head lifts from the pillow, your body says Not today.
“Shit,” you groan, dropping back down with a wince, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Easy there.”
That voice alone is enough to almost make you forget about the headache and the strange sting in your abdomen. You open your eyes and squint at the doorway, where none other than Dr.Jack Abbot is standing, wearing a black shirt and scrubs pants.
There he is. The bane of your existence and the object of all your desires.
He looks maddeningly calm for someone who exists just to personally ruin your peace. He pushes off the doorframe and walks in with a smug little grin. You stare at him, mind completely blank as he stops beside a little table and offers you a cup of water with a straw.
“Here. Small sips,” he says, gently helping you sit up. And when he uses that voice? All you can do is mindlessly do what he says.
“Thanks, Dr. Abbot,” you rasp, clearing your throat after drinking some water. “So…what happened?”
Jack stares at you for a moment, debating if there’s a chance you’re messing with him, but you seem genuinely confused. It’s normal after a hit like that, so he just huffs a little laugh and explains.
“You were outside the ambulance bay with Princess and slipped on ice. You hit your head, and then got stabbed in the side by an icicle.”
…???
“An…icicle?” You ask in complete disbelief, he nods amused. “Like in Grey’s??”
“Ehh–you’re gonna have to ask that to Princess,” he chuckles. “I wish I was joking, but there’s nothing to worry about, it was superficial. Imaging was normal, Princess numbed you up and I pulled it out. You’re a little bruised and concussed, but otherwise intact. Robby’s gonna have to give you a few days off, though.”
“Oh my God,” you sigh, leaning back into the pillow dragging your hands over your face. “Out of all the ways I could’ve gone down in hospital lore…”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbles, biting back a smile.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he says, a little too quickly for your liking, then steps closer. “I just want to check you again before I let you keep hating yourself in peace.”
Before you can ask what that means, he moves to the side of the bed and leans over you, making your entire nervous system short circuit as he removes your hands from your face.
“Wow–” you breathe, shrinking back into the pillow on instinct. Being this close should be illegal for this man. “What are you doing, Dr. Abbot?”
“Shhh,” he mutters, “just checking on you. You hit your head pretty hard.”
His hand comes up, careful fingers tilting your chin slightly. His thumb brushes near your cheekbone as he angles your face toward the penlight and scans your pupils. Your heart starts beating in places it absolutely should not be beating.
Guess the butterflies are flying very low today.
He finishes the exam, but he doesn’t move back. Instead, he shifts just enough to brace one hand on the wall above your head, still leaning over you, caging you into the mattress in a way that feels anything but accidental. This is not helping your concussion, if anything, it’s making it substantially worse.
Your breath hitches, and because your mouth clearly exists to betray you in his presence, you blurt out, “God, that hurts.”
“What hurts?” He asks, tilting his head.
The words are right there. Your face. Your stupid gorgeous face.
“My head,” you say instead. Good girl…or not? Because something you can’t quite point out flashes in his eyes.
“Mmm, well, for what it’s worth…” he says–did his eyes just flicker to your lips??? “I think you’re gorgeous too.”
5@$%)#&
Everything inside you stops. Your face goes hot so fast it feels like your head is about to combust. For one unhinged second you wonder if you’ve blacked out again and this is some kind of fever dream created by your useless brain.
“Did…I said that out loud?” You ask weakly and cover your face again with your hands, creating a barrier between you and the predator above you.
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“Oh no…” You whine. This is it, this is how you leave this earth.
“Oh no?” He laughs.
“Oh no,” you repeat miserably, peeking at him through your fingers. “What did I say, Dr. Abbot?”
“...Enough,” he says, maddeningly vague. He straightens at last, mercifully putting a little distance between you and your impending death by humiliation. “More than enough, actually.”
“Dr. Abbot,” you insist, more serious now. “What did I say?”
“Mmm, not a chance,” he crosses his arms over his chest. Okay now he's just being unfair.
“Please.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Jack.” That slips out before you can stop it.
His eyebrows rise in amusement, but he clears his throat before turning to check your chart on the computer, like the conversation that just derailed your life didn’t even happen.
“You slept almost through the whole night shift, it looks like you’ll be discharged in a few hours. All the scans were clean but you’ll need someone to stay with you today, though. Hospital policy after a concussion.”
You let out a sigh, looking at your hands over your lap. He turns back to you, a worried look on his face.
“What?”
“I uh–don’t have anyone to call,” you say, trying to sound casual and failing a little. “Princess is probably with the firefighter, so I guess it's just me and…my dog.”
He hums, tucking both hands into his pants pockets, and rocks back a little on his heels as if contemplating something.
“Good thing I’ll be out in a few hours too, then,” he says, casual, too casual.
“…What?” You let out a weak laugh.
“I’m taking you home,” he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Pets are great emotionally, less useful for neuro observation, so I’m making sure you don’t pass out unsupervised.”
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack,” he corrects.
“Jack,” you try again, weaker now. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know…trust me, I want to.” He says it so…certain, with a softer voice that makes you melt onto the mattress. “Try to rest for a bit, drink your water and don’t try to escape. I’ll come get you when your paperwork’s done,” he points a finger at you, half turning to the door. “Just wait for me, gorgeous, okay?”
Jack waits for you to say something, but all you can do is nod slowly, because speech has abandoned you entirely. He gives you one more devastating smile, before stepping out, leaving you wishing you could turn over so you could scream into your pillow. You finally let out the breath you were holding, and very carefully reached for your phone on the little rolling table beside the bed.
There are at least a dozen messages from Princess with a few voice notes. You stare at the screen in horror, and from what you can briefly read without actually opening her chat, you really fucked up last night.
That explains the look on his face. That explains everything.
And still, *wiggles eyebrows*, he is taking you home. Apparently. So, because there is truly no helping you, you can’t help but smile.
Girl whatever.
If Jack Abbot wants to ruin your life, he can go right ahead.
Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated 🤍✨
this is literally younggf!reader and jack abbot after he picks you up at the end of your work day, only a few hours before the beginning of his night shift, so you two can do your routines together.
doing your post-work, his pre-work shower together (it takes longer than any other shower because he’s still dealing with “morning” wood and you’ve been salivating since the car ride when he showed up with sleep-messy hair and plaid pajama pants) brushing your teeth in the mirror besides each other. taking off your makeup and doing your skincare, forcing him to stand still as you apply it to him too, even as he grumbles about his face feeling sticky. putting on sleepwear while he lounges in his boxers because he doesn’t have to get dressed for at least another 45 minutes. him putting his old man reading glasses on as he lays beside you in bed, playing solitaire on his phone with only his pointer finger, all while you eat whatever he picked up for you on the way home and watch a tv show he swears is stupid but lowkey is so invested in that when he readies to leave, he says, “tell me what i missed in the morning”
daddy!jack abbot who babies you so much it’s embarrassing
daddy!jack who buys you a massive 120oz insulated water bottle — complete with a matching strap so you can sling it over your shoulder — because he noticed you don’t drink nearly enough water. yes you have to take it to work with you every day, no you cannot carry a smaller bottle (even if you promise to refill it consistently)
daddy!jack who shows up to ptmc hours before his shift is scheduled to start because you forgot your lunch on the counter at home, and no, picking at chips and candy from the vending machine is not going to cut it, because you cannot subsist off of sugary crap all day. if you happen to be busy when he strolls in, he drops the lunchbox off with dana and asks her to make sure you get it
daddy!jack who gives you — a grown ass adult — a bedtime, one that is strictly enforced even when he’s at work. he knows if you get less than six hours of sleep before a shift you’re terribly fussy the whole day, and he reminds you that it’s better for your body anyway. you let him put a time limit on your phone, one that locks all your social media apps down at exactly 10pm, and he promptly bids you goodnight via text seconds after. (you get to stay up til midnight on your days off, aren’t you lucky?)
daddy!jack who picks out your pajamas and lays them on the bed for you to change into after your shift ends. sometimes they’re things you already had in the drawers, sometimes brand new, matching sets pop up out of nowhere, and sometimes he spreads one of his old t-shirts and nothing else out atop the sheets for you to find. those are your favorite kinds of days
daddy!jack who can only relax if you’re sat in his lap on his days off. it doesn’t matter if he’s watching tv, reading a book, or dozing off — he needs his baby, right where he can keep an eye on you, the whole time. sometimes — who are you kidding, most of the time — his thumb ends up in your mouth, resting in the dip of your tongue while your lips purse loosely around the knuckle, his other four fingers lazily cupping your jaw to hold you in place. you aren’t really sure how it happens, but it does, and it knocks you out cold in about 30 seconds flat
daddy!jack who picked up the habit of cutting your food into smaller pieces so long ago you aren’t really sure of when it started, and so is incapable of not doing it even when you have company. there was one time he invited robby over for dinner and, upon realizing that jack was, unprompted, cutting your steak and potatoes into teeny-tiny bites, gave him a strange, bewildered look. you snatched the plate away before whatever question he’d been gearing up to ask could leave his mouth, and jack, clearly stuck on autopilot, just snickered
daddy!jack who has to lock up your toys when he goes to work, okay? he just has to. he knows you can’t help yourself, can’t keep your thoughts and hands from wandering while he’s not there and, well, it’s just so much fucking fun watching you squirm as he shuts every vibrator and dildo you own (which is a fair amount) into a lockbox, and stuffs the only key into his scrubs pocket. it’s not good for you to just stay home fucking yourself stupid all night, anyway, y’know, and you can’t even do it right, not like he can, so he’s just doing what he knows is best for his baby. he’ll take care of you once he gets home, you just have to be patient, yeah? unless, of course, your panties are already a mess by then — then he’ll have to assume you disobeyed him, and that simply won’t do.
Summary: Your husband gets worried when he gets a call that you're in his ED (wc 1.5k)
A/N: Little blurb cause this man has taken over my mind. The stronghold Shawn Hatosy has on me.
“Alright miss-” She stops mid sentence when she pulls back the curtain of the room looking up from her chart. You can tell she’s disappointed.
“I swear if that chart says GSW- It’s a graze that's not even that bad.” You say sitting on the bed.
“Yeah it says GSW. I was wondering why you wouldn't be in a trauma room,” She puts hand under the hand sanitizer dispenser, “thought it would be more interesting.” She puts on gloves to start looking at your arm. You already have your shirt off leaving you in just a tank top to give the doctor better access to, what you would consider, a very small graze that you would argue doesn’t even warrant a hospital visit.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” You quip back at her. You’re finally able to get a glance at her badge, Dr. Santos.
“How did you get this?” The bleeding already stopped a while ago before you got to the hospital. She starts to take the dressing you put on it off. You wince a little at the contact. She says sorry under her breath.
“Occupational hazard.” She quirks her eyebrows up, unsatisfied at your response. “I’m a CSI and I was training a new technician, when the idiots thought it would be a good idea to come back to make sure the job was done. They didn’t realize that the cops had already been called and were there. Anyways guess they got nervous and decided the best course of action was a shoot out. Made sure to cover my new tech and got grazed in doing so.” She swabbed the wound to send for testing, being more careful than she was initially. “I didn’t want to even come here but since it’s work related I was forced too.”
“It doesn’t look bad, I’ll send a sample for cultures just to be sure, clean and dress it for you.” She replies.
“Where is she?!?” You can hear your husband’s voice through the thin curtain. You can only assume Dana points him in your direction cause you can hear him stomp towards your bed. You’re bracing for impact cause you already know he’s upset. He tears the curtain open to see you on the bed with Santos sitting at your side.
“What happened? Are you okay?” His body relaxes a little when he can process that you're fine, but you can tell he’s still on edge.
“Dr. Abbot,” Santos stands up stiff as a board.
“What happened.” He repeats himself, still staring at you waiting for an answer.
“It’s nothing, a little graze that’s barely there.” You’re trying to comfort him…it’s not helping a lot.
“Why did I get a call from the hospital that my wife had a bullet graze and not from you?” You can hear that he’s upset by his voice, his eyes never leaving you.
“Wait, wife?” Santos asks, “but the last name…”
“It’s hyphenated, I use my maiden name for legal and work.” You explain.
Jack finally moves towards you once he decides that you look well enough. He glances at the wound and can tell that you were right, it’s not bad. He’s at your other side looking down at you, still checking over your face to see if he missed anything.
“She’s stubborn,” he adds, “why didn’t you call me? I freaked out when Dana told me what happened. Broke a few traffic laws getting here.” He’s quieter now and worry still lacing his voice. His hand goes up to touch your face, making sure you’re still here with him. Reassuring himself that you’re okay. You lean into his touch. He’s always so warm.
“I’m fine Jack,” you move your hand to cover his on your face, “I didn’t want to worry you, and they pushed me into a squad car before I even realized it, left my phone in my jacket at the scene.” You take his hand off your face and just hold it in your lap.
“I know how much you hate those cars.” His other hand goes to tuck a piece of your behind your ear. He’s moving like you're made of glass. “But really how did you get shot?”
“I wasn’t shot, I was grazed.” You correct him. “Apperently the cops don’t know how to close a scene correctly. Perp came back, saw cops and started firing.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the stupidity of what should have never happened.
He finally takes his eyes off of you and looks over at Santos. “Did you send for culture test?” He’s sterner when he talks to her. You feel bad that she was the one that got stuck with you. Having one of your patients being your attending’s wife can’t be easy.
“Yes. I was just about to start cleaning and dressing it.” You can tell this situation makes her a little nervous.
“Jack, she’s done everything correct, don’t scare her.” His eyes softening when he looks back at you. His stubble is a little longer than usual, and his curls are unruly. He probably jumped out of bed and rushed to his truck as soon as he got the call. He’s wearing a shirt you know was on top of the laundry hamper.
“Just double checking.” At his words Santos goes to clean and dress the wound, very diligently you note.
Jack stays at your side the entire time, hand still in your lap. He squeezes your hand anytime you wince, checking in on you to make sure you’re okay. His eyes are tired from lack of sleep but the look on his face is pure adoration for you. You pull him a little closer so you can lean your head on his broad, sturdy chest. You want to suck all his warmth out of him due to the chill in the ED, and knowing him, he’d let you.
“I was scared.” Jack whispers to you.
“How do you think I feel when you go out with the SWAT team? This is a once in a blue moon for me, it feels like you’re always getting shot at.” You crane your neck so you can look at him while you say that.
“So is date night just dodging bullets for you guys?” Santos says as she’s finishing up.
You and Jack both huff out a laugh. “No, he’s a little more romantic than that.” You reply.
“A little?” Jack pushes away a little to look at you and raises his eyebrows. “If I remember correctly, you bragged to your friends about ‘how romantic’ my proposal was.” He has a smirk on his face at the fact.
“I should have never told you that, it went to your head.” You roll your eyes and pull him back closer to you.
“Yeah but you did.” He kisses your head as he says it. He is one of the most romantic people you know when he tries. You love that about him, how thoughtful he is and how he really sees you. He knows you inside and out. He makes the most mundane parts of life exciting just by being there with you. He’s made you the happiest woman in the world and he knows it. You never miss an opportunity to let him know.
“Okay I’m going to get discharge notes and instructions but I’m sure you don’t need them.” Santos says and she starts to walk out of the room.
“I like her.” You say once she’s out of the room and you start to put your other shirt back on.
Jack steps back a little to give you room to do so. “Santos? She’s one of Robby’s, haven’t been around her too much. He says she’s good though.”
You start to stand up when Jack puts his hand out for you to use to help you up. Once you’re standing next to him, you give him a quick peck on the lips. You step back a little after, but not for long. Jack is quick to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a hug. You instinctively wrap your arms around him and melt into his warmth. His other hand goes up to cradle your head, as he puts his head right in the crevice of your neck.
“I love you. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Jack mutters into your neck.
“No promises.” He pinches your side when you say that.
“HEY!” You yelp out barely moving due to his grip on you. “I promise to call next time.” You concede.
“I’ll take what I can get.” He replies right before giving you a little kiss on your neck.
…
Trinity walks up to Whitaker at the hub so she can start writing up the discharge notes. “Did you know Dr. Abbot is married?” She asks him.
“Umm, yeah I think so? He wears a wedding ring right?”
“Guess I never noticed,” she hums out, “his wife was just one of my patients. You should see the rock on her hand.”
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when a Jane Doe arrives wearing Jack’s dog tags.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
This day wasn't out of the ordinary for you.
Jack had been called into the hospital, so you decided to run some errands instead. Just another walk through the city, another stretch of pavement leading you towards your favourite café. The street was bustling with lunchtime rush, people brushing past without even looking up, all of it so normal you stopped noticing anything outside your immediate line of sight.
You don’t see the window workers until it’s already too late.
There’s a shout, somewhere overhead, sharp, distant, dismissed instantly by your brain as background chaos.
Then something shifts overhead.
A shadow.
A sudden loss of control.
Like something heavy slipping when it shouldn’t.
You look up.
The bucket tips over the edge, half full, unbalanced, too far gone to recover.
You have no time to react.
It drops straight down.
The impact is immediate and brutal, striking the top of your head with enough force to erase thoughts.
Air leaves you all once.
Your body goes back with force, the concrete of the sidewalks rushing up before you can even register that you’re falling.
You don’t feel the landing.
You’re already gone before your body makes contact.
The ambulance door swings open hard.
Two paramedics rush in with a stretcher.
“Female, roughly mid-thirties–struck by falling debris,” one of the paramedics calls.
Whitaker is already moving.
“Trauma Two is open,” someone shouts from the nurses’ station.
The stretcher rolls in fast.
“Unconscious on scene,” the paramedic continues. “Hasn’t come around yet. GSC eight.”
Monitors are attached within seconds. An IV is started. Hands move quickly, practiced, efficient.
Whitaker is at the bedside now, eyes already scanning your injuries.
“Witness said that the window cleaner’s bucket fell from a height,” A paramedic informs. “She went down immediately.”
“ID?” Whitaker asks without looking up.
“None,” the paramedic says, already reaching into his pocket. “But we found this on her.”
He places a chain into Whitaker’s hand.
Dog tags.
Whitaker’s focus sharpens instantly.
That changes everything.
He takes them without hesitation, already thinking they’ve just been handed the easiest part of the case. A name means history, allergies, blood type, everything they need.
“Good,” he says under his breath, almost relieved. “We got lucky.”
He flips the broken tags over.
And stops.
Abbot. Jack.
O Negative.
Fuck.
For a second, the noise of the room is completely drowned out, as if it had been pulled underwater.
He reads it again, more slowly this time, in case the name changes.
It doesn’t.
“...Jesus,” He mutters, barely audible.
A nurse glances over. “You know her?”
Whitaker doesn't answer right away. His grip tightens slightly on the chain, metal pressing into his palm like letting go of it would make this situation even worse.
Because this wasn’t luck.
This was a problem.
A large one.
But more importantly, a very specific one
“Page, Dr. Robby,” he says, voice sharper now. “And Dr. Abbot. Now.”
The nurse moves immediately at the order.
Whitaker set the tags down carefully on the tray beside you, as if they were the most important thing in this room.
Robby arrives first.
He doesn't rush in. He lets his residents lead, but the moment he steps into Trauam Two, the atmosphere shifts anyway.
“What’ve we got?” he asks, pulling on a pair of gloves.
Whitaker doesn't answer right away.
Not because he doesn't know what's going on, but because he can’t quite find the words that fit.
Instead, he shifts slightly so Robby can see you.
Not the monitors. Not the chart.
You.
Robby’s expression changes instantly. Subtle, but complete. The kind of shift that happens when a doctor stops seeing a case and starts seeing a person.
He steps closer without even thinking.
His hand finds your wrist automatically, checking your pulse. His other hand moves to your eyes, checking pupils, clinical instinct kicking in.
“Found down,” a nurse says quickly. “Struck by falling debris—window cleaner’s bucket. Unconscious on scene, brief loss of consciousness, GCS eight.”
Robby nods, but there’s a little delay in it, like the information is landing half a beat too slow.
His hand stays on your wrist a fraction longer than necessary.
“I paged Abbot.”
“How—” he starts, confused, the word barely out.
He doesn’t finish.
Because Whitaker lifts his hand, the broken chain rests between his fingers.
Just enough for Robby to see it clearly.
Dog tags.
Everything in Robby’s expression shifts. Not shock. Recognition. Then something worse. Like the entire situation snaps into place all at once.
“...Oh no,” he says quietly.
His eyes flick back to you immediately.
Because this isn’t just some random patient.
This is Jack’s wife.
Robby straightened slightly, like his body was trying to catch up with what his brain already knew.
“No,” he says under his breath, already shaking his head once. “No-no, no…”
Whitaker starts to say something. “Robby—”
But Robby isn’t listening anymore.
His attention shifts toward the door like he can feel it before it happens.
“He’s coming,” Robby says, more to himself than anyone else.
A pause.
“Fuck.” Robby exhales through his nose, one hand dragging over his face as he looks back at you again.
You’re still unconscious. Still pale. Still completely unaware of who's about to walk in.
Whitaker tries again. “Robby—”
And that's when it finally clicks in his head.
“He can’t see her like this,” Robby says, firmer now, like he’s locking onto the only thing that matters.
Not like this.
And he’s already halfway to the door, trying to get there before Jack does.
Robby barely makes it halfway across the room before the door pushes open again.
Jack.
He’s already moving fast, eyes ready to assess the situation before anyone even speaks.
“What do we have?” he asks, breath just slightly off from the rush. “You paged me.”
Robby steps in front of him, blocking the doorway without hesitation.
“Hey”
Jack frowns, thrown off more by that than anything else. “What are you doing?”
“Jack-”
“Move,” Jack says, sharper now, trying to step around him to assist the patient.
Robby doesn’t. “You can’t go in there.”
That stops him.
“What?” Jack let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Robby, what are you talking about?”
Behind him, the room keeps moving. Voices, monitors, motion, but Jack can’t see any of it past the barrier in front of him.
“Just—wait,” Robby says, quieter now.
“No,” Jack shakes his head, already trying to step around him. “No, don’t page me and then tell me to wait. Move.”
Robby shifts just an inch, and for a split second, it is enough.
An angle opens up.
Just enough for Jack to see.
There are doctors and nurses,
The bed.
You.
Unconscious.
Blood matted into your hair, dark against your skin. Clothes still damp, clinging in the wrong places.
Everything in him stops.
The sound of the room drops out completely.
“…No,” he breathes.
Robby moves immediately to block his view again.
“Jack,” he says firmly. “You can’t—”
“That’s my wife,” Jack cuts in, voice breaking under it despite his effort to hold it together. “What happened?”
He tries to move forward again. His brain tries to process what he is seeing. His weight shifts subconsciously to his real leg to ground him. But it all hits at once, too fast, too much.
“…No,” he breathes, barely there.
“Jack,” he says, low and steady. “You can’t—”
Robby stops him, hands on his chest this time.
“You cannot go in there,” Robby says, stronger now. “You know that.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know,” Robby answers. “But you will if you make a mistake.”
That lands.
Not because it calms Jack’s nerves, but because it forces clarity through the panic.
If he treats you like this… he could make it worse.
Jack’s breathing is uneven. His eyes keep trying to find you past Robby’s shoulder.
But he can’t.
“Let us do our job,” Robby says, quieter now. “We’ve got her.”
Jack doesn’t move.
Doesn’t agree but doesn't try to push past him again either.
A long, stretched-out second passes.
Then Jack steps back.
Just one step.
Like it costs him more than anything else today.
Robby watches him carefully, like he expects him to surge back towards him.
But Jack just… goes still.
The fight drains out of him all at once, as something snapped.
He turns away without another word.
The roof is silent when Robby and Whitaker find him.
Jack is at the edge, hands gripping the metal railing, shoulder tight. Not leaning over, just holding on. Like it’s the only thing keeping him in place.
The city stretches out in front og him.
He doesn’t turn.
They both know he heard them.
Robby glances once at Whitaker, then back to Jack.
“She’s stable,” he says.
No response.
Whitaker steps a little closer. “Vitals are holding. We’re sending her for CT—possible concussion, maybe a small bleed, but nothing immediately life-threatening.”
Still nothing.
Robby moves a little closer, not too fast.
“She’s going to be okay,”
That gets a reaction.
Barely.
Jack exhales slowly, the sound rough, like he’s been holding it in too long.
He doesn’t turn around.
“…Did she wake up?” he asks.
“No,” Whitaker answers. “Not yet.”
Jack nods once.
Silence returns, wind cutting across the roof.
Whitaker hesitates for a second, then—
“She had your tags on.”
That lands differently.
Something in Jack breaks, just a little.
A quiet, breathless laugh slips out of him, completely out of place against everything else.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough.
He shakes his head once, like he can’t believe it even now. “She hates rings.”
A tear slips down before he can stop it.
He doesn’t wipe it away.
He just stands there, staring out at the city, holding onto the railing like it’s the only solid thing left.
Back in your room, everything is calmer now.
Monitors still beep steadily, machines still running, but the urgency is gone, replaced with something calmer. Controlled
Jack hesitates in the doorway before stepping in.
He takes you in slowly this time, like he’s afraid moving too fast will break the moment.
A sudden movement pulls his focus.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here.”
Your brows pull together slightly, a small reaction to the sounds of his voice.
Then your eyes flutter.
They open slowly.
Heavy.
Disoriented.
A small sound escapes you when the lights make contact with your eyes.
“Easy, babe,” he murmurs. “Don’t try to move too fast.”
You blink a few times, trying to focus.
Everything hurts. It’s too bright, too loud. Your head is throbbing.
“...Jack?” Your voice is rough, barely there.
“Yeah,” Jack says quietly, catching it. “Head’s gonna hurt. You took a bucket to the head.”
Your eyes finally land on him, and you just stare as if your brain is trying to catch up.
“I’m here,” he says again.
Relief flashes across your face. Small. Real. Your shoulder loosens, and seeing him suddenly makes everything feel less chaotic.
“You look mad,” you murmur weakly. That gets a faint breath out of him, almost a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I was.”
His hand finds yours carefully, grounding you.
“But you’re okay,” he adds. “That’s what matters.”
Your eyes drift shut for half a moment, exhaustion pulling at you.
“Mm,” you hum faintly. “Feels like I lost a battle.”
Jack huffs under his breath. “You did,” he says. “Badly.”
A faint smile tugs at your mouth, even through the ache.
“Rude,” you whisper.
Then your fingers shift against the sheet.
“Hey,” you say softly.
“Yeah?”
Your eyes flick to his chest.
“…Not on me,” you murmur.
Jack looks down at you. “What?”
“The tags,” you say, voice still rough but more alert now. “They’re not on my neck,”
You expect them to be there; they have been for years.
Jack exhales through his nose, almost amused.
He reaches into his pocket.
Carefully, he pulls out the chain.
His dog tags.
Worn. Familiar. Still his.
He places them gently into your hand.
“That’s how they identified you, Mrs. Abbot,” he says quietly.
That makes your expression shift, softening, something warm and tried underneath it.
Then your eyes drop the break.
The link halfway down snapped from the impact.
“Oh,” you murmur. “It’s broken,”
“Yeah,” he answers. “We’ll fix it.”
You study him for a second, still holding onto the chain lightly as if it grounds you.
“Thankfully,” you murmur, “the government likes labelling properly.”
That gets a quiet breath out of him.
“Yeah?” he asks.
You nod faintly.
“Very official,” you add. “Important documentation.”
Jack shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“And what,” he says, voice lower now, teasing, “are you properly of?”
You don’t even hesitate.
“You.”
The teasing fades out of his expression for a second, something quieter replacing it.
“…Yeah?” he asks softly.
Your grip on the tags tightens just slightly.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Been that way for a while.”
He holds your hand a little tighter.
“Good,” he says quietly.
Then, softer:
“Keep it that way.”
Your eyes start to drift again, exhaustion pulling at you.
“Wasn’t planning on changing it,” you whisper.
Jack’s thumb moves once over your knuckles.
And this time, neither of you says anything else.
Everything is finally feeling steady again.
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