Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: A cemetery visit. Neither of you expected it to hurt this much.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Throwback: Wanna come over for dinner?
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The Sunday started in the slowest way possible. Lazy cuddles in bed - first with Jack, later with Lizzie then a long breakfast with everything. Afterwards you took a long shower while Jack got Lizzie ready for the day.
Now sunlight spilled through the apartment windows while your toddler sat in the middle of the living room surrounded by toys she was mostly ignoring in favor of ripping some books apart.
You were still in shorts and one of Jack’s hoodies when he appeared in the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“Hey.”
You looked up from the sofa. “Hey.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Do you wanna go out for a bit?”
“Sure.” You stretched your legs out a little, then yawned. “Where?”
“Hm.” He shrugged lightly. “There’s something I wanna show you. And then probably playground? Before this little minx here destroys all of our earthly possessions?”
That immediately earned him a delighted noise from Lizzie who apparently recognized exactly one word in that sentence like a slightly intelligent labrador. “DADA!”
You laughed softly. “That’s an argument I can’t win. So yeah, sure.”
Jack smiled faintly, then nodded. “Okay.”
You didn’t think much of it at first.
You packed the diaper bag while Jack got Lizzie ready. Snacks. Water bottles. Spare clothes. Some toys. The stuffed giraffe she currently couldn’t emotionally survive without. Sunscreen. Wet wipes. And another dozen things required to keep this toddler alive for a couple of hours.
From the nursery you could hear Jack talking to Lizzie while wrestling her into shoes. Something she clearly considered oppression.
“Okay, bean. Could you please try to cooperate today?”
“NO!”
“... wow” Jack muttered. “That was immediate.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Still doesn’t count as her first word, okay?”
You heard Jack laugh in the nursery. “Yeah, agreed.”
Eventually they came into the hallway - Jack carrying Lizzie, who held his sunglasses in her hands, looking deeply pleased while chewing on the temples.
“I’m already sweating” Jack groaned, grabbing his keys.
You grinned. “Welcome to toddler life, Dr. Abbot.”
The drive started normal enough - Lizzie babbling to herself in the car seat, shrieking every now and then, music’s low, Jack’s hand resting absentmindedly on your thigh whenever traffic slowed.
But after about twenty minutes something shifted - not dramatically, just noticeable. Jack got quieter, more thoughtful.
He drove like he knew exactly where he was going without checking directions once - one hand steady on the wheel, jaw tight.
You noticed eventually. “You okay?”
He glanced over briefly. “Yeah.”
“And where are we going exactly?”
He shrugged. “You’ll see.”
Something in the answer made you leave it alone.
Outside the city slowly gave way to quieter streets. Smaller roads. Older neighborhoods. And then you saw the sign.
Cemetery.
Your stomach dropped so suddenly it almost felt physical. “Oh.”
You turned toward Jack but he didn’t look at you immediately. He only tightened his grip on the steering wheel for half a second. He switched on the blinker and parked in a parking lot beneath old trees.
For a second neither of you moved.
Then he turned toward you in his seat.
“I hope this is okay for you?” His voice sounded quieter than usual. “I just…” He exhaled slowly. “I wanted you here.”
Something in your chest cracked a little. “Okay” you managed quietly, swallowed hard.
He nodded once, then got out of the car. You watched him walk toward the trunk and for some reason you suddenly became hyperaware of the engagement ring on your finger. The sight of it here felt strangely overwhelming.
You swallowed again, then looked up, watching Jack in the rear mirror. He opened the trunk and carefully pulled out flowers. You watched him walking around, lifting Lizzie onto his hip while you eventually grabbed your bag and left the car.
The cemetery felt strangely peaceful. Not cold or sad - just quiet.
Old trees stretched overhead, leaves shifting softly in the warm midmorning breeze. Somewhere birds called to each other. Gravel crunched quietly beneath your shoes while sunlight moved through patches of shade.
The only sound was Lizzie babbling happily to herself.
Jack walked like he knew every turn without thinking - and you suddenly realized that he really did come here regularly. Enough to know exactly where every path led. Enough that this place had become familiar.
That thought hurt unexpectedly.
Eventually he slowed, then stopped.
There it was.
The grave was beautiful - a marble stone engraved with some simple lines:
Hannah Abbot
~ Love remains. Hope endures. ~
The grave itself looked deeply cared for. There were flowers planted with no sign of weeds around. The stone was clean. Everything looked gently loved.
Jack crouched and put Lizzie onto the grass. Then he set the fresh flowers down carefully on the grave, while gathering the old ones that had started fading around the edges.
You stood there awkwardly for a second. You felt nervous. On edge.
Lizzie suddenly let out a loud shriek, then was immediately distracted by leaves and clumps of grass. Jack stood at the gravesite for a moment, in silence, before clearing his throat.
“I’m gonna get water” he murmured, then carried on walking the path.
And then it was just you - and Hannah.
Your heart beat weirdly hard against your chest. You awkwardly rubbed your hands together.
“Um. Hi” you said quietly, just to immediately regret it.
God, that sounded stupid.
“Um. I don’t know.” A tiny nervous laugh escaped you. “It’s nice to meet you?”
You cringed.
“Oh my god.”
This was horrible.
You took a breath. “I’ve actually wanted to come here for a while” you said quietly.
You looked briefly toward Lizzie, who was now fully committed to pulling up grass, getting dirt all over herself. Then you turned back.
“Thank you” you said quietly. “For… um… for taking care of him before me. And for helping make him into the man he is today.” Your voice softened without meaning to. “He’s pretty awesome.”
You heard quiet footsteps behind you. Jack walked closer, watering can in hand. He gave you a small smile, then watered the plants with careful familiarity. You suddenly wondered how many times he’d done this.
When he finished he put the watering can down and moved beside you. His shoulder brushed yours and his hand quietly found yours. You squeezed it gently.
“You okay?” you asked carefully.
Jack didn’t answer immediately, instead his eyes stayed on the grave for a second longer. Then he exhaled quietly. “Today? Yeah.” He paused. “In general? Depends on the day.” He shrugged. “Grief isn’t really linear.”
A tiny humorless smile crossed his face.
“Sometimes I think I’m okay and then something stupid hits me. A song. A smell. Somebody says something.” His thumb brushed absent circles against your hand. “And sometimes… sometimes it feels weirdly okay.”
His eyes shifted briefly toward Lizzie in the grass, then toward you.
“You know I loved her” he said quietly. “And I guess a part of me always will.”
Something small hurt briefly in your chest but disappeared quickly again.
Jack looked at you fully. “I love you.” His fingers tightened slightly around yours. “And I do hope she’s happy for me.” He paused. “For us.”
For a moment he looked strangely vulnerable, like he really wanted to believe that.
You squeezed his hand. “I think she would” you whispered. And somehow you really meant it.
Nearby Lizzie let out another shriek, proudly holding up a tragically mangled dandelion. Jack looked over - and huffed out a laugh.
“Well” he murmured quietly, eyes suspiciously glassy now. “I’m not the only one bringing flowers, huh?”
You tried to laugh but it got caught in your throat.
The walk back to the car happened quietly - or as quietly as it could with a very active toddler babbling and kicking her legs while being carried by her dad. You walked beside them, your hand still in Jack’s.
His thumb brushing over your knuckles every few steps like he couldn’t quite stop checking that you were still there. Neither of you said anything.
The cemetery slowly disappeared behind you while warm air drifted through the trees overhead. Gravel crunched softly beneath your shoes.
You found yourself glancing sideways at Jack more than once. At the familiar shape of him, the gentle tiredness around his eyes, the way he carried your daughter without thinking about it.
He was the same man who made you coffee. Who kissed your forehead absentmindedly when you snuggled up on the sofa together. Who had proposed to you on a jetty with a nervous speech and shaking hands. Who still looked faintly offended every time you carried anything remotely heavy after your neck thing.
And suddenly you couldn’t stop thinking about him younger. With unruly ginger curls. Maybe still with both legs. Wilder, less composed. Maybe with that restless energy of youth. Sitting on a hospital bed, watching somebody he loved disappear piece by piece. Attending every single hospital appointment even when it broke his heart.
Still hoping - until there was no more hope left.
And then grief so large it had hollowed him out enough that years later he still sometimes lay awake staring at ceilings.
Jack unlocked the car and opened your door automatically. He waited until you got in before he buckled Lizzie into her seat with the practiced efficiency of a man who had done this countless times before.
“Okay Bean” he murmured softly. “You behave, okay?”
Lizzie blinked at him like she considered it, then let out a shriek. “No!”
“Impressive argument, princess.” Jack said with a chuckle and closed the door. A minute later he slid into the driver’s seat beside you.
The car stayed quiet for a moment.
Jacks hand found yours gently. You looked down - at the engagement ring that still occasionally startled you. And suddenly, without warning, your throat tightened. You blinked quickly, already feeling the familiar burning sensation in your chest.
You turned slightly toward the window, trying to act normal.
Somehow all at once the whole thing hit you. Not just Hannah or the grave but the sheer unfairness of it. What Jack had lived through. The loss. The grief. The silence afterwards. And years and years of carrying all of that alone.
Before you could stop it tears slipped down your face.
Jack immediately turned. “Oh - sweetheart?” His expression changed - from concern to confusion to gentleness. “Hey.”
You shook your head quickly, laughing weakly through the tears already embarrassing you. “I’m okay.”
“You’re crying.” He shifted closer, one hand lifting gently to brush tears from your cheek. “What happened?”
Somehow that question made it worse, because you didn’t even know fully what happened. You shrugged slightly. “I just…” Your voice cracked. “I’m just really sad.”
His brow furrowed. “About what?”
You looked at him - the man who had survived all of this somehow still gently enough to love again. Your heart hurt unbearably for him.
“About you” you whispered quietly.
Jack blinked, caught off guard. “About me?”
You nodded quickly, still wiping at your face. “I think I only really understood today.”
His expression softened.
“At the grave and…” Your voice cracked again. “I don’t know.” You laughed weakly through tears. “I’m sad for her. I’m sad she didn’t get more life. I’m sad she didn’t get to grow old.”
Jack stayed very still, just listening to you.
“I’m sad for the version of you that had to go through all of that. You loved her so much and I … I just keep thinking about you having to watch that happen. You went through something so awful and I’m… I’m just so sad now. And I’m… I’m also aware that if things had gone differently…” She swallowed hard. “We wouldn’t be together. There would be no Lizzie. No us. No… this. And I feel guilty for thinking about this now” you added hastily, while wiping at your face.
Silence settled softly inside the car.
Jack looked at you for a long second. “Oh sweetheart” he whispered while his face crumpled just a little.
He reached over with no hesitation and pulled you gently closer across the center console. His arm wrapped around you carefully, while pressing his lips softly against your hair.
“You don’t have to cry for me. And you don’t have to feel guilty.”
“It’s not like I have a choice” you replied, the sentence broken around the edges.
That made him laugh softly.
“It was awful, there is no point pretending otherwise.” His hand moved slowly against your back. “There were days I genuinely didn’t think I’d survive it. But-” he said after a second. “- I did. And then somehow I found you.”
Fresh tears spilled out of your eyes again. “Oh no” you whispered miserably. “Don’t say cute things right now.”
He laughed again, then gave a small kiss on your temple. “She mattered, you know?” he said quietly. “And losing her changed me. But… so do you. You don’t have to feel sorry for that version of me that existed before us. Because that person had to go through all of this to become the man he is today.” He paused for a moment. “And I’m not feeling guilty for loving you the way I do. Because you are the best thing that happened to me. I love you so much.”
You swallowed hard and leaned into him. “I’m really glad she loved you” you whispered.
Jack went still for half a second, then he closed his eyes briefly. “Me too.”
“And I love you too” you added, voice still quiet, looking up at him.
He smiled at you, brushing the last of your tears away from under your eyes. Then he kissed you - gentle, careful, loving. And you kissed him back.
From the backseat came an offended shrieking sound. You smiled against Jack’s lips.
“Does she think we’re embarrassing?” you asked quietly, pulling slightly back.
Jack glanced at his daughter. “I thought that kind of sounds were only expected with puberty but hey, she’s just very developed.”
You laughed, the knot in your stomach loosening slightly. “Let’s bring our tiny dictator to the playground.”
Jack started the car, then glanced at you. “Don’t you fear she might start terrorizing the village?”
You shrugged. “Better them than us.”
Jack laughed, leaned over for another quick kiss then pulled out of the parking space.
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You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader
Reader: She/her pronouns, no given name
Warnings: Heavy angst, emotional neglect, marital conflict, pregnancy, divorce discussion, loneliness, hurt/no comfort, Jack missing an important event, a painful marriage breakdown, emotional abandonment, public humiliation, pregnancy reveal, divorce papers, and unresolved ending.
Author’s Note: Inspired by the kind of heartbreak that does not end just because someone leaves. Loosely inspired by Janine Berdin’s What If I Miss You For The Rest Of My Life?
This will be one of the few works I’ve decided to allow reblogs on, mostly because I want to see how I feel about it before deciding whether I’ll allow reblogs on future fics. I haven’t been the biggest fan of reblogs in the past, so please be respectful of that.
Summary: Jack promised he would be there. For once, on the most important night of your career, you believed him. But when the hospital takes him away again, you are left to stand alone beneath the lights, accept an award with his chair sitting empty beside you, and carry the secret you had planned to share with him. By the time he finally comes home, the marriage has already broken in a place apologies cannot reach.
I have built a house where I wait for your return
The dress had been hanging on the back of the bedroom door for almost two weeks before Jack finally noticed it.
You had left it there on purpose, though you told yourself you hadn’t. You told yourself it was there because the closet was too full, because the garment bag was too long, because the silk would crease if you shoved it between winter coats and blazers. You told yourself a lot of things because admitting the truth felt too humiliating, and the truth was that part of you wanted him to see it. You wanted him to remember without being reminded. You wanted him to walk past it after a long shift, pause with his hand still on the doorknob, and say, “That’s for the gala, right?” like the date lived somewhere in his head that wasn’t overcrowded by trauma charts, shift changes, hospital pages, and everyone else’s emergencies.
It was a black silk gown, simple in the way expensive things were simple. Off the shoulder, fitted through the waist, smooth over the hips, with a slit that opened only when you walked. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t need to be. The fabric caught the bedroom light softly, almost like water, and every time you passed it, you imagined wearing it beside him.
That was the part that embarrassed you now. You had imagined it.
Jack in a dark suit. You in the black dress. His hand at the small of your back while people congratulated you. Maybe he would be tired, because he was always tired, but he would be there. You pictured him standing slightly behind you when people asked questions about the hospital contracts, his expression quiet but proud, his thumb brushing your hip like he needed to remind himself you were real. You pictured him leaning down and saying something low near your ear, something dry and teasing, something only meant for you. You pictured walking into a room and not feeling like you had to be impressive alone.
Three weeks earlier, he had stood in the kitchen with the invitation in his hand, wearing sweatpants and an old Pitt hoodie, his hair still damp from the shower. His eyes had looked bruised underneath from exhaustion, but when he read your name embossed in gold, he smiled.
“Dr. Y/N Abbot,” he said, running his thumb over the raised lettering. “Founder and Chief Systems Architect. This is fancy.”
You had been sitting at the island with your laptop open, pretending not to watch him too closely. There was a half-empty mug of tea beside your hand that had gone cold while you answered emails, and Jack had been barefoot on the kitchen tile, still carrying the warmth of the shower and the fatigue of the hospital with him.
“It’s a major industry gala, Jack. It’s supposed to be fancy.”
He looked up, amused. “I know. I’m just saying. This is real fancy.”
“You’re acting like I invited you to prom.”
“Kind of feels like it,” he said, setting the invitation down. “Except I don’t think anyone at my prom was casually entering billion-dollar valuation territory.”
You laughed despite yourself, and he came around the island, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. For a moment, you let yourself lean back into him. He smelled like soap, coffee, and hospital laundry detergent, that clean, sterile scent that had somehow become part of your marriage. His mouth brushed the side of your neck, and for a second, the kitchen felt like a place where both of your lives still fit.
“Don’t say it like that,” you murmured.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous,” Jack said, his voice low against your skin. “In a good way. My wife builds technology hospitals are fighting to buy, and I’m over here trying to remember where I left my badge.”
You turned in his arms and looked up at him. His hands stayed at your waist, warm and familiar. You could feel the small tremor of exhaustion in him, the way he was never fully still after a hard shift, like some part of his body was always bracing for the next alarm.
“So you’re coming?”
His smile softened. “Of course I’m coming.”
“You asked Harper to switch?”
“Already done.”
“You’re not on call?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
Jack’s expression changed then, the teasing fading into something more careful. He touched your cheek with his thumb, and you hated how quickly your heart wanted to believe him. It was always like that with Jack. One gentle touch, one serious look, one promise said in that tired, sincere voice, and all the loneliness you had been trying to gather into evidence loosened in your hands.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m coming.”
You searched his face. “This one matters to me.”
“I know.”
“It’s not just dinner. We’re announcing the hospital network implementation contracts. The rollout plan. Market entry. The valuation estimate. This is the kind of night people remember.”
Jack nodded and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
That was the version of him you kept loving. The version that meant it. The problem was, Jack almost always meant it. If he had been careless, maybe you could have hated him properly. If he had forgotten because you did not matter, maybe the grief would have sharpened into something cleaner, something you could hold without blaming yourself. But Jack remembered in fragments. He loved in fragments. He showed up in small, exhausted pieces and looked at you like he wanted to give you everything, right before the world asked him for more than he had left.
And you kept living on those pieces.
A hand on your waist in the kitchen. His mouth against your temple before a shift. The rare mornings where he woke before his alarm and pulled you back against him like sleep had made him honest. The way he still looked at your face sometimes, quietly, almost helplessly, like he was surprised life had ever given him something soft. You had survived on that for longer than you wanted to admit, and that was the humiliating part. Not that he hurt you. Not even that he missed things. It was that one good look from him could still make you forgive a loneliness he had not yet apologized for.
On the night of the gala, he called you at 5:18 p.m.
You were standing in the bathroom in a silk robe while your makeup artist packed up her kit. Your hair was pinned into a low twist at the back of your neck, with a few pieces left soft around your face. Your earrings were already on, small diamond drops that caught the light whenever you moved. Your face looked finished in the mirror — warm skin, dark lashes, softly lined lips — polished enough that no one would know how nervous you were.
The bathroom smelled like hairspray, powder, perfume, and the faint steam from the shower you had taken an hour earlier. On the counter, your lipstick lay uncapped beside a little dish holding your wedding rings, which you had cleaned that afternoon because you thought there would be photographs of the two of you. The whole apartment felt too quiet, too prepared, like a stage waiting for someone who had not arrived yet.
Your phone lit up on the counter.
Jack.
Your stomach dropped before you even answered.
“Please don’t,” you said immediately.
There was a pause on the other end. Then Jack sighed, and the sound told you everything before he did.
“Y/N.”
You closed your eyes. “You said you weren’t on call.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You said you switched.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you calling me like this?”
He sounded tired already. Not physically tired exactly, but braced, like he knew he was about to hurt you and hated that knowing. “Harper’s kid got sick, and they’re short. It’s bad. I wouldn’t go in if they had coverage.”
You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyeliner was perfect. Your lips were perfect. Your whole face looked calm in a way that made you feel almost detached from it.
“Did they ask you, or did you offer?”
Jack didn’t answer quickly enough.
You let out a small, humourless laugh. “Oh.”
“They were drowning,” he said.
“So you offered.”
“I said I could come in for a few hours. I’m going to try to get out as soon as I can.”
You pressed your fingertips into the cool marble counter. The makeup artist moved quietly in your peripheral vision, pretending very hard not to listen.
“Jack, the reception starts at seven. Dinner is at eight. Speeches are at nine-thirty.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“That’s not fair.”
You looked down at your wedding band in the dish. The diamond caught the bathroom light, clean and bright and cruel.
“I can’t do this right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
The silence stretched. You could hear hospital noise in the background already: a distant page, someone calling for transport, the low hum of a place that never cared what anyone had planned.
“I’ll make it,” Jack said, but his voice had changed.
You heard the lie before it fully left his mouth.
“Don’t,” you said softly.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give me a second promise to cover the first one.”
He exhaled. “Y/N.”
“I have to finish getting dressed.”
“I love you.”
Your throat tightened. “I know.”
He waited, but you did not say it back. After a few seconds, he said he would text you when he knew more, and you ended the call before he could apologize again.
The makeup artist stood very still, her brush bag in one hand, pretending she had not heard enough to understand. You looked at her through the mirror and smiled with the exact expression you used in investor meetings.
“Sorry about that.”
Her face softened. “No, don’t apologize.”
You picked up your lipstick and opened it even though your lips were already done. “I’m fine.”
She did not believe you, which was kind of her. At least she did you the courtesy of not saying so.
You waited until she left before you put your rings back on. For a moment, you stood in the quiet bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. The woman looking back at you was composed, elegant, expensive. She looked like someone who knew exactly where she was going. She did not look like someone trying to decide whether it was more pathetic to cry before the biggest night of her career or to still hope her husband might walk through the door in time.
You got dressed carefully. You stepped into the gown and pulled it up over your body, smoothing the silk over your hips with both hands. The dress fit perfectly. That almost made you cry. You had wanted Jack to see it. You had wanted the private little intake of breath he sometimes gave when he forgot to pretend he wasn’t stunned by you. You had wanted him to look at you like he remembered you were not just the person waiting at home with leftovers and patience.
Instead, you zipped yourself up alone.
The first news segment aired from the lobby of The Pitt just after 7:00 p.m.
It wasn’t unusual for the televisions in the emergency department to run local news with the volume low. Most of the time, no one paid attention unless there was a weather alert, a mass casualty incident, or something affecting hospital funding. It was background noise beneath sharper sounds: monitors beeping, wheels rattling, phones ringing, curtain rings scraping open and shut.
Jack was at the desk reviewing imaging when one of the nurses looked up at the television.
“Wait,” she said. “Is that your wife?”
Jack’s head lifted.
The screen showed the front of the Meridian Grand, a luxury hotel downtown with a glass canopy and warm lights spilling onto the rain-dark sidewalk. A reporter stood outside in a wool coat, holding a microphone while guests moved behind her in formalwear.
The lower-third banner read:
L/N POWER SYSTEMS CELEBRATES MAJOR HOSPITAL GRID CONTRACTS
Company valuation expected to climb as implementation phase begins
Jack’s hand tightened around the tablet.
The reporter smiled into the camera. “Tonight, L/N Power Systems is hosting a private gala following a major round of hospital infrastructure contracts that could place the company among the most valuable emerging players in emergency energy systems. Founded by electrical engineer Dr. Y/N Abbot, L/N Power Systems has developed adaptive microgrid technology designed to keep critical hospital units powered during grid failures, natural disasters, and rolling outages.”
A resident standing nearby glanced between the television and Jack. “Dr. Abbot, that’s your wife, right?”
Jack nodded once. “Yeah.”
“Damn,” the resident said, clearly trying to sound impressed rather than awkward. “That’s huge.”
Jack did not respond. The broadcast cut to a graphic showing projected contract values, implementation timelines, and valuation estimates. The numbers were careful, couched in analyst language, but the implication was obvious. If your company hit its implementation targets and the contracts expanded the way people expected, you were on track to enter billion-dollar territory.
A nurse whistled quietly. “Billion with a B?”
Another nurse said, “And she designed the actual system?”
Jack looked at the screen. “Yeah.”
The nurse shook her head. “That’s wild.”
The camera returned to the hotel entrance just as your car pulled up. Jack knew it was you before the door opened. He recognized the way Mara, your assistant, stepped out first and turned back toward the car, one hand hovering near the open door.
Then you appeared.
For a second, the desk around him faded out. The dress looked different on you than it had on the hanger. It followed your body with quiet confidence, the black silk catching silver from the camera flashes and gold from the hotel lights. Your shoulders were bare. Your hair was pinned low, elegant but not severe, and the diamonds at your ears glittered whenever you turned your head. You stepped under the canopy and smiled for the cameras.
It was a beautiful smile. It was also the smile you wore when you were trying not to feel something.
The reporter turned as photographers called your name. “And there she is now, Dr. Y/N Abbot, founder and chief systems architect of L/N Power Systems. Dr. Abbot has been described by analysts as one of the most closely watched engineers in the hospital infrastructure space, especially now that her company’s adaptive grid platform is moving from pilot installations into large-scale implementation.”
Someone at the desk said, “Jack, aren’t you supposed to be there?”
Nobody meant it cruelly. That almost made it worse.
Jack swallowed, still watching as you paused beside the step-and-repeat, your clutch held neatly in both hands.
“I was.”
The answer made the area around him go quiet.
On-screen, a reporter asked you, “Dr. Abbot, tonight is being described as a turning point for your company. What does it mean to have hospital systems moving forward with implementation?”
You smiled, and Jack noticed your fingers tighten slightly around your clutch.
“It means the work is becoming real,” you said. “Designing the system was one part of it. Proving it under stress testing was another. Implementation is where it starts to matter for patients, doctors, nurses, and everyone relying on those seconds when the grid becomes unstable.”
The reporter asked, “There’s already discussion of a possible billion-dollar valuation. Are you thinking about that tonight?”
You gave a small laugh, polite and controlled. “I think my CFO is probably thinking about it more than I am. The valuation matters because it affects growth and deployment, but for me, the focus is still the technology. If a trauma bay stays powered during an outage because of something my team built, that means more to me than a headline.”
The reporter thanked you. You nodded, smiled again, and moved inside.
Jack stood very still until the charge nurse beside him looked over. “You okay?”
He dragged his eyes from the screen. “Yeah.”
She held his gaze long enough to make it clear she did not believe him. Then a trauma page came through, and the whole department lurched back into motion. Jack handed off the tablet, shoved his phone into his pocket, and went where he was needed.
Again.
At the gala, people kept asking where your husband was.
You answered the first few times with patience. “He got called into the hospital.”
Most people responded kindly. Some even looked impressed, as if Jack’s absence made the two of you nobler somehow.
“Oh, of course. Emergency medicine.”
“That must be so difficult.”
“You both do such meaningful work.”
“Power couple, even when you’re in different places.”
You smiled through all of it. “Yes. He’s very dedicated.”
The ballroom was beautiful, but after a while its beauty started to feel almost cruel. The ceiling was high and painted cream and gold, with chandeliers throwing soft light over round tables covered in white linen. Each place setting had a black menu card with gold foil, a small arrangement of white orchids, and a tiny glass votive candle. Along one wall, a projection displayed animated renderings of your adaptive grid system: hospital wings lighting in sequence, power rerouting through alternate pathways, emergency loads stabilizing under simulated failures.
Your company’s leadership team sat near the stage. Your engineers were at the tables closest to you, dressed in suits and gowns that looked slightly unfamiliar on them. You loved seeing the people who had built the system with you getting treated like they belonged in rooms where money moved. Some of them kept taking discreet pictures of the menus and the floral arrangements. One of your junior engineers had shown up in a suit that still had a faint fold line in the sleeve from being fresh out of the garment bag. Another kept touching the stem of his wineglass like he was afraid of breaking it.
You should have been happy. Part of you was happy. That was what made the grief feel so unfair. The night was not ruined. The contracts were real. The applause was real. Your team’s pride was real. Your name on that screen was real. All of it was real.
So was the empty chair beside you.
By the tenth time someone asked where your husband was, you stopped hearing the question as a question. It became part of the room.
Where is he?
In the clink of champagne glasses.
Where is he?
In the scrape of chairs being pulled out for other wives, other husbands, other people with someone’s hand resting warmly against the backs of their seats.
Where is he?
In the empty space beside your plate, where his name sat in elegant black ink on heavy cream cardstock.
Dr. Jack Abbot
You stared at it for too long once, long enough that Mara touched your elbow beneath the table.
“You okay?”
You smiled before you answered, because that had become its own kind of muscle memory. “Yes.”
But your chest ached with something so childish and raw that it embarrassed you. You wanted him to think of you. Not the company. Not the press segment. Not the award. You. The woman in the dress he had promised to stand beside. The woman who had cleaned her wedding rings because she thought there would be photographs. The woman who kept glancing at the doors like wanting him hard enough might make him appear.
You hated yourself a little for that.
You hated that even surrounded by applause, even with your name glowing behind you, some stupid, tender part of you was still waiting to be someone’s favorite thing in the room.
Mara stayed close, fielding conversations when she sensed you needed a breath. She wore a deep green dress and carried a tablet even though you had told her not to work tonight.
“You’re doing great,” she murmured when a hospital executive walked away after asking too many questions about rollout costs.
You looked at the champagne flute in your hand. You had not taken a single sip.
“I’m doing rich-woman cosplay.”
“You are a rich woman.”
“Not emotionally.”
Mara almost laughed, then looked at your face and didn’t.
Your hand went to your clutch, where the white envelope from the doctor’s office was tucked beneath your phone. You had not told anyone. Not Mara. Not your mother. Not Jack.
Especially not Jack.
The result had come through that morning after bloodwork confirmed what the home tests had already said. Five weeks. Early enough that it still felt secret and unreal, but real enough that the nurse had told you to start prenatal vitamins and book a follow-up appointment. You had sat in your car outside the clinic with both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the printed result until the words stopped looking like English.
Pregnant.
At first, you cried because you were happy. Then you cried because you were scared. Then, worst of all, you cried because the first person you wanted was Jack, and you had already known there was a chance he would not be there when you told him.
During dinner, your phone buzzed once. You checked it under the table.
Jack:
I’m still here. I’m so sorry. I watched your interview. You looked beautiful. I’m proud of you.
You stared at it for a long moment. For a second, you felt nothing. Then the hurt arrived slowly, settling into the parts of you that had already made room for it.
Mara leaned closer. “Is it him?”
You put the phone face down on the table. “Yeah.”
“Is he coming?”
You smoothed the edge of your napkin in your lap. “No.”
Mara went quiet. Across the room, your CFO was laughing with two investors. Someone from the hospital network raised a glass toward you, and you smiled back automatically.
“I don’t want to cry in this dress,” you said.
Mara’s voice softened. “Then don’t. Be mad instead.”
You looked at her, and something in your chest tightened. “I’m so tired of being mad.”
That was the truth you never said out loud. Anger took energy. Anger required the belief that something could still change if you made enough noise. You were so far past that now. You were tired in a way sleep could not fix, tired of dressing up disappointment until it looked like understanding, tired of giving Jack the best parts of your compassion while keeping none of it for yourself.
The first time the lights flickered at The Pitt that night, nobody really reacted.
Hospitals had a way of making disaster feel routine at first. A monitor blinked. A ceiling light hummed. Somewhere behind the desk, a printer stopped halfway through a page and then coughed itself back to life. The nurses looked up, annoyed but not afraid, because annoyance was easier to wear than fear.
Jack was in trauma two with both hands pressed around a patient’s bleeding thigh when the second flicker came.
This time, the room noticed.
“Power?” someone asked.
“Backup should catch,” a nurse said, but her voice had gone thin.
Then the overheads steadied. The monitors held. The ventilator kept its rhythm. The trauma bay stayed bright.
A few seconds later, someone from facilities came over the radio, breathless and stunned.
Only for a second, but long enough for the words to land somewhere beneath his ribs.
Adaptive reroute.
Your system.
Your work.
Your sleepless nights, your marked-up schematics, your laptop glowing blue at two in the morning while he came home too tired to ask what you were building. Your hands, your mind, your stubbornness, your company, your impossible little gap between failure and recovery.
The trauma bay lights stayed on because of you.
And he was not beside you when the world clapped for it.
“Dr. Abbot?”
Jack blinked and looked down. His gloves were slick. The patient was still bleeding. The room still needed him.
“Clamp,” he said, voice rough. “Now.”
He kept working because that was what he did. He kept people alive. He kept rooms from falling apart. He kept going until the crisis passed and everyone around him could breathe again.
But after, when the patient was taken upstairs and Jack stepped into the hall, the television over the nurses’ station was still showing the gala.
Your gala.
The reporter’s voice filled the space between ringing phones and rolling carts.
“Moments ago, L/N Power Systems’ adaptive grid platform stabilized a critical load interruption at an emergency department participating in one of its pilot programs. Company officials have not yet confirmed which hospital experienced the event, but analysts are already calling tonight a live demonstration of the technology’s value.”
A resident looked from the screen to Jack.
No one had to say it.
Jack already knew.
The hospital had needed you tonight too. The difference was, the hospital had gotten you.
He had not shown up for you at all.
Jack saw your acceptance speech from the staff lounge.
He had missed the start because a patient had crashed, and by the time he made it to the lounge, his scrub top was damp at the collar and his hands still smelled faintly of antiseptic even after washing them twice. Someone had turned the television volume up because your gala was now the top local business story of the evening.
You were on stage behind a podium, your award resting beside the microphone. The lights made your skin glow and turned the black silk of your gown almost blue at the edges. Behind you, the screen showed a slow animation of your company’s system keeping a surgical wing powered during a simulated outage.
Jack stayed in the doorway.
On the screen, you took a breath and looked out at the room.
“When I started this company, a lot of people told me the idea was too difficult to scale,” you said. “Some were polite about it. Some were not. I was told hospitals already had backup systems, that emergency power was a solved problem, and that the failure gap we were focused on was too small to justify the investment.”
You smiled slightly, and the audience laughed when you added, “The thing about engineers is that if you tell us the gap is small, we tend to ask what happens inside it.”
Jack’s throat tightened. He had heard you practice versions of this speech in the shower, in the kitchen, in the car. He had teased you once for rewriting one paragraph eleven times. You had thrown a pillow at him and told him the paragraph was weak.
Now you were saying it without him in the room.
“We built this system because seconds matter,” you continued. “A few seconds without stable power can change what happens in an operating room, in a trauma bay, in a NICU, in an elevator carrying a patient between floors. The goal was never to make hospitals perfect. The goal was to give them a better chance when everything else is failing.”
The staff lounge was quiet. Jack noticed one of the nurses standing near the coffee machine, arms folded, watching with damp eyes.
You glanced down briefly, then back up.
“I’m grateful for my team. I’m grateful to the hospital partners who believed in the technology early. I’m grateful to the people who asked hard questions, because they made the system better.”
You paused.
Jack knew that pause. He knew it because he had lived with you long enough to hear the breath you took before saying something that cost you.
“Tonight is a professional milestone, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t feel personal too. Building something this demanding changes your life. It changes your relationships. It tests who shows up, who wants to, and who actually does.”
Jack’s face went still.
On-screen, your expression remained calm, but your voice softened.
“I’ve learned that success does not make loneliness disappear. It can fill a ballroom. It can put your name on a screen. It can bring applause, contracts, and congratulations. But at the end of the night, you still know which chair beside you stayed empty.”
Nobody in the lounge moved.
Jack looked at the floor. He did not have to see the screen to know the camera would have found his empty chair. A place card with his name. A dinner plate cleared untouched. A visible absence.
But the camera did find it.
Not for long.
Just long enough.
There it was on the television: the chair beside you, empty beneath warm ballroom light. A white place card sat above the untouched dinner setting.
Dr. Jack Abbot
Someone in the lounge inhaled quietly.
Jack stared at his name on the screen.
It was different seeing it like that. Not as a missed text. Not as a fight waiting to happen. Not as something he could explain with patients and short staffing and impossible nights.
It was a space with his name on it.
A promise that had a shape.
An absence everyone could see.
You continued, steadier now. “I am proud of this company. I am proud of the team who built it. And tonight, I am proud of myself for believing that the things I needed were worth building, even when I had to build them alone.”
The applause started slowly, then grew.
Jack stood there, unable to move.
One of the residents near the table said quietly, “I’m sorry, man.”
Jack nodded, because there was nothing else to do. A minute later, his pager went off again.
You left the gala after midnight with your award in one hand and your clutch in the other.
People tried to stop you on the way out. A board member wanted to introduce you to someone from a national health system. Your CFO wanted five minutes about a follow-up call. A journalist asked for one more quote. You gave polite answers, promised emails, and let Mara run interference until you made it to the lobby.
Outside, the rain had slowed to a mist. The hotel’s front drive shone under the lights, slick and dark like spilled ink. Your heels clicked against the polished stone as you waited for the car. The night air was cold against your bare shoulders, and Mara draped your coat over you before you could pretend you were fine without it.
“You don’t have to go home,” she said.
You looked at the road. “I know.”
“I can book you a suite upstairs.”
“I already did.”
Mara turned to you.
You kept your eyes forward. “I booked it this afternoon. Just in case.”
Her expression changed, but she did not make it worse by reacting too much. “Okay.”
The car pulled up. The driver took your award and placed it carefully in the back seat. When you slid into the car, the dress gathered around your legs in a pool of black silk. Mara got in beside you.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The city moved past in blurred lights and wet windows. Billboards, traffic signals, restaurants closing for the night, people standing under awnings with cigarettes and phones. The world looked ordinary, which felt insulting. Something inside you had cracked open, and outside, people were still ordering late-night fries.
Mara broke the silence gently. “Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?”
You looked down at your clutch. “I’m pregnant.”
The words came out flat, almost too calm.
Mara’s head turned slowly. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Your eyes burned immediately. “I found out this morning.”
“Does Jack know?”
You shook your head. “I was going to tell him tonight.”
Mara covered her mouth for a second, then lowered her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
That was what undid you. Not the empty chair. Not the text. Not the speech. Just someone being sorry for you without making you explain why you had the right to be hurt.
You bent forward slightly, one hand pressed over your stomach, the other over your mouth, trying not to sob too loudly in the back of the car. Mara moved close and put an arm around your shoulders, careful of your hair, careful of the dress, careful of all the pieces of you that were barely holding.
“I wanted him there,” you said, voice muffled through your fingers. “I wanted one night where I didn’t have to understand.”
Mara rubbed your back. “I know.”
“I hate that I still wanted him.”
“That’s love,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t always leave when it should.”
You cried harder at that, because she was right. You thought you had moved past needing him like that. You thought if you got busy enough, successful enough, full enough, maybe you would not notice the missing parts so much. But then something happened, something beautiful or terrifying or important, and he was still the first person you wanted to tell.
You looked out the window, watching the city smear itself into streaks of white and red through the rain. Pittsburgh looked softer from inside the car, almost forgiving. Like it did not know what had happened to you tonight. Like somewhere behind all those lit windows, people were still coming home to each other.
“I’m sitting here with an award, a company people are saying might be worth a billion dollars, a baby I don’t even know how to feel brave enough for yet, and all I can think is that I wanted my husband to call me his girl one more time and mean it like nothing else in the world mattered.”
Mara reached for your hand.
You let her take it.
“I don’t know where to put all of this love,” you whispered. “That’s the worst part. I can leave the apartment. I can sign papers. I can sleep somewhere else. But what am I supposed to do with all the years I spent loving him?”
Mara squeezed your hand.
You looked down at your wedding ring.
“What if I spend the rest of my life missing him?”
The question was so quiet it barely felt spoken, but once it was out, there was no taking it back.
Jack came home at 2:38 a.m.
He opened the apartment door quietly, like quietness could make his absence smaller. The living room lamp was on. Your award sat on the coffee table, still gleaming, still heavy, still proof that the night had happened whether he had attended or not. Beside it were two envelopes. One cream, one white.
You were sitting on the couch in your gown. You had taken your earrings off. Your hair had loosened, soft pieces falling near your cheeks. Your lipstick had faded, and there were faint marks under your eyes where you had cried and carefully wiped the evidence away. Your heels were lined up beside the couch. Your bare feet were tucked beneath you.
Jack stopped near the door. “Hey.”
You looked up. “Hey.”
He closed the door and set his keys in the bowl by the entryway. The sound was small and domestic, so painfully normal that you almost laughed. How many times had you heard that exact sound? Keys in the bowl. Shoes by the door. His tired sigh. Your voice asking if he had eaten. Marriage had so many tiny rituals that survived even when the people inside them were falling apart.
“You’re still dressed,” he said.
“I know.”
“I thought you might be asleep.”
“I thought a lot of things tonight.”
Jack looked down. He was still in his scrubs under a dark jacket. His hair was messy from running his hands through it, and there was a line across his cheek from where a mask had pressed into his skin. He looked exhausted. He looked guilty. He looked like the man you loved.
That was inconvenient.
That was devastating.
He stepped farther into the room. “I watched your speech.”
You nodded.
“You were incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it. The way you talked about the system, the contracts, all of it. You were…” He stopped, searching for the right word. “You were exactly who you are.”
Your eyes filled, but you blinked the tears back. “That would have been nice to hear in person.”
Jack flinched. “I know.”
You looked down at your hands. Your rings caught the lamplight.
He came closer, stopping at the end of the coffee table. “I’m sorry.”
You smiled a little, but there was no warmth in it. “You say that so much.”
“I know.”
“I think that’s part of the problem.”
Jack sat in the armchair across from you instead of beside you. You appreciated that. At least he could still read a room.
“I didn’t want to miss it,” he said.
You looked at him. “I believe you.”
He seemed thrown by that. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you sound like that?”
“Because wanting to be there and being there are different things.”
Jack rubbed both hands over his face. When he lowered them, his eyes were red. “Harper called. They were short. I thought if I went in early, I could help stabilize things and leave before dinner.”
“You thought.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t call me before deciding.”
“I didn’t want to stress you out while you were getting ready.”
You stared at him, and he heard it as soon as he said it.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.
“You didn’t want to stress me out, so you made the decision alone and told me after.”
Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I made the wrong call.”
“You made the familiar call.”
He swallowed.
The room settled around those words. Rain tapped softly at the windows. Somewhere outside, tires hissed against wet pavement. The apartment smelled faintly like his hospital jacket and your perfume, like two lives still pretending they knew how to touch without hurting each other.
“You don’t understand what it’s like there,” Jack said quietly.
The words came out tired. Not cruel. Not even angry at first. Just exhausted enough to be careless.
You went still.
Jack looked at you and immediately seemed to regret it. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“No,” you said softly. “Say it.”
He closed his eyes. “I just mean, when someone is dying in front of you, when there aren’t enough hands, when people are looking at you like you’re the last thing standing between them and the worst day of their life, it’s not easy to walk away.”
You nodded slowly. “I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
That one hurt.
You stared at him for a second, and something in your face changed. Not anger. Not even shock.
Exhaustion.
The kind that comes when someone you love finally says the thing you always knew they believed underneath all the apologies.
“You’re right,” you said.
Jack opened his eyes. “What?”
“You’re right. I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be you.”
His mouth tightened. “That’s not what I—”
“But I know what it’s like to keep the lights on when a hospital can’t afford for them to go out. I know what it’s like to have people depend on something I built, something I signed my name to, something that could fail in ways that would haunt me. I know what pressure is, Jack. I know what responsibility is.”
His face softened, shame creeping in.
You looked at the award on the table. “And I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people congratulating me while my husband is on a television screen’s other side, using my work to save people, and still somehow unable to show up for me.”
Jack’s eyes shone. “That’s not fair.”
The words came out before he could stop them.
You laughed once, small and wounded. “There it is.”
“Y/N—”
“No, it’s okay. It’s not fair. Someone was dying. The hospital was short. Harper’s kid was sick. There was a trauma. There was a power issue. There’s always a reason, Jack. There is always a reason good enough to make me feel awful for being hurt.”
His jaw worked, but no words came.
You leaned forward slightly, your voice low. “You know what the worst part is? I believe all your reasons. I believe they’re real. I believe they matter. I believe you’re a good doctor and a good man and that people are alive because of you.”
Your eyes filled.
“But I also believe I have been lonely in this marriage. And you keep asking one truth to erase the other.”
Jack looked down.
You reached for the cream envelope on the table. Your fingers brushed over the thick paper, and Jack’s gaze followed the movement.
“What is that?” he asked.
You held it in your lap for a moment. Jack looked at you like he wanted to memorize you and beg forgiveness at the same time. You wondered if he knew how often you had done that to him.
Memorized him, you meant.
The slope of his shoulders when he came home defeated. The faint scar near his eyebrow. The way his hands looked too capable around a coffee mug, too gentle when they touched you, too absent when you needed them and they were somewhere else holding someone else together. You had loved his face through every version of your own disappointment. You had loved him in doorways, waiting for him to take off his shoes. You had loved him across dinner tables where his phone kept lighting up. You had loved him in bed while he slept beside you, too exhausted to notice you were crying.
You had loved him so thoroughly that leaving him felt less like choosing yourself and more like cutting your own heart out before it could beg you to stay.
“I don’t want you to be a lesson,” you said suddenly.
Jack’s brows pulled together. “What?”
You looked down at your hands. “I don’t want to look back one day and tell people you taught me what I deserved. I don’t want you to become some sad, useful story about growth. I wanted you to be my husband.”
His face broke.
You swallowed hard. “I wanted you to be the person I came home to. Not the reason I had to learn how to stop waiting.”
Jack stared at you, and for a moment, you saw the words land somewhere deep enough to hurt him. You almost hated yourself for noticing. You almost hated that even now, a part of you wanted to soften the blow.
“When you asked me to marry you, I thought I understood what you were asking,” you said.
Jack’s face shifted. “What does that mean?”
You looked at him, and the ache in your chest sharpened. “I thought you were asking me to share your life. I thought it meant we would make room for each other, even when it was hard. I knew your job would be demanding. I knew there would be nights you couldn’t leave. I knew I would have to be patient sometimes.”
Your voice stayed even, but Jack’s expression was already changing.
“I didn’t know I was signing up to become the easiest thing to cancel.”
He closed his eyes. “Y/N.”
“I didn’t know I would have to feel guilty for needing you.”
“You don’t have to feel guilty.”
“But I do. Every time. Because there’s always a patient, or a shift, or someone sicker, or something worse. And I know those things matter. I’m not pretending they don’t.”
You set the cream envelope on the table and slid it toward him.
“I just can’t keep living like my pain only counts if it’s an emergency.”
Jack stared at the envelope. For a few seconds, he did not touch it. Then he picked it up.
You watched him open it. You watched him read the first page. You watched the colour leave his face.
“Divorce,” he said quietly.
You folded your hands together so he would not see them shake. “Yes.”
He looked up at you, stunned. “You want a divorce?”
“I don’t want this version of marriage anymore.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You breathed in slowly. “I know.”
Jack stood, then seemed to realize he did not know where to go, so he sat back down hard. “When did you decide this?”
You looked toward the window. The city lights reflected faintly in the glass.
“I think part of me has been deciding for a long time.”
He shook his head. “No. We’ve had hard months. I know that. But divorce?”
“You keep saying it like I’m being dramatic.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“No,” you said. “You’re trying to find the part where I did this wrong, so you don’t have to look at how long you were doing it to me.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. “That’s not fair.”
The words left him fast.
Too fast.
You looked at him, and he looked like he wanted to reach across the room and take them back.
“Stop saying that to me,” you whispered.
His face cracked. “I’m sorry.”
“I am so tired of being told my pain has to be fair to yours.”
Jack covered his mouth with one hand and looked away.
You wiped your thumb over your ring. “I sat at that table tonight with your name card beside me. People kept asking where you were, and I kept making you sound noble because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
Jack looked crushed. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I did. Because I’m used to protecting you from how it feels to be married to you.”
His mouth opened, then closed again. That was the first time he really had no defense.
You continued, softer now. “I don’t think you’re a bad man, Jack. That would be easier. You’re kind. You care about people. You work yourself into the ground because you can’t stand leaving anyone unsupported.”
Your eyes met his.
“But somehow, I became the person you could leave unsupported because I was good at surviving it.”
Jack’s eyes shone. “That’s not how I see you.”
“I know. But it’s how you treat me.”
He pressed his palms together, his hands shaking slightly. “I can change.”
You looked at him with so much sadness that he almost looked away.
“I needed you to change before I had to beg myself to stop hoping.”
The room was quiet after that.
Then Jack noticed the second envelope. The white one. It sat beside the award, small and plain, with the doctor’s office logo in the corner.
His eyes stayed on it too long.
“What’s that?”
You felt your throat close. This was the part you had dreaded most. The part that made everything feel impossible.
You picked up the white envelope. Jack watched you like his body already knew what his mind did not.
“This is what I was going to give you tonight after the gala.”
His face went still.
You held it out.
He did not take it right away.
“Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Please just open it.”
He took the envelope. His fingers were careful, almost gentle, as if the paper might bruise. He pulled out the test results, unfolded them, and read.
You watched the exact second he understood.
His lips parted. His eyes moved over the page again. Then again. When he looked at you, his face had fallen apart so completely that you had to look down.
“You’re pregnant,” he said.
“Yes.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since this morning.”
“This morning?”
You nodded.
Jack looked back at the paper, then at you. “You went alone?”
“I didn’t know if it was real yet. I took tests at home. Then I booked bloodwork.”
“You didn’t tell me?”
You laughed once, and it came out more like a sob. “You weren’t even there when I tried to tell you after.”
He took that quietly.
He deserved it, and he knew he did.
You pressed a hand to your stomach, more for comfort than anything else. “I had this whole plan. It feels stupid now.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It was.” You wiped under your eye carefully. “I thought we’d get through the gala, and then maybe we’d go somewhere quiet. Maybe the balcony or the car. I thought I’d hand it to you and you’d look confused for a second, and then you’d understand. And I thought, for once, the night would feel like ours.”
Jack’s eyes filled. “I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
He put the divorce papers and the test results down on the table with shaking hands, keeping them separate, like mixing them together would make the whole thing more unbearable.
“I want this baby,” he said.
Your face crumpled. “I know.”
“I want you.”
You shook your head slowly. “Jack.”
“I do.”
“I know you want me.”
“Then don’t leave.”
“That’s not how this works.”
He stood again, and this time he came around the coffee table but stopped a few feet away from you.
“I’ll do better,” he said.
You looked tired suddenly. Tired in a way he had never really let himself see.
“You’ve said that before.”
“I mean it differently now.”
“You always mean it.”
He swallowed hard. That hurt him because it was true.
You stood too, the black silk falling around you as you rose. Without the heels, you looked more vulnerable. Less like the woman from the news. More like his wife, barefoot in the living room, exhausted from being brave in public.
“I don’t want to punish you,” you said. “I need you to understand that. I’m not doing this because I want you to suffer.”
“It feels like suffering.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Your voice broke. “Because staying feels like disappearing.”
Jack’s face tightened as if he had been hit.
You looked down, trying to keep your breathing steady. “I don’t recognize myself anymore sometimes. I used to tell you everything. I used to get excited to share things with you. Then I started editing myself because I didn’t want to add pressure to your life. I stopped telling you when I was upset because you already looked crushed when you came home. I stopped asking for dates because it was humiliating to watch you check your phone the whole time.”
Jack closed his eyes. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“You didn’t ask.”
The words came out quietly, but they landed hard.
He opened his eyes again. “You’re right.”
That made you cry harder, because you had wanted him to argue. You had wanted him to give you something to push against. Instead, he looked at you with tears in his eyes and finally saw the damage.
“You’re right,” he said again, his voice rough. “I should have asked. I should have noticed. I should have made room for you without you having to keep proving you needed it.”
You covered your mouth for a second.
Jack looked at your hand, then your stomach. His voice softened. “Are you okay? Physically?”
That question broke something small inside you.
“I think so.”
“Any pain?”
“No.”
“Bleeding?”
“No.”
“Are you nauseous?”
“A little.”
He nodded, doctor mode flickering in, then dying immediately because he seemed to realize how badly timed it was.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’m doing the thing.”
You let out a tiny, sad laugh. “Yeah. You are.”
Jack wiped his face with the heel of his hand. “I want to come to the appointments.”
“I know.”
“Will you let me?”
You looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t know yet.”
He nodded quickly, even though it hurt. “Okay.”
“I’m not saying no forever.”
“I understand.”
“I just can’t make promises tonight to make you feel better.”
He breathed in shakily. “Okay.”
You moved toward the chair near the hallway and picked up a small overnight bag.
Jack saw it, and panic crossed his face before he could hide it.
“You packed a bag?”
“Yes.”
“You’re leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?”
“A hotel.”
“Which one?”
You looked at him.
He nodded once, backing off. “Right. Sorry.”
“I’m safe.”
“Okay.”
You slipped the bag over your shoulder. The movement was ordinary, almost boring, and somehow that made it worse. This was what leaving looked like. No screaming. No slammed drawers. Just a woman in a black gown picking up a small bag because she had reached the end of what she could carry.
Jack followed you to the entryway but kept a careful distance.
“Can I drive you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Can I at least walk you down?”
“No.”
He pressed his lips together, trying not to fall apart completely.
You put your hand on the doorknob. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Jack said, “Do you still love me?”
You closed your eyes.
Of course he would ask the one question that did not save anything.
“Yes,” you said.
His breath caught behind you.
You turned back to face him, and there he was: wrinkled scrubs, red eyes, hands half-raised like he wanted to reach for you but had finally learned that wanting did not give him the right.
“I love you,” you said, and the truth of it nearly ruined you. “I love you so much that I stayed long after I started feeling alone. I love you so much that I kept making excuses for you because I knew you were tired, because I knew your work mattered, because I knew you were good.”
Jack’s eyes filled again.
“But I can’t keep giving you access to me just because you’re sorry after,” you whispered. “I can’t keep building a home out of promises you only remember once I’m already hurt.”
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said.
“I know.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
You looked at him for a long moment. You thought of the gala. The black dress. The empty chair. The envelope. The baby. All the nights you had waited and waited, feeding yourself on old versions of him, surviving on memories like they were meals.
“Be someone our child can count on,” you said. “Start there.”
Jack nodded, crying silently now. “I will.”
You wanted to believe him.
God, you wanted to believe him so badly that for one dangerous second, your hand almost left the doorknob.
But then you remembered the chair.
You remembered your name being called in a room full of people while the place beside you stayed empty.
You remembered that love had not been enough to bring him there.
So you opened the door.
The hallway outside was quiet and softly lit. Somewhere down the hall, a neighbour’s television murmured behind a closed door. Life was still going on in all the ordinary ways.
Jack said your name once more.
You looked back.
He stood in the entryway with your award visible behind him on the coffee table and the two envelopes lying open beside it.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
You gave him a small, broken smile. “I know.”
And that was what made it worse.
Because you knew.
You knew he loved you. You knew he was proud of you. You knew he would miss you when the apartment went quiet and the hospital could no longer give him somewhere else to run.
But knowing had never been the same as being held.
So you stepped into the hallway. This time, when you walked away, you did not wait for him to follow. You heard the door close gently behind you, and the softness of it hurt more than a slam would have.
After you left, Jack did not move for a long time.
The apartment stayed quiet around him. The lamp hummed softly. Rain touched the windows. Your heels were still by the couch, lined up neatly, as if even your heartbreak had manners.
On the coffee table, the divorce papers sat beside the pregnancy results.
The ending and the beginning.
Both addressed to him.
Jack picked up the remote with a hand that did not feel like his and opened the news replay. He did not know why. Maybe because grief made people stupid. Maybe because some part of him thought if he watched the night properly, he could punish himself into becoming the man who should have been there.
The video loaded.
There you were again.
Black dress. Soft hair. Bare shoulders. That careful, beautiful smile.
He watched you enter alone. He watched you answer questions alone. He watched you sit at the table alone. Then the camera panned, briefly, almost accidentally, to the empty chair beside you.
His name card was clear.
Dr. Jack Abbot
Jack paused the screen.
The room went silent.
There it was.
Not a feeling. Not an argument. Not your sensitivity. Not his schedule. Not bad timing.
Proof.
A chair with his name on it.
A space he had promised to fill.
Jack sat on the couch slowly, still staring at the frozen image. His face crumpled, but no sound came out at first. He had cried before. He had cried after losing patients. He had cried in stairwells, in supply closets, in the shower with one hand braced against the tile.
This was different.
This was not the grief of failing to save someone he had only just met.
This was the grief of realizing he had been losing you slowly while calling it survival.
His eyes moved from the frozen screen to the divorce papers.
Then to the pregnancy result.
Then back to your face.
“How do I forget you?” he whispered, but there was no one there to answer.
The apartment seemed to hold the question for him.
Your perfume still lived faintly in the room. Your mug was still in the sink. Your cardigan was still folded over the back of the chair. The book you had been reading was still open on the side table, a receipt tucked between the pages because you hated using proper bookmarks. There was a sticky note on the fridge in your handwriting reminding both of you to buy more oat milk. There was a pair of your socks half-hidden under the coffee table because you always kicked them off when you were working late. There was a framed photo from your courthouse wedding on the console, both of you laughing because Jack had been unable to get the ring onto your finger at first.
You were everywhere.
That was the cruelty of it. You had left, but the life you had built with him remained behind like a house still waiting for its owner to come home.
Jack covered his mouth with one hand and bent forward, shoulders shaking.
For once, no one was paging him. No one was asking him for help. No one was bleeding, crashing, coding, crying out, reaching for him from the other side of a curtain.
For once, there was no emergency left to run toward.
Only the life he had kept meaning to choose.
Only the wife he had loved too late.
Only the baby he had learned about on the same night he learned she was leaving.
Only the empty chair beside you, waiting on a screen for a man who never came.
And the worst part, the part that finally broke him open, was that Jack knew this would not be a clean grief. He would not miss you once. He would miss you in places. In the kitchen when the coffee brewed too strong. In the car when he passed the hotel downtown and remembered black silk under gold lights. In the emergency department when the power held steady because of the system you built. In every waiting room, every hallway, every quiet elevator ride where he would think of you standing somewhere else, living a life he was no longer trusted to enter.
He would miss you when the baby came.
He would miss you when your child had your eyes.
He would miss you when people asked about his wife and he had to learn how to say your name without saying mine.
Jack stared at the empty chair until the screen blurred.
For the first time all night, he understood that you had not left because you stopped loving him. You left because you were terrified you would spend the rest of your life loving him from a room he never came home to.
And Jack, too late, finally knew what it meant to wait. Not for a patient. Not for a shift to end. Not for the next crisis to pass. But for a woman who might never come back.
The television stayed paused on his name.
The apartment stayed still around him.
And Jack sat there in the home you had built together, finally surrounded by all the love he had assumed would wait forever.
Summary: You’re a new ED doctor who wears a fake wedding ring to keep patients from flirting, but your observant colleague Jack notices and wants more.
A/N: Sorry for the lack of posts, I've been sick. This work is all mine, and proofread by Grammarly.
Masterlist
No two days in the emergency department were ever the same.
Some nights were quiet, with only a couple of patients coming in with fevers or coughs. Other nights were utterly chaotic, ambulances rolling in back-to-back, alarms blaring, doctors and nurses moving like a storm through the hallways.
But one thing never seemed to change: the patients who thought the emergency department was the perfect place to find a date.
You learned that lesson after just a week of working in the ED.
It didn’t matter if someone had a broken arm or had suffered a heart attack; some men still found the energy to wink, grin, or make comments that made your skin crawl while you were trying to work. Sometimes it was harmless. Most of the time, it wasn’t. And there was no running away when you were their doctor.
So you developed a plan.
When you transferred to PTMC and started working the night shift, the solution became routine. You weren’t married. But a simple ring on your finger changed everything.
It wasn’t flashy, just a simple silver brand that lived on your left hand whenever you had to work a shift. Most people assumed it was a wedding ring from a happy marriage, and you let them think that. In reality, it had cost ten dollars from an online store.
But it worked.
Some patients would never see you as their doctor, someone who had spent years in med school at the top of their class. Instead, they only saw a pretty woman standing close enough to flirt with.
However, when was there a ring on your finger? Suddenly, you were someone’s wife.
So the comments stopped. The winks. The “you got a boyfriend?” question. Everything disappeared. Apparently, being someone’s wife made you off-limits in a way that simply saying no never did. Like you were someone else’s property, it made them hesitate. Stupid, but the logic worked, so the ring stayed.
If any of your new co-workers noticed it, they never mentioned it or just assumed the obvious. Except Jack.
Jack Abbot noticed everything around him.
It was a habit from years as an army medic and now attending in one of the busiest emergency departments in the city. Jack didn’t just see charts and symptoms. He saw the small things, the way someone held their shoulder, the slight limp in their step, the tremor in their hand.
And he noticed your ring. Not only because he was staring, but also because it was always there. You had a habit of twisting it when charting. It tapped against the counter when you were thinking. It left a bump under your gloves. It was a small detail, but Jack’s brain catalogued it anyway.
You were still new, and the few details that Jack knew about you had him intrigued: married, new to the hospital and worked well under pressure. And then there was something else he couldn't quite place, the pull he felt towards you.
This night shift had started like any other, chaos in bursts but slowed at times. You were tucked into your usual rhythm, moving between patients, checking vitals and charting.
It wasn’t until the trauma phone went off that it paused your movements.
“Level two trauma, motor vehicle collision," Lena shouted as she answered the call. “Five minutes out.”
Your adrenaline spiked, and Jack was already moving, tablet in one hand, gloves snapping as he prepped for the incoming patient. You were paired on this trauma together, moving almost instinctively as a team.
The patient arrived bloodied, unconscious, and chest rattling with each forced breath. You slid the IV line into the patient’s arm while Jack called out instructions for the rest of the team.
Jack’s eyes were everywhere at once, vitals, monitors, and the team's movement, but his gaze happened to flick across your hand. And that's when he noticed. Your ring. It wasn’t there.
A small detail that others would have overlooked, but made him pause for a fraction of a second. A movement he couldn't afford in a place like this. He didn’t realize until now how much he had noticed it, how automatic it was to look at you during shifts and see that silver band wrapped around your finger. Tonight, it was nowhere to be found.
Jack quickly turned his focus back on the patient, but the details lingered in his mind.
Minutes passed in a blur of intubation, transfusion, chest compressions, and desperate interventions. Despite the skill and precision of the team, the injuries were too severe.
The patient coded. The monitor went flat. Time of death was announced.
You stepped back, heart sinking, and Jack’s hand went to your shoulder, not to blame, but to ground you as the weight of loss pressed down on the team. Sometimes, despite doing everything right, it wasn’t enough.
By the end of the shift, the ED was quieter than usual. The hum of machines, the footsteps of staff cleaning up, and the weight of loss hung heavy in the air. Jack glanced at you while filling the final chart, noticing that your finger remained bare.
“Are you going out too?” He asked. Shen had suggested that everyone go out for a drink to cope, and no one seemed to argue.
“Yeah… I could really use a drink.” Your hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly.
Jack’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of concern and something softer, harder to define. “Yeah… me too,” he muttered. The unspoken weight between you decided for you.
There was a bar a few blocks down from the hospital where everyone gathered after shifts. It was louder than usual for a weekday, the low thrum of music and conversation filling up the air. It had discounted drinks and dim lighting, a place where no one asked the doctors or nurses what had just happened when it looked like they had been through hell.
Jack was sitting in a booth near the back with John, nursing a half-finished beer. His scrubs had been swapped for a dark jacket, but exhaustion still lined his face.
John exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. “Hell of a shift.”
Jack nodded once, staring at the condensation on his bottle. “Yeah.” Silence followed, heavy but not awkward. The burden of the night weighed on him.
His eyes drifted across the bar and landed on you. You were on a stool near the counter, chatting with one of the nurses, a drink in hand. Your laugh was softer than usual, slower, the kind that came from alcohol loosening the edges of the hard night.
His gaze dropped to your hand once again.
Still no ring.
“Hey,” John said, standing and grabbing his empty bottle. “I’m getting another. Want one?”
Jack lifted his bottle slightly. “I’m good.”
John nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
Jack leaned back in the booth, letting his eyes wander again. They found you on your way over, movement slightly unsteady, yet deliberate.
“Hey, Doc,” you muttered, sliding into the seat across from him, sighing softly as your forearms rested on the table.
“You okay?” he asked immediately. It wasn’t unusual for Jack to see his coworkers like this after a shift, but he still wondered if this was normal for you.
You huffed out a small laugh that didn’t sound very amused. “Define okay.”
Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied you, the tired eyes, the way your shoulders slumped, the weight of the night still sitting on you.
“Rough one,” he said finally.
Your gaze dropped to the table. “Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the bar filled the silence.
“I kinda like this part,” you admitted quietly.
Jack tilted his head slightly. “The bar?”
You shrugged, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. “Yeah… not why we’re here, exactly. But the team gets together. Feels… lighter. Less like you’re carrying it alone.”
He softened. He’d seen too many new doctors burn out trying to carry everything. He understood.
“At my last hospital,” you continued, your voice a little looser from the alcohol. “Everyone just… went home. Pretended nothing happened. But here you guys carry the wins and the losses together.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It helps.”
You nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly as you took another sip. Even in your tiredness, there was a warmth to you now.
For a second, Jack just studied you again. The way the tension slowly left your posture. The way you still looked tired but lighter now that the shift was behind you.
Then his eyes drifted back down to your hand. Bare,
He hesitated before speaking. “So… everything alright at home?”
You blinked up at him. “At home?”
Jack nodded subtly toward your hand. “You usually wear a ring.”
You stared at him, surprised. Then laughed, soft, tipsy, a little embarrassed. “Oh my god… alright, I’ll let you in on a secret.”
Jack’s brow lifted.
“What?”
You held up your hand, wiggling your fingers slightly.
“It’s fake,” You leaned back in the booth a little, clearly amused.
“…Your ring is fake?”
You nodded, taking another sip of your drink before explaining. “Patients, some of them get… handys. Especially at night. You say no, you ignore them, but it doesn't always work.”
Jack’s jaw tightened slightly. Yeah. He’d seen that.
“So I bought a ring,” you continued, tapping your bare finger. “Ten dollars online. Suddenly, I’m someone’s wife. The flirting stops. It’s like magic. Stupid, but it works.”
Jack studied you quietly for a moment. It wasn’t the confession itself that caught his attention; it was the way you said it so casually, as you’d simply adapted to the world instead of letting it push you out of a job you clearly loved.
“That’s… actually pretty clever,” he admitted.
You grinned. “Right?”
Jack’s gaze lingered, softer now. “So the husband doesn’t exist.”
“Nope.”
Jack smiled into his drink, a warmth threading through him. Somehow, hearing this made him admire you more.
“Well,” he said casually, taking another sip of his beer, “if you’re going to invent a husband…”
You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by where this was going.
“…you should at least give the guy a decent name.”
You laughed softly. “Oh yeah?” you asked. “What would you name him then?”
Jack pretended to think about it for a moment, leaning back in the booth.
“Hm.”
Your eyes narrowed playfully. His gaze met yours, something teasing sparking there.
“Jack,” he said.
You blinked.
“Jack?”
He shrugged lightly, a small grin forming.
“Sounds reasonable.”
You stared at him for a second before laughing, the sound warmer this time.
“Wow,” you said. “That’s bold.”
Jack lifted his bottle slightly, clearly enjoying himself now.
“Just saying,” he replied. “If you’re going to make up a fake husband, you might as well pick a good one.”
You shook your head, still smiling into your drink.
“Careful, Abbot,” you said lightly. “People might start to think you’re volunteering.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on you a moment longer than necessary.
“Would that be so bad?” he asked quietly.
The question hung between you for a beat before the noise of the bar swallowed it again.
The next shift felt strangely normal after the night before.
Did you drunkenly flirt with a fellow attending? Yes, but did you regret it? Nope.
The ED hummed with its usual controlled chaos; it almost felt strange that the world kept moving after a shift like that. You were currently charting at the nurses’ station, twisting the silver band on your finger without really thinking about it.
“Nice to see your husband’s back.”
You looked up. Jack was leaning against the counter across from you, tablet tucked under his arm, the corner of his mouth curved in that quiet, knowing smile.
“Oh my god,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Are you really going to start with that today?”
“Of course,” he said, a small, confident grin tugging at his lips. “I’m hoping to get an audition to play him.”
You blinked at him, half amused, half exasperated.
“What?” you said, lifting an eyebrow.
“If you’re going to invent a husband,” he continued, voice low and teasing, “someone has to audition for the role. And I think I’d be perfect.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, maybe,” he admitted, “ but if I'm going to audition for the role properly.. I should probably take my lovely wife out… maybe for dinner or coffee sometime. To make sure I'm playing the part right.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the smoothness of it. “Jack Abbot, are you asking me out on a date?
Jack’s grin widened, confident but teasing. “Call it a test run. Coffee after shift, and I can show you my best husband skills.”
You felt a blush creep up your neck and laughed softly, shaking your head. “I… Yes, that sounds perfect.”
“Good, I’ll see you later, wifey.” With that, Jack left the nurses' station, heading into a patient room.
Your chest tightened, heart beating faster. Somehow, the chaos of the ED and the fake ring felt far away. Jack Abbot had made something pretend feel achingly real.
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Jack forgets his shift dinner, you bring it to the ED - and suddenly you and your ring become the department's favorite piece of gossip.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 97: Cheers to women with terrible judgment, right?
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The apartment has gone quiet again after Jack left for night shift.
The remnants of the evening still lingered around the apartment in soft little traces of domestic chaos - one of Lizzie’s socks abandoned near the couch, a basket full of laundry you hadn’t touched yet, a coffee mug still sitting in the sink because somehow Jack had once again forgotten that dishes did not magically wash themselves.
You sat Lizzie in her highchair and started cleaning up. She very much refused the concept of bedtime yet, happily smacking one hand against the tray while babbling to herself.
You rubbed absently at the side of your neck while stacking dishes in the dishwasher, trying to work out the dull tightness somewhere between your shoulder and jaw.
Then your attention landed on the food container still sitting on the kitchen counter. The one you had packed earlier for Jack’s shift.
You stopped and stared. “Unbelievable.”
Lizzie looked over. “Dada!”
“Yeah, exactly” you muttered, grabbing the container. “Your dad would forget his own head if it wasn’t attached, huh?”
Lizzie smacked both hands against the tray enthusiastically. “DADA!”
“Yeah, Bean.”
You checked the clock. Jack probably hadn’t even finished shift change yet, so… not too late.
Sighing softly you grabbed a bag and started moving automatically.
Five minutes later Lizzie was bundled into her stroller, diaper bag packed, food container secured and you were heading toward the elevator before you could rethink the decision.
Nearby the ambulance bay entrance you spotted Ahmad finishing a conversation with EMS. “Hey!”
“Hey!” He gave Lizzie a little wave. “You looking for Jack?”
“Yeah, he forgot his food. Don’t want him to starve” you replied, holding up the bag.
He laughed. “You’re far too good for him.”
You shrugged. “I keep telling him that, but…” you said in a mock-serious voice, smiling.
He laughed and winked at you. Then you went inside.
The emergency department at shift change somehow always felt like stepping in the middle of organized chaos. Voices overlapping from every direction. Phones ringing. Monitors beeping somewhere farther down the hallway. A lot of people moving.
Lizzie meanwhile looked like she had just arrived at Disneyland. Her little head turned wildly from side to side, eyes huge.
“DADA!” she announced loudly to nobody in particular. “DADA!”
You sighed. “Please, don’t yell that at every man you see.”
She didn’t really pay attention. “DADA!”
A passing nurse laughed. One of the doctors looked over, briefly terrified.
“None of those are your father, Lizzie.”
Lizzie seemed to disagree. “Dada.”
Before you could decide where exactly to find Jack, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
You turned and saw Dana, looking at you.
She smiled.
Her eyes dropped down to Lizzie and then straight to the ring on your hand.
She froze. “Oh Jesus Christ Almighty.”
You blinked. “Um?”
Her eyes widened. “He asked you?!”
Several heads turned immediately.
You started to blush by the sudden attention. “Dana-”
“Oh my god” she cut in. “Your face says it all. He did ask you!”
Before you could stop her she rushed over grabbing your hand and lifted it. “Look at that ring!”
And just like that you became everyone’s business. People started drifting over - enough that suddenly you were standing in the middle of a semi-circle of curious emergency department staff while Dana inspected your ring closely.
“What?”
“Wait - Jack proposed?”
“No way.”
“Are you serious?”
“When?”
Lizzie was looking up at Dennis, who ended up next to her stroller. Her hand grabbed his scrubs. “Dada!”
For a moment he looked amused.
Then Lizzie doubled down. “DADA!”
“Oh god” Dennis added immediately. “I’m absolutely not your father.”
Princess grinned. “I love her so much. The perfect little rumour machine.”
Dana turned your hand under the fluorescent light. “He went all in.”
Parker leaned closer. “Holy shit. That ring probably costs more than my car.”
“Oh my god” you tried weakly, somewhere between laughing and dying of embarrassment. “He didn’t tell you guys?”
Dana shook her head “Nothing. He walked in, grumpy as always, just commenting on the lack of coffee in the staff room.”
You laughed. “Sounds like him.”
“Did he actually do it properly?” Perlah asked. “Like romantic-romantic?”
Princess perked up. “Yeah, spill girl, we need details.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
Because honestly - where to begin?
And then Lizzie helped you, because suddenly her face lit up and she started clapping. “DADA!”
Jack stepped out of a room, dressed in scrubs, mid-conversation with someone, tablet tucked under one arm, completely into work mode.
He turned toward the next room, then - his eyes landed on you. Then the stroller. Then the people gathered around you. His expression changed immediately. First concern, then suspicion.
He walked over. “What’s going on here?”
“DADA!” Lizzie practically vibrated in excitement.
“There he is” Dana said with a dangerous smile.
Jack stopped mid-movement. “No.”
“Don’t no me, Abbot” Dana shot back. “You proposed to that gorgeous woman and didn’t say a word?”
You pressed your lips together trying not to smile.
Jack exhaled hard, dragging a hand over his face. “I was going to.”
“Sure you were” Parker replied dryly. “That’s how we know you. Announcing all your personal news to us.”
“Yeah, if you don’t want people to find out, maybe buy her a smaller ring, hm?” Dana said with a grin.
Jack blinked. He looked like he regretted every single decision that had brought him here.
“The ring is exactly right” he muttered, before clearing his throat and turning to you. “But why are you here, sweetheart? Everything’s fine?”
You lifted the bag with his food. “You forgot your dinner.”
His face immediately softened. “Oh honey.”
Princess grinned and elbowed Perlah slightly. “Sweetheart? Honey? Jack is completely gone for her” she whispered in Tagalog.
Perlah grinned, chuckling.
“Dada!” Lizzie stretched both arms toward him, lip dangerously wobbling.
“Yeah okay” he huffed quietly. “Hey Bean.”
He lifted her out of the stroller with ease, settling her against his hip. She immediately grabbed his face with both hands, smacking against his cheeks, laughing.
“So you came all the way here for this?” he asked you quietly.
“Yeah sure” you replied. “You absolutely would forget your own organs if they weren’t attached.”
“Yeah” he exhaled, while Lizzie patted his cheeks. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Dana crossed her arms. “Don’t try to distract us with you being cute. We’re not done here.”
Jack sighed. “We are.”
“No, we’re not. We want details.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
Suddenly another voice cut smoothly through the small crowd. “What’s happening here?”
Trinity stepped in next to Dennis, scanning the situation like she assessed a patient.
“Dr. Abbot got engaged” he whispered.
Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “Well, I’ll call that news.” She studied the ring on your hand for half a second. “Very nice. He went all in, huh?”
“That’s what I said” Princess replied with a grin.
“When? Where? Did he kneel?” Trinity asked, looking at you.
“Um.” You blushed again, glancing over to Jack who closed his eyes briefly. “Um, you know-”
“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk in front of him.” Trinity nodded slowly. “Got it. So you’re coming to girls night tomorrow.”
Now it was your turn to be confused. “Um, what?”
Dana smiled delighted. “Great idea!”
“Monthly Pitt’s girls’ night” Princess said with a nonchalant shrug. “And now that you’re engaged to one of our attendings… you’re practically one of us.”
“You guys know I can still hear you, right?” Jack mumbled under his breath but nobody really paid attention.
You laughed weakly. “Um, I don’t know - there’s still Lizzie and-”
“Jack can parent” Parker said with a shrug. “He’s not on tomorrow night.”
Jack opened his mouth, paused - and closed it again, sighing. “Yeah, sure.”
“Good, then it’s settled.” Trinity nodded. “I’ll text you the details. And that’s for me, I need to go back to the most thrilling thing in medicine - charting.”
You laughed.
Trinity turned to walk away again, then stopped when she saw Lizzie in Jack’s arms. She offered her a finger. “Nice to see you, Elizabeth” she said in a serious voice.
Lizzie grabbed her finger triumphantly. “DADA!”
Trinity looked at Jack. “That’s actually a huge compliment for you.” She paused. “And kind of an insult to me.”
Jack laughed despite himself. “Go charting.” Then he looked around. “And all of you - don’t you have patients to tend to?”
People started to murmur and started to leave, saying goodbye to you and Lizzie, who were waving like she was the Queen of the emergency department.
Dana rolled her eyes then pulled you into a quick hug.
“Congratulations” she whispered. “He’s got a good one with you.”
You smiled. “Thanks Dana.”
“See you tomorrow! And bye, baby girl. Be nice to mommy, hm?” Dana stroked Lizzie's cheek, then walked away.
After a moment you were alone with Jack - and Lizzie, of course. His hand found yours for a second, his thumb brushing briefly over your knuckles. “Thank you for bringing my food.”
You shrugged smiling. “Sure. Someone has to make sure you survive your shift.”
“Sweetheart…” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead softly. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Dr. Abbot?” A young resident peeked her head out of a room. “We need you in here.”
Jack looked up, expression immediately getting serious, nodding. “I’ll be there in a sec.” He turned back to you. “Sorry.”
You shook your head. “Don’t be sorry. That’s your job. I’m the intruder here. I’ll put your food in the fridge in the staff room, okay?”
He gave you another quick kiss, then handed you Lizzie. “Thanks. Take care, okay? Text me when you’re back home.”
“Yeah sure.”
Lizzie snuggled up against your shoulder. “Rara” she murmured, suddenly exhausted.
You chuckled. Jack pressed another kiss onto Lizzie's forehead, then hesitated for a moment, kissing you quickly again.
“Jack!” Parker appeared in the doorway, rolling her eyes.
Jack grimaced. “On my way” he shouted back, then back to you. “Really need to go. See you tomorrow.”
You blew him a kiss while he walked away.
You stood there for another minute, Lizzie heavy on your arm, watching him disappear in the chaos he obviously loved so much. A dull tightness near your temple crept back in again - annoying, but easy to ignore. You put Lizzie back into her stroller, then rubbed briefly at the side of your neck.
“Okay” you murmured softly. “Lets put that away and then get you into bed, hm, little gremlin?”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: A very giddy drive home, Robby being the first to know and a diner brunch that accidentally turns into a celebration.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 96: Funny story actually
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The drive back home somehow felt shorter. Your brain was still racing every time you looked down at the ring on your finger which apparently happened every five minutes. Still the stupid grin. Still the helpless giggle.
You couldn’t believe you were actually engaged.
Engaged.
The word alone felt strange when it was applied to you. You were someone’s fiancee.
No, not someone’s.
Jack’s.
Who, meanwhile, had become deeply unbearable. Every single time he stopped at a red light he looked over at you, smiling. And it wasn’t a subtle smile. It was a soft smile, wide, bright - that kind that somehow made him look younger.
“You really need to stop looking at me like that” you said, trying (and failing) to sound serious.
Jack glanced over briefly, brows furrowed. “Like what?”
You gestured vaguely. “Like you won the lottery.”
He hummed. “Well but I kinda did.”
You blushed. “That’s disgustingly sweet.”
“Sweetheart” he said, entirely too pleased with himself. “You agreed to marry me. That’s the only lottery I ever wanna win.”
You started smiling, looking back down at the ring. That stupid beautiful ring that made your stomach flip every single time you saw it. “I did agree to marry you, huh?"
Jack laughed quietly. “Yes. And no backsies.”
You chuckled. “No worries." You paused. " Iwould never give the ring back.”
He laughed out loud, shaking his head.
Comfortable silence settled between you for a while after this.
Your hand rested over the center console where Jack kept finding it absentmindedly, like he couldn’t quite stop touching you.
Then eventually he glanced over. “So.”
“Hm?”
“Who are we telling first?”
You didn’t even hesitate. “Well Robby, I guess.”
Jack huffed a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”
“And I bet he’s gonna act like he already knew this was happening” you said, eyes rolling but smiling.
Jack went suspiciously quiet. Which, frankly, never meant anything good.
You frowned. “... Jack.”
“Well…"
"Jack."
"He technically knew.”
You blinked. “You told him?”
“I had to tell him” he said quickly. “I needed someone to take care of Lizzie. And someone to organize the iced coffee. That wasn’t a coincidence. It was all perfectly planned.”
You stared at him. “Oh my god.”
But you weren’t really mad. Why should you be?
“I feel like I’m going to marry Robby too, you know? You two are disgustingly close.”
Jack laughed. “No worries, sweetheart. There is only one emotionally unstable emergency medicine physician you are going to be legally bound to and that’s me.”
“Nawww” you replied dryly. “Please make this your wedding speech.”
He laughed again.
For a moment neither of you said anything. You turned the ring slightly again, watching sunlight catch the diamond.
Then you glanced at Jack.
“Um, I don’t wanna tell my mom yet.”
Jack looked at you, concern crossed his face. “Why? You okay?”
“Yeah” you said quickly. “Yeah, it’s just… I wanna tell her in person. That’s too big for a phone call.”
Jacks expression softened. “Yeah.”
“When we’re there for Lizzie’s birthday.” You smiled a little. “She’ll wanna see the ring. She’ll probably cry a lot. And maybe try to get us get married right there and then.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably.”
“And it’s only three and a half weeks. I can survive not telling her until then” you said, even when you sounded unsure for a moment.
Jack nodded. “Okay. We’ll tell her in person.”
We.
That stupid word still did something ridiculous to your chest.
Your hand rested automatically on his thigh. The ring caught the sunlight again - and you stared at it again.
Jack noticed immediately. “It’s been a while since you’ve stared at my groin smiling like that” he said with a grin. “I like it.”
You laughed out loud, giving him a playful slap on his arm. “I was looking at the ring.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Yeah, sure, tell that yourself. You’re just checking out what you’ll be getting on your wedding night.”
You laughed harder. “You’re the worst, Jack Abbot.”
He looked slightly smug.
Then he took your hand, guiding it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I am. And you chose me. So - joke’s on you, future Mrs. Abbot.”
You gasped surprised, staring at him. That did something to you.
Before you could respond properly, he glanced over to you. “There’s another question I need to ask you.”
His voice was suddenly very serious.
You frowned. “Yeah?”
He took his time. Then - “Are you still my girlfriend?”
You stared at him for a moment, then a slow grin spread across your face.
“No, Mr. Abbot - I’m not.” You paused to look out of the window, watching the trees while you drove by. “I’m still your fiancee.”
The apartment felt strangely different despite looking exactly the same. Only only a day had passed and somehow everything had changed.
You barely got the front door shut before -
“MAMAMA!”
Lizzie came crawling from the living room at a speed that felt mildly unsafe for a toddler. You laughed immediately, crouching instinctively.
“Bean! Hi! Hey my girl.” She collided with you dramatically, little arms lifting while you scooped her up, kissed her cheek, hair and forehead in quick succession. “Oh my god, I missed you so much!”
“DADA!”
“Daddy’s here too, girl.”
Over Lizzie’s head you spotted Robby. He was leaning against the wall with the kind of forced casualness that immediately made you suspicious.
“Hey” he said, voice completely normal. “Good to see you two. And hey - she didn’t die.”
Jack snorted quietly behind you. “That low of a bar, huh?”
“I was left alone with your diabolic toddler girl for thirty-six hours” Robby replied. “You’re lucky the apartment still stands.”
Lizzie shrieked delighted. “RARA!”
Robby waved at her. “She loves me.”
You laughed. “She loves everything. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Jack stepped farther inside, dropping the overnight bags near the door. For a second Robby’s eyes flicked toward him - then to you. Then… down at your hand.
For a second he didn’t say anything. Then - “Oh!”
You looked at him, following his gaze - then your face immediately broke into a stupid grin. You lifted your hand a little, waving your fingers playfully.
Robby stared. “Oh my god” he breathed, looking at Jack immediately. “You really did it?!”
Jack suddenly looked weirdly shy. “Um, yeah.”
"Fuck."
Robby stepped closer and hugged you quickly - and careful because Lizzie was still very much attached to you. “Congratulations” he whispered. “Seriously.”
“Thank you Michael” you whispered back, a little touched by his reaction.
Then he walked toward Jack, stopping right in front of him. For a second neither of them said anything, just looking at each other. A whole conversation happening only by looks. Then Robby pulled Jack into a tight hug, that lasted longer than usual. One of these rare hugs that actually meant something.
Jack huffed out the tiniest laugh against his shoulder, but didn’t let go. If anything his grip tightened.
“I’m proud of you” Robby said quietly, his voice rough around the edges. “Seriously.”
Jack went still.
“You deserve this” Robby continued, still in a low voice. “And I’m really fucking happy for you.”
Jack swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
They lingered like that for a moment longer, then pulled apart. Robby quickly wiped his eyes with one hand, then grabbed your hand to have a closer look at the ring.
He quickly scanned it, then glanced at Jack. “That must have cost a fortune” he said, brows raised.
Jack shrugged. “You really can’t put a price tag on love.” He paused. “But the people at Tiffany’s are really trying to do exactly that.”
Robby laughed out loud. Your hand flew to your mouth as you stifled a chuckle.
“I don’t want to hear anything about how much this has cost” you said quickly. “Otherwise I’ll feel painfully guilty wearing this.”
“And we don’t want that” Jack said with a knowing look toward Robby.
He shrugged. “Okay. Well. I guess - an celebration is in order, right? And I know exactly the place for this.”
Jacks brows furrowed. “I don’t like this sentence. Especially coming from you.”
“Brother, it’s Sunday after all. We can’t break with a tradition, right?”
The diner looked exactly the same as always. The same cracked leather booths. The same coffee that somehow tasted better than it had any right to. Same low hum of conversation and clinking plates filling the air.
You were sitting next to Jack, Robby on the other side with Lizzie in a highchair. It felt really nice. Not dramatic, not extravagant - just… right.
Jack’s hand found yours on the table like he couldn’t stop checking that this - you, the ring, all of it - was still real. And honestly? You weren’t doing much better. The sight of your engagement ring occasionally short-circuited your brain.
Like now. You looked down at it again - and your stomach flipped.
And Robby noticed - of course.
“You know” he said dryly over his mug. “At this point I’m genuinely worried you’re gonna walk into traffic.”
You looked up. “Um. Sorry. What did you say?”
He snorted. “Exactly.”
Jack shook his head. “Leave her alone.”
“Oh, don’t get into this, Abbot” Robby replied. “You’re worse than her. You’ve looked at her like six times in the last minute. And every single one of those looks was dirty.”
Jack grinned, but didn’t deny it.
Lizzie chose this moment to smack both of her hands onto the table. “RARA!”
“Yeah” Robby sighed dramatically. “I’m the star your whole universe orbits around.”
Before you could reply something a voice cut through the diner.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up again.”
One of the waitresses - maybe in her late fifties, warm smile, name tag slightly crooked - stopped beside the booth holding a coffee pot. She looked between Robby and Jack with the kind of long-suffering fondness that suggested years of knowing them.
“Well” she said dryly, eyeing Jack. “Didn’t think I’d see your face this late, Dr. Abbot. Night shift ended a while ago, right?”
Jack smiled. “Good morning Diane. You look beautiful as always.”
“Don’t try to charm me, Dr. Abbot. I’m too old and too tired for a man like you on the side. You’re too handsome for your own good. Only brings trouble.”
Robby stifled a laugh.
Her attention shifted to Lizzie - then to you. And then to your hand, which was still resting in Jack’s. Her eyes narrowed - then widened dramatically. “Oh my god.”
Jack blinked, confused.
“Dr. Abbot.” Dianes voice was firm. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”
Jack froze for exactly half a second, then he smiled, stupidly proud, before glancing at you. “Well, I guess we’re getting married.”
Diane gasped so loudly that several guests looked over, concerned. “NO WAY!”
“Yes” Robby muttered into his coffee. “Cheers to women with terrible judgment, right?”
“Oh my god!” Diane ignored him completely. “Dr. Abbot!”
Before he could even react, she leaned over the booth and hugged first him, then you. “Oh honey, congratulations!”
“Thanks” you said, blushing.
“Oh, this is so adorable!” Diane looked deeply emotional all of a sudden. “You know he’s been coming here forever, right? Used to sit here looking miserable after shifts. And now look at him.”
“Oh, Diane, please stop talking” Jack muttered, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
“And I thought for a while that these two were going to get married one day. You know - like two closeted doctors, coming here, spending time together. Would have made a wonderful story” she continued.
Now Jack and Robby looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them. You, on the other hand, looked deeply entertained.
“That's still my fear, honestly” you said with a grin.
Diane smiled. “Nothing bad about love, honestly. But you and him? You’re just the sweetest couple, I gotta say.”
“Diane” Jack said, voice carrying the exhaustion of a man who knew he already had lost control over the situation.
“I’ll be back” Diane announced. “Nobody move.”
Then she disappeared.
You blinked, still very much entertained. “So - no way Robby and you are going to run away together?”
Robby cleared his throat. “Honestly? I like the thought more and more.”
You laughed.
Diane returned with a tray, containing a bottle and a couple of glasses. “Champagne” she said proudly, setting everything on the table. “Or well technically speaking it’s only sparkling wine. But tomato - tomato.”
Jack stared. “Diane-”
“Don’t get me started, Dr. Abbot” she replied immediately. “It’s a gift from us.”
“Oh, wow, that’s so sweet of you, Diane” you said with a wobbly smile, already emotional again.
“Been watching these idiots eating here for fifteen years” she said matter-of-factly. “And that’s somehow the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard from them.”
Jack looked deeply touched. “Thank you.”
She waved her hand dismissively, before looking at Lizzie. “And what about this little princess? I guess she’s a bit too little for alcohol.”
Jack laughed. “Need to check her ID to make sure, but I guess you could be right.”
A couple of minutes later everyone held a glass. After a long debate Lizzie had gotten the tiniest splash of orange juice in a little plastic kids cup. Which she loved.
Jack lifted his glass, smiling.
He just wanted to say something, when Robby chimed in. “To making terrible decisions.”
You rolled your eyes. “To us” you corrected.
Jacks smiled got even wider. “To us” he repeated quietly.
Lizzie lifted her tiny cup, shrieking delighted. “RARA!”
“I hear you, sister” Robby muttered, clinking gently against her juice.
Jack took a sip, then looked at Diane, who was already walking away. “Hey, Diane!”
She turned. Jack held up another glass.
“You’re having one too.”
She blinked. “I can’t sweetheart. I’m working.”
“We won’t tell” he replied, voice hushed. “But you’re very much part of this celebration, you know?”
Diane looked around once, then grinned. “Okay, half a glass, five minutes.”
Later brunch settled back into something vaguely normal - even with the slight sparkling-wine buzz lingering.
Food arrived and Lizzie was adamant to shove pancakes in her mouth with her bare hands.
Robby tried to feed her for a while, then accepted defeat. “We could let her free in the woods and she’d survive perfectly” he muttered, which made you laugh.
Then he leaned back slightly. “So. Who knows?”
You tilted your head. “Knows what?”
Robby frowned, then looked dramatically toward your hand.
“Oh.”
Jack gestured vaguely. “Well. You.”
Robby nodded once, deeply pleased. “Well, that’s because I’m your best friend and obviously the most important person in this world to you.”
You stifled a laugh. “Obviously.”
“Who else? What did your family say?”
Jack glanced briefly at you.
“Um. We’re waiting to tell my mom.”
Robby raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Well.” You took a sip of coffee. “I wanna tell her in person. When we’re there for Lizzie’s birthday.”
Suddenly there was a faint crease between his brows. His hand paused briefly where he was absentmindedly wiping Lizzie's face. “Oh.”
Then he shook his head. “She’s almost one already, huh?”
“Yeah. Way too fast.”
“We’re gonna stay for a week” you added. “Family time.”
Robby stilled for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Have you told Mara yet?”
You scratched your neck. “No.”
“Haha.” Robby leaned back in the booth, the wipe still in his hand, looking unbearably smug.
“What does haha mean?”
“You like me more than her, huh?”
You barked out a laugh. “Oh my god.”
“What? You told me first.” He still looked incredibly pleased with himself
“This is not a contest, you know?” you managed between laughs.
“And if it would be - I’d be winning” he said, shrugging.
Jack shook his head, deeply amused. “You’ll be insufferable about this for a month, right?”
Robby shrugged nonchalantly. “A month? A year, baby. A year.”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
Series summary: Robby left for his sabbatical without a thought and you’re left to pick up the pieces. But now he’s back at PTMC and trying desperately to reconnect. Robby learns the truth of how long a year really is.
WC: 2.5k
Tags/Content: unexpected pregnancy, motherhood, past relationship, second chance relationship, slow burn, implied age gap, hurt, angst, reader is high key avoidant, no use of Y/N, possible OC ish, Robby calls reader baby, mental heaviness, they’re really bad at communicating, lot of swearing, therapist
(Masterlist) (Previous) (Next)
You let him try. Against your will, you let him try. The first few weeks were a clumsy, tentative dance of scheduled visits, awkward hand offs, and a shared Google Calendar which felt both absurd and necessary. Robby had named it “Baby Boy,” which earned an eye roll from you.
He was a baby. And he was a boy.
Why did it need to be spelled out like that though?
Were you looking for issues and red flags? Absolutely. You might have also be looking for problems that weren’t there.
Fuck it. If it worked for you then it worked.
Robby showed up like he said he would, every time, often with coffee or takeout, his questions about bottles and sleep schedules clinical in their precision and annoying in how much thought he was putting into this.
Did you want him to be a deadbeat father? No. Well… it wouldn’t have messed up your routine if he was. Okay, maybe you should take Jack up on his offer of his therapist number.
That’s exactly how you ended up in the front seat of your car on a zoom call during your lunch break. The Therapist was a stockier man, with too thick glasses and this little handlebar mustache. Jack had mentioned his therapist was eccentric, but you wouldn’t have pegged Jack for trusting this guy with his mental health.
You had spent the better half of the session shrugging off his questions and giving halfhearted answers. At least you actually accepted the zoom call.
The therapist’s pen kept tapping and tapping against his desk.
“May I ask why you came to therapy? Doctor, you don’t seem to truly want help. Is this your attempt to go through the motions?”
You don’t answer that.
“You have been doing this alone for months,” he tries again, setting his pen down and crossing his hands. He leans forward, taking up most of the screen. That technique might have worked if you were in person, but a computer screen wasn’t going to intimidate you. “What exactly are you afraid will happen if Mason loves his father?”
Ouch.
“When is the last time you slept without listening for Mason to cry?”
Never.
With a bullseye question, meant to receive a reaction, the therapist asks, “Do you resent Mason’s father for leaving… or coming back?”
Your attention snaps to the little man on the screen. “What kind of question is that?” You snap.
The therapist hummed softly, like you had confirmed something for him instead of dodging the question entirely.
“And when something frightening happens,” he continues carefully, “when Mason is sick, or when you are overwhelmed, or when you are scared… who do you allow to take care of you?”
Your jaw tightened.
“I’m a doctor. I take care of it.”
“Yes,” he says gently, “I gathered that.”
Silence stretched between you.
His eyes flickered down briefly, probably to his notes, before settling back on the screen.
“You speak about Mason like he is the only thing tethering you to the world,” he said. “But you speak about yourself like you are temporary.”
Something cold crawled up your spine.
“That’s dramatic.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
You suck your teeth as the cars passing by suddenly became very interesting.
The therapist leans back slightly, adjusting his glasses. “You are angry that Doctor Robinavitch stayed.”
Your laugh came out sharp. “No, I’m angry that he left.”
“I believe both can be true.”
He doesn’t give you room to rebuttal. You can see why Jack likes him.
“You built a life where abandonment could no longer surprise you,” he continued. “A routine where no one could disappoint you because no one was close enough to matter.” He pauses in the way that therapists do when they want you to hear them. “Now, the father of your child is showing up consistently, and instead of relief, you feel threatened.”
You swallow hard.
“Why?”
“Aren’t shrinks not supposed to tell you how you feel?”
“Why do you feel threatened by him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
Your fingers fiddle with your ID badge.
He watched you carefully for a moment before asking quietly, “What happens to you… if Mason no longer needs only you?”
No. Absolutely not.
You reached forward so quickly the camera jolted.
“I think we’re done here.”
“Doctor- “
You slam the screen of your laptop before he can finish. There goes your entire lunch break, wasted.
The drive home from work is a blur. You faintly recall relaying the day’s events to Mason while he sat in his car seat.
What happens if Mason no longer needs you?
Asshole.
By the time you make it back to the apartment, dusk had settled over the city in soft blue shadows. Mason was fussy from missing a nap, which honestly you felt the same considering how your day had been ruined.
“Yeah, I know bud,” you muttered, balancing him against your shoulder while digging in your bag for your keys. “Your life is hard, huh?”
Mason responded by grabbing a fist full of your hair.
“Fantastic. Thank you.”
The second you stepped inside; the closing routine took over.
Bottle.
Burp cloth.
Diaper.
White noise.
It should have calmed you down. Usually, it did.
Tonight, every quiet moment left room for doubts and fears to creep in.
A routine where no one could disappoint you because no one was close enough to matter.
You aggressively wiped down the kitchen counter.
What exactly are you afraid of if Mason loves his father?
You nearly chucked the disinfectant bottle across the room.
The knock came as Mason just started drifting off in his crib. Wails fill the apartment again. Great.
For one irrational second, your brain supplied: he left something here. Like he belonged here long enough to leave something behind.
Another knock, softer this time. You glance at Google Calendar on your phone, yep he did plan this.
“You home?” Robby’s muffled voice calls through the door. “I can hear Mason.”
There he was. Your problem.
Because the second you heard his voice, something in your chest relaxed despite everything.
You drag yourself from the couch and pull the front door open. “Sorry, your son has decided to test out his ambulance impression.”
Robby chuckles at that, “Figures. He’s pretty good at it.” He stepped inside without waiting to be invited, setting his backpack, and kicking off his shoes in a neat pile next to yours.
You can feel your blood pressure spike.
This was exactly what the therapist had been talking about.
“Sorry I’m late, there was a massive wreck…” he trails off as he finally stops and takes you in. His all too knowing eyes scan over your body. “You should take a shower, I’ll get Mason.”
You want to tell him no on principle alone. Unfortunately, a shower sounded really good. With a sigh you nod and slink off towards the bathroom.
You pull the hordes of bath toys and bath seat out of the tub before cranking the shower handle as hot as it’ll go. Steam creeps into every crevice and hole in your mind. It was nice. This was nice being able to stand under the hot shower for longer than a few minutes before Mason needed you. You loved your boy, but god was it nice to take a moment. That didn’t make you less of a mother. That’s what you would tell parents when they would come into the hospital worried they had ruined their child. Why couldn’t you tell yourself that?
You’re toweling off and batting the steam from the room before the air can become heavy and choke you. The crying had stopped… had it stopped a long time ago? Fuck. Why wasn’t he crying?
As you speed to the nursery, you hear the soft voice of Robby.
“Before you go to sleep,” he sings softly bouncing a dozing Mason gently in his arms. “Say a little prayer.”
He strolls the room showing Mason things. Like the picture of the birds above his diaper changing station.
“Every day, in every way,” he takes his son to the window and tilts him just slightly so he can look out the window. You both know Mason was fighting sleep but would succumb any second now.
“It’s getting better and better,” Robby settles into the rocking chair, taking special care to not jostle Mason. He hums softly as he strokes Mason cheek. A tiny hand hangs onto his dad’s shirt, like he couldn’t part with him even in sleep. The smile lights up Robby’s entire face.
“Darling Mason…goodnight Son,” Robby settles in against the rocking chair like he’s prepared to be used as a makeshift crib for the rest of the night. “See you in the morning, bright and early.”
Maybe if things had gone right you would have made your way over to them. Teased Robby about his goofy lyric changes. Maybe you would be a family in that made up universe. But you didn’t have that. You wouldn’t have that. You couldn’t have that. Right?
It’s ridiculous to consider.
Robby’s eyes catch yours from where you stand in the doorway. He smiles softly, his cheeks flushed.
“He didn’t want to be put down,” he explains a little sheepishly. He rises slowly from the rocker, bringing a sound asleep Mason to you. “Say goodnight to mama.”
You wipe your eyes and bite back a sniffle. What had gotten into you?
He watches you as you take Mason from his arms like it was something the two of you had practiced. Automatic. One hand supporting the back of his head while the other settled beneath his diapered bottom. Mason made a sleepy little noise against your shoulder, immediately curling into you without waking fully. His tiny hand stays clamped in Robby’s shirt and his father didn’t have the heart to pry the little hand off of him.
Robby’s chest ached. As he stepped into your space to keep the three of you connected.
You swayed gently on instinct, cheek brushing against the soft fuzz of Mason’s hair while you adjusted the blanket around him. Your hair was still damp from the shower. One of your old college shirts hung loose on your frame, the faded hem brushing your thighs.
Domestic.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Mason's tiny fist stayed tangled in the front of Robby’s shirt for a second longer before slipping free with a sleepy twitch. The loss of the tiny weight in his arms fell immediately.
And then you smiled.
Not at him.
At Mason.
Small and exhausted and so unbearably soft it knocked the air clean out of his lungs. Something in Robby shifted violently. Because for one perfect second, this felt like he finally found his home.
Not the city.
Not the apartment.
You and Mason.
The dim nursery light.
The sound machine humming softly in the corner.
This.
This felt like the life he was supposed to have. His eyes lifted from Mason to you just as you glanced up. And maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact you had finally stopped looking at him like an intruder for half a second. Maybe it was because your face was still soft from smiling.
Whatever it was, it made his brain felt like goo.
Robby leaned down before he fully realized he was moving.
You stilled. Not pulling away but not leaning in either.
Just watching him with tired eyes. Too close.
He could see the faint dampness still clinging to your lashes from the shower steam. The tiny crease between your brows that always appeared when you were overwhelmed. The way your lips parted slightly like you were about to say something.
His gaze dropped there automatically.
Memory was a cruel thing. He knew this distance. Knew this moment. Knew what used to come next.
His head dipped slightly, his forehead almost touching yours, before his brain caught up with the rest of him.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Robby stopped so abruptly it looked painful. Like slamming on the breaks before a collision. Horror flashed across his face, as he was sure it was flashing across yours.
“Sorry,” he said immediately, voice rough. He took a step back; he nearly bumped into the rocker. “Fuck. I'm so sorry.”
The softness vanished from the room instantly.
Your entire body tightened around Mason protectively, like the door he had worked so hard to open was slamming shut in his face.
Somehow, that hurt worse than if you had yelled.
You sidestep around him, trying to put some distance between you. “I’m just… I’m gonna put him down.”
“Yeah, yeah okay,” said quietly as he rubs the back of his neck.
The nursery light cast everything in soft gold as you laid Mason down in the crib. For a terrible moment, you thought Mason would wake fully and start crying again.
Instead, your son only sighed softly and turned his face toward the mattress.
Robby stood there for a second longer, one hand resting lightly against the crib rail.
Then he stepped away.
The walk back to the living room felt unbearable now. Too small. Too quiet. The apartment suddenly felt crowded.
Robby grabbed his backpack from beside the door.
“I should probably go,” he said.
Probably.
Like he hadn’t already decided the second he saw your face.
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. “Yeah.”
His jaw flexed. He nodded once.
“I really am sorry.”
And you believed him.
“That’s kind of the problem,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
Robby went still.
You hated that your chest felt heavy after saying it. Hated that part of you wanted to take it back. Hated even more that another part wanted him to understand exactly what you meant.
“I wasn’t trying to-”
“I know.”
That seemed to shut him up more effectively than anger would have.
Silence stretched between you again.
Then, quietly you say, “I’ll text you tomorrow about Mason’s checkup.”
Back to schedules, calendars, and safe things.
“Okay.” He lingered for half a second too long before finally heading for the door. The apartment felt different after he left. Not better. Just emptier.
You stood there listening to the fading sound of his footsteps in the hallway until they disappeared completely.
Your phone buzzed against the counter.
Google Calendar Reminder:
Robby- Thursday breakfast.
Your stomach twisted.
The apartment had become measured in time.
Feedings, wake windows, nap schedules, reminders.
Survival broken down into manageable pieces.
Time was the only constant thing because it moved forward whether people stayed or not.
Somewhere between shared calendars and evening visits and coffee cups left in your sink, time had continued moving forward.
And against your better judgment, Robby had moved with it.
Your phone buzzed again.
Unknown number:
I have an opening on Thursday if you are interested in continuing our session.
You stared at the message from the therapist for a long time.
Then type back:
Unfortunately.
AN: everyone say thank you to @killora1708 for the song suggestion.
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: The soft aftermath of a proposal - champagne on the jetty, a funny story, too many giggles and a text Jack had been dying to send.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 95: Come on, sweetheart. Adventure.
--- --- ---
The sun had slipped lower by the time the two of you settled back down near the edge of the jetty. Your feet dangled just a few feet above the water.
Everything looked softer now.
Golden light stretched across the lake in slow shimmering lines while the trees reflected dark green against the water. Somewhere far away somebody laughed faintly from another shoreline but mostly… mostly it felt like the world had gone quiet.
The champagne sat open between you now, already half empty.
You leaned against Jack’s shoulder. Your hand rested in his lap, his hand warm against your knee. Neither of you were capable of letting go of the other. And every few minutes, without fail, your eyes drifted back down to the ring.
It was still there. Still impossibly real.
The diamond caught the last warm sunlight every time you moved your hand. You stared, then let out another completely involuntary giggle.
Jack looked over immediately. “There it is again.” His voice was soft.
You looked up again, grinning helplessly. “Hm?”
“That cute little laugh you keep doing.”
“I’m not doing a laugh” you insisted, furrowing your brow, trying to be serious.
“You absolutely are.”
You looked back at the ring again - and promptly started giggling again. “Oh my god, I AM doing a laugh.”
Jack huffed out the softest laugh. “That’s roughly how I’ve been feeling for the last hour.”
“But… look at this beauty.” You held your hand up again and another laugh escaped you.
Jack shook his head fondly. “Okay” he said, smirking. “This is getting dangerously adorable.”
You gave him a look - serious for one second - before you smiled again. “I’m engaged” you whispered, still completely overwhelmed by the sheer weight of this sentence.
Jack chuckled. “Yeah. To me of all people.”
“Shockingly, yes” you replied dryly, before stopping. After a while you turned toward him fully with bright eyes. “It’s just…” Your voice caught suddenly. “I can’t believe this.”
Jack’s face softened again. His thumb brushed slowly over your knee. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You nodded quickly and let out a shaky little laugh. “Yeah. I just…” You looked down at the ring again. “I’m just really happy.”
Jack suddenly looked suspiciously emotional - even though he was trying very hard not to.
“If you start crying I start crying” you warned him, your voice already thin.
“I’m not-” He sniffed. “Okay, yeah, maybe a little.”
You both laughed softly. Jack pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pressed a slow kiss against your temple. Then another one. He stayed there for a second.
“I really love you” he murmured softly.
You smiled. “I really love you too.”
A comfortable silence settled for a while.
Then - eventually Jack shifted slightly again and let out a quiet breath. “You know…”
“Hm?”
He hesitated. “Funny story actually.”
“Oh?” You narrowed your eyes immediately. It wasn’t often that Jack opened a conversation with this sentence.
“I actually almost proposed already.”
You blinked, completely caught off guard. “Um. What?”
Jack couldn’t help but smile. “In Vancouver.”
“Wait.” Your mouth fell open. “WHAT?”
“Yeah.”
“JACK!”
He started laughing. “No, listen-”
You sat up straighter immediately, staring at him like he had gone crazy. “When? How?”
“That picnic in Stanley Park.”
You stared at him, processing this piece of information. And suddenly - everything clicked. The picnic. The waterfront. The champagne. His weird mood.
Your jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”
Jack chuckled. “Yep. I was hoping for this reaction.”
“You were going to propose?!”
“Yeah” he said with a shrug.
“Oh my god.” You grabbed his arm. “THAT’S why you were weird the whole day.”
Jack groaned. “Yeah. Apparently I’m not subtle.”
“No, you were SO weird.”
“I know!”
“Jack!”
He laughed again. “I had everything planned. Picnic, speech, ring - everything.”
“What happened?!”
Jack stopped, hesitated, then looked at you. “Robby happened, darling.”
You blinked once, twice, then burst into helpless laughter. “Oh my god. No!”
“Yes.”
“NO!”
“Absolutely.”
“I ruined my own proposal with your best friend?!” You were already laughing so hard tears threatened again. “Oh my god.”
“He didn’t know!” Jack said immediately, feeling like he needed to defend him. “To be fair. He genuinely didn’t know.”
Tears ran down your cheeks while you were still laughing. “That’s why he spent like forty minutes talking about otter facts.”
You tried to compose yourself, reaching for your champagne and taking a sip, still quietly laughing under your breath.
Jack huffed out another laugh. “Yeah. And I was sitting there internally going like - Brother, respectfully, but I really need you to leave. Just not with words. Only in my head.”
You nearly spilled your champagne when another laugh escaped you. “Oh my god.”
The lake shimmered gold around you, evening light catching across the water while your laughter slowly settled into something smaller.
Jack just looked at you. A the helpless smile still lingering on your face. Your flushed cheeks. The way your engagement ring caught sunlight every time you moved your hand.
And for a second he looked a little overwhelmed all over again.
“What?” you asked eventually, still grinning.
Jack shook his head softly. “Nothing” he murmured. “I’m just really happy.”
When the laughter finally quieted down, you leaned into him again, still smiling. “You know” you said eventually, holding up your hand again. “I kinda like this version better.”
Jack looked at you. “Yeah?”
You nodded, beaming at him. “Feels more us.”
Something warm flickered across his face - just for a moment. “Honestly?” He kissed your temple again. “I think so too.”
The room had gone quiet hours ago.
The lake outside was barely audible through the cracked bedroom window while soft early summer air drifted through the curtains.
You were asleep against Jack, one arm thrown across his stomach as always. And the ring still sat on your finger. Every now and then it caught the faint moonlight and Jack’s brain promptly stopped functioning again.
Fiancée.
Jesus Christ.
You were his fiancée.
Every time he closed his eyes, trying to sleep, his mind wandered back to the proposal. He could see your face clearly. The tears. The smile. He could still hear the teary laugh. Still hear you saying you’d be an Abbot too.
He was pretty sure he wouldn’t sleep that night.
Carefully, so he wouldn’t wake you, he reached for his phone on the bedside table. He checked the time, then scrolled through his messages.
He stopped at one particular conversation for a moment, then opened it. He hesitated for a brief moment before starting to type:
She said yes!
He hit send, then put the phone down immediately after. His heart was beating fast now and a smile crept back on his face. And suddenly he felt another stupid little laugh rise in his chest.
A few minutes later the screen lit up. He opened it immediately.
I’m so happy for you, Jack. Truly.
Can’t wait to hear all about it in our next session. For now - just enjoy this feeling. You earned it.
Give my love to your fiancée. She did good.
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
Description: After months of ghosting and unresolved feelings, ER resident Y/N is blindsided when she discovers her former fling, Dr. Jack Abbot, is suddenly back on night shift with her.
What begins as awkward tension in a crowded emergency room quickly spirals into stolen glances, heated arguments, and undeniable chemistry neither of them can ignore. But as one long overnight shift forces them back together, old feelings resurface, and Jack finally admits he never stopped hoping he’d see her again. word count: 6.2k
characters: Female reader/Jack Abbott, Michael Robinavitch, Princess Dela Cruz, Dr. John Shen
content: age difference, ghosting, smut, and fluff, confrontation, situationship, night shift chaos, forbidden romance, forced proximity, unresolved tension, oneshot, oral, light choking, fingering, unprotected sex. , resident x attending.
author's note: This is my first fan fiction in a while, so I hope you enjoy it!
You let out a quiet sigh as the automatic ER doors slide open, the noise hitting you instantly. Monitors beep in overlapping rhythms; stretchers rattle across the floor, and exhausted nurses weave through the chaos with half-finished coffees in hand. The waiting room was already overflowing. Typical Friday night.
You rub your tired eyes and glance up at the trauma board. You’re clocked in for less than five minutes before Dr. Robby intercepted you near the nurses’ station.
“Perfect timing,” he says, already walking. “Come with me.”
You fall into step beside him as he leads you toward Bay 4. Inside, a woman in her mid-twenties lies on the bed with a deep laceration running along her lower leg, blood staining the sheets beneath her calf.
“This is Jane Daux, twenty-six years old,” Robby begins, scrolling through her chart. “Presented after...”
His voice fades into background noise the moment your eyes land on the man seated beside the patient.
Silver curls threaded with streaks of black. Broad shoulders beneath black scrubs. Steady hands, working carefully as he irrigated the wound.
Dr. Jack Abbot.
Your stomach tightens instantly.
You knew him far too well.
Your first night-shift rotation nearly a year ago had somehow turned into stolen glances across trauma bays, late-night coffees, lingering touches in supply closets, and eventually sleeping together. Once. Then twice. Then enough times to blur every boundary you tried to redraw.
Months of inconsistent texts.
Months of almost.
Months of him disappearing, then showing back up as if nothing had happened.
And now, apparently, he was your attending tonight.
“Do you have any questions, Doctor?”
Robby’s voice snaps you back into the room.
You blink hard, realizing both men are staring at you.
“No,” you answer quickly, forcing a polite smile. “No questions.”
Robby nodded. “Good. I’m sure you already know Dr. Abbot. He’ll be your attending tonight, so if you need anything, he’s your guy.”
Jack finally looks up from the wound. His brown eyes meet yours, unreadable as ever.
A small nod.
“Y/N.”
The sound of your name in his voice shouldn’t affect you as much as it does.
You straighten slightly. “Jack.”
Silence settles over the bay for half a second too long.
Robby’s gaze flickers between the two of you, one eyebrow slowly rising. Even the patient looks mildly concerned now.
Without another word, he turns on his heel and disappears into the sea of staff and patients before either of you can stop him. Coward.
The second he’s gone, the air in the room changes. Thicker somehow. Harder to breathe through.
You clear your throat, suddenly hyperaware of Jack sitting only a few feet away.
“I’m gonna…” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Go to the restroom.”
Jack opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but you’re already gone, slipping out of the bay and speedwalking down the corridor.
You barely make it halfway to the restroom before someone steps directly into your path.
“Well, well.” Princess, who recently switched over to night shift, was grinning knowingly as she folded her arms across her chest. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”
“I basically did,” you whisper frantically, glancing back toward Bay 4 before looking at Princess again. You drag both hands down your face with a groan. “I completely forgot Jack works nights. And after last time? This is going to be so unbelievably awkward.”
Princess grabs your shoulder, muttering something under her breath in her native tongue before shaking her head at you.
“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.”
She gives your shoulder a firm squeeze; her nails digging crescents into your skin hard enough to make your nose scrunch.
“Lay low. Do your job. Stop overthinking.”
Then she pauses, her expression shifting into something more amusing. More dangerous.
“Unless,” she says slowly, “you want to do something about it.”
Before you can react, she flicks your forehead.
“Ow!”
Princess only grins, winking as she steps around you toward another patient already calling for help.
And just like that, she’s gone. Leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos. Nurses shout vitals over one another. Somewhere down the hall, a patient groans in pain while an overhead page crackles through the speakers.
But all you can think about is him. Jack Abbot, the man you swore you were over. The man whose hands you still remembered a little too clearly.
═════════════════════════════════════════════
20:00
It’s been one hour since the beginning of your personal nightmare.
One hour since Bay 4.
And somehow, despite the overcrowded ER and nonstop admissions, you haven’t seen Jack once.
Not that you were looking.
Okay, maybe a little.
You’re heading toward the nurses’ station when someone grabs your shoulder with enough urgency to stop you short.
Dr. Shen.
“Trauma One arriving by air in five,” he says quickly. “I need you on the roof. ASAP.”
Before you can answer, he’s already moving.
You exhale sharply and pivot toward the elevators, weaving through staff before stepping inside and jabbing the rooftop button.
The doors begin sliding shut.
Then a freckled hand wedges between them.
Your stomach drops immediately.
The elevator reopens, revealing Dr. Jack Abbot stepping inside like the universe personally hated you. You instinctively move backward until your shoulders hit the corner wall. Jack didn’t say anything at first.
He just reaches past you to press the rooftop button again unnecessarily, his broad frame filling the already too-small elevator. Black scrubs stretch the thin fabric across his shoulders every time he moves. Your eyes betray you instantly.
God. Had he always looked like that? Or had he gotten broader since last year?
Jack clears his throat softly, causing your eyes to snap upward.
“So,” he says casually, leaning back against the railing beside you, “how’s residency treating you?”
“Good.”
The elevator hums quietly around you. It feels suffocating. Jack nods once at your short response, jaw tightening slightly.
“Still hate trauma nights?”
“I tolerate them now.”
“That’s progress.”
You hum; eyes fixed firmly on the glowing floor numbers overhead. Silence settles between you again. Heavy. Familiar.
“You disappeared after the last time I saw you.”
Your breath catches; of course, he’d bring it up here. You finally look at him. “You ghosted me for three weeks, Jack.”
His expression flickers. Guilt maybe. Frustration.
“I got busy.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Right. Because Doctors are famously known for their communication skills.”
That actually earns a small smile from him, and somehow that’s worse.
The elevator dings before either of you can say anything else. The doors slide open onto the rooftop helipad, freezing cold wind immediately rushing inside. You step out first, grateful for the interruption. But even as you pull your trauma gown tighter around yourself and prepare for the incoming patient, you can still feel Jack’s eyes lingering on you from behind.
═════════════════════════════════════════════
00:00
Four hours later, the ER somehow feels even worse.
Your feet ache. Your claw clip is hanging on by a thread. There’s dried blood on the sleeve of your scrub top that you’re pretty sure isn’t yours.
The trauma cases haven’t stopped coming.
Neither has Jack.
Everywhere you turn tonight, he’s there. Across trauma bays. Standing beside you during procedures. Passing instruments into your hand before you even ask for them, like your bodies still remember how to work together.
It’s infuriating.
Worse, it’s effortless.
You’re shoving supplies into a linen cart outside Trauma 2 when Princess appears beside you with suspicious timing.
“Hey,” she says casually. Too casually. “Can you grab another suture kit from the supply closet?”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
Princess only pats your shoulder. “Room’s almost out.”
Then she walks away before you can argue.
You stare after her.
“Oh, she’s evil.”
Still, with a sigh, you push open the supply closet door.
The tiny room is dimly lit, packed floor-to-ceiling with boxes, linens, saline flushes, and enough supplies to survive the apocalypse. You step inside, crouching to search through a lower cabinet.
The door swings open again behind you.
Your shoulders tense instantly before you even look up.
“Princess said you needed help finding—” Jack stops mid-sentence when he sees you, of course.
You stand abruptly, nearly smacking your head against a shelf.
“I’m fine.”
“Mhm.”
Jack closes the door behind him anyway. The click echoes louder than it should. And suddenly, the room feels much smaller. You turn back toward the shelves, aggressively searching for supplies you already found thirty seconds ago.
“Are we seriously still doing this?” Jack asks quietly behind you.
You freeze. “Doing what?”
“This.” His voice sharpens slightly. “Acting like you can’t stand being in the same room as me.”
You let out a short laugh, finally turning toward him. “You disappeared on me, Jack.”
His jaw tightens. “I know.”
“For weeks.”
“I know.”
“And then you’d come back acting as if nothing happened.”
Jack drags a hand over his face, exhaustion bleeding through him for the first time all night.
“You think I don’t know I handled it badly?”
“Then why do it?” you snap. “Why keep coming back?”
The question hangs heavily between you. For the first time since this conversation started, Jack doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. Like he's trying to figure out how honest he’s willing to be.
“Because every time I tried to leave you alone…” He exhales sharply through his nose. “I couldn’t.”
Your anger stops for half a second.
Jack steps closer. Slowly. Carefully.
“You were my resident,” he says. “You were much younger than me— you still are.” He catches himself, “I was still figuring things out, and I kept telling myself I needed to draw a line.” He gives a humorless laugh. “Then you’d smile at me, and suddenly I forgot every good decision I’d made.”
Your heart beats harder against your ribs.
“You could’ve just talked to me.”
“I know.”
“But instead, you ghosted me.”
“I know.” His voice is rough now. Tired. Honest. “And I hated myself for it every single time.”
Silence fills the tiny closet.
You should walk away. Seriously. You should.
Instead, you whisper, “You’re still doing it.”
Jack’s eyes flick down to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
“No,” he says quietly. “I’m standing right here.”
The air leaves your lungs.
Then Jack steps closer.
Your back brushes against the metal shelving behind you as his hand comes up slowly, fingertips grazing the side of your jaw like he’s giving you time to stop him.
You don’t.
You can barely breathe.
“Jack…”
It comes out softer, more breathless than you intended.
His expression shifts instantly at the sound of his name on your lips. Like the last thread of restraint finally snaps.
And then he kisses you.
Hard.
Your breath catches against his mouth as his hand slides firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Months of tension, anger, missed calls, and unresolved feelings. It all crashes together at once. You kiss him back immediately, like you’ve been wanting to all night. Your fingers fist into the front of his scrub top as he backs you further against the shelves, one of the boxes above you rattles dangerously from the impact.
Jack groans against your lips, muttering against your mouth. “Tell me to stop.”
You don't.
Jack kisses like he’s frustrated about it. Like he’s spent months trying not to think about you and failed miserably. His hand slides from your waist to your thigh, gripping just enough to make a shiver run down your spine. His other hand was placed firmly on the back of your nape, keeping you under his control.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs against your mouth between kisses, voice rough, “how hard it’s been pretending I don’t want this.”
You let out the smallest breathless laugh before kissing him again, this time slower but somehow even worse for your self-control. The cramped closet suddenly feels unbearably warm.
“We can’t do this here,” he mutters, though he makes absolutely no move to step away.
“You’re the one who started it,” you whisper back.
That earns a low laugh out of him. The sound alone nearly makes your knees weak. Another overhead page crackles somewhere outside the door, muffled by the walls. Jack exhales sharply before forcing himself to pull back just enough to look at you. Both your lips are now moisturized with the warm Aquaphor ChapStick that you keep in your scrub pocket for these kinds of emergencies.
He looks down at his black wrist watch.
“Meet me in the on-call room 4.”
Your stomach flips.
“Jack-”
“2:15.” His hand squeezes your waist once more before reluctantly letting go. “Sharp.”
You stare at him, still slightly dazed from the kiss. “You’re scheduling hookups now?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth for the first time all night.
“Occupational hazard. I’ll page you.”
Then, before you can say another word, he steals one final kiss. quick, dangerous, enough to leave you wanting more before stepping back and opening the supply closet door.
The noise of the ER floods back in instantly.
Jack adjusts his scrub top like nothing happened and glances over his shoulder at you.
“Try not to overthink it this time, doctor.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the chaos while you stand there breathless in the middle of the supply closet, wondering how the hell you were supposed to survive until 2:15?
After a couple of minutes of trying to recollect your thoughts. Brushing your wrinkled scrubs off and reapplying your ChapStick, you crack the door open, glancing amongst the chaos searching for a certain someone in the crowd.
═════════════════════════════════════════════
00:55
The next hour drags in the most cruel, most inhumane way possible. Every glance at your watch feels deliberate.
01:14
01: 32
01: 50
Time was ticking slowly, too slowly.
The ER had finally begun to settle for the night. The waiting room wasn't nearly as packed as it was a couple of hours ago. Nurses leaned against the counters with warm blankets and cold coffees. While most of the residents (you included, to distract yourself) were catching up on their charting before the sun could rise.
But none of it seemed to calm your nerves. Because no matter where you went tonight, you could feel the burning gaze of his soft brown eyes on the back of your head.
Across the department, Jack moved through patients with the same calm, composed confidence he always had, but now every interaction you had with him felt intentional. His hand brushes yours while passing off scissors. The brief glances he gave you. The way his jaw would tighten every time your eyes met for more than a mere second.
And the worst part of all of it? Now you knew exactly what he was thinking about, too.
Princess, who is also amongst the sea of nurses in their now not-so-warm blankets, walks past you while you're trying to chart. Taking one look at your expression before smirking into her coffee cup.
“You look nervous.”
“I’m not.”
“Mhm.”
You glare at her while signing out of the computer. “This is all your fault, by the way.”
“I merely support women's rights and wrongs,” You snort at her remark before your eyes flick towards the clock again.
02:12
Your stomach flips, but by 02:14 you’re standing outside the on-call room. Your claw clip readjusted to fit more snugly in your hair. Pulling out a few loose strands to frame your face nicely. You check your Apple Watch, and your heart rate is over 100 beats per minute. That checks out.
This was a really bad idea, a horrible one actually. You exhale slowly, pushing the door open at 02:15.
Punctual as always.
The room is dimly lit, except for the soft yellow light from the desk lamp in the corner. Jack is sitting on the edge of the small cot still dressed in his black scrub bottoms, but he removed his top, leaving him in a thin, short-sleeved white t-shirt he was wearing under his scrub top, and God, he looked good.
You click the door shut, locking it behind you. The lock echoed in the eerily silent room, causing you to cringe from sheer embarrassment.
His elbows were resting against his knees like he’s been waiting longer than he wanted to admit. His eyes lift the second you walk in, meeting yours.
And my God. The look on his face nearly ruins you; your knees immediately go weak.
Relief. Want. Exhaustion.
Neither of you speak at first. The silence feels heavier than it did in the supply closet. You stand with your back pressed against the door. Kicking your crocs off, shifting your weight under each foot.
“Y/N.”
“Jack.”
Silence falls between you two for a second
“You came.”
“You sounded pretty confident I would.”
‘Was I wrong?” Jack says, tilting his chin up at you. The small movement he tends to do, and somehow you seem to pick up on it every time he does it.
“No,” You admit softly.
Jack finally leans back, his hands now resting behind him, instinctively spreading his legs.
“C’mere.” The words are quiet, yet rough around the edges. Your stomach flutters instantly.
Without second though you cross the room slowly, stopping in front of him directly, your heartbeat thumping louder with every step. You step between his legs, his hand settling on your hip naturally. It's warm, calloused, and heavy through the thin fabric of your scrubs.
For a second, he just looks at you, really looks at you.
His thumb brushes lightly against the crest of your pelvis. “You know,” he mumbles under his breath, “I had an entire speech planned for when you came in here.”
You raise an eyebrow suspiciously, “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm, something mature. Professional”
You glance down briefly at the way his hand tightens slightly “Seems like that's going well.” A quiet chuckle escapes his pink lips. Low, tired, and extremely attractive.
“Clearly”
Silence falls between you again. Then he tilts his head back slightly. Eyes flicking to your mouth for just a second. And just like in the supply closet, whatever restraint and willpower you had left starts to dissolve fast.
Your fingers slide into his peppery curls gently before you lean down and kiss him first this time. Jack exhales sharply against your lips like he wasn't expecting it. One hand immediately pulls you closer until you are straddling his lap.
The kiss deepens almost immediately. Slow at first, then messy. Hungry. Like he's trying to memorize you.
His warm hands move along your waist, your back, and finally slide down to rest on your ass, giving it a firm squeeze with both his hands, earning a soft gasp from you. You can feel the exhaustion, lust, and desperation from the shift lingering between both of you, but somehow it only makes this feel more intimate. More dangerous.
Jack pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of your breathing heavy and uneven now.
“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters quietly.
Before you could reply, he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. One hand is going from your ass, sliding up to your neck, giving it a soft, possessive squeeze like he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon.
Your hand finally began to roam. First resting gently on his shoulders, then down to his firm, broad chest, snaking their way down his toned core, finally stopping at the hem of his scrub bottoms. A restrained hiss escapes him the second your hand brushes teasingly against him through the fabric.
Jack breaks the kiss, attacking your neck like a savage animal, biting and nipping at the thin skin on your neck, while you palm his hard erection that was seeking attention underneath the strain of his bottoms and boxers.
“Jesus,” He mutters against your neck, his forehead drops briefly against your shoulder as his hips lift instinctively into your touch, a subtle movement that feels almost like a plea. You sit up straight, pressing both hands against his chest until he falls back against the thin mattress, a quiet exhale escaping his lips. He quickly adjusts himself, not wanting to take his eyes off you. Settling himself against his elbows.
His curls are messy; his lips are swollen and damp from the kissing and slightly parted. His chest is rising and falling heavily. His pupils are blown wide with desire as his erection strains against his pants.
You slide off his lap slowly, wasting no time tugging your scrub top over your head before stepping out of your scrub bottoms, letting them fall carelessly around your ankles. The cool air brushes against your skin, leaving goosebumps across your body. You’re left in nothing but a soft grey bra and embarrassingly festive gingerbread printed underwear you completely forgot you were wearing. Jack shifts further back onto the bed, his eyes drag more slowly over your body appreciatively.
Then his gaze stops, right on the gingerbread panties. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Very chic, but out of season,” he murmurs dryly.
“Oh my God,” You look down at your underwear before groaning. Your cheeks flush pink.
Jack laughs softly for the first time all night, the sound warm and low as he reaches for you again.
“No, no,” he says, eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m into it.”
Before he could muster out another snarky remark, you sank to your knees in front of him, resting between his thighs. Wiping the smile right off his face, his expression more serious, more focused.
“Fuck...” He mutters under his breath as he watches you pull at his scrub pants. He instinctively lifts his hips, allowing you to slide down his pants and his boxers in one swift motion. His erection springs freely in front of you.
Your thumb traces his wet slit, lubricating your fingers with his precum, causing him to hiss. You waste no time getting your mouth on him. Your tongue, flat and warm, starts at the base of his shaft, making your way up towards the head of his cock, wrapping your lips around him.
“God, you look so beautiful.” He says breathlessly. His hands find your hair almost instantly; your claw clip barely survives the night as it hangs crookedly in place. Jack pulls it free carefully before tossing it somewhere onto the floor beside the bed. Your hair spills loose around your shoulders. His hand slides into your hair, gently guiding you, putting you exactly where he wants you.
Your hands grip his thighs firmly; your movements are slow at first, almost testing. And the strained groans that leaves Jack tells you he's hanging onto his composure by a thread. The room is filled with uneven breathing and the occasional moan slipping past Jack's lips every time you look up at him.
Jack's eyes flutter shut as you increase your pace; the gentle grip on your hair turning firmer, more needy. Jack is ready to completely unravel when a sudden knock against the door startles both of you.
“Abbot?” Dr Shen calls out from the other side, “You in there?”
You pause; your mouth still wrapped around Jack's cock as it eagerly twitches inside of your warm mouth. You look up at him innocently when you see the sheer panic flash across his face. His hand immediately moves, making a “shush” motion towards you.
“Yeah,” he manages to mutter out, rougher than normal. He clears his throat, “I’m in here.”
You pause for a moment before sinking down a little bit further, causing Jack to gasp quietly, gripping your hair tighter as a warning.
“Trauma 2 is asking for you,” Shen mutters.
Jack squeezes his eyes shut briefly before looking back down at you, silently pleading for you to behave for five seconds. You do not.
Instead, you begin bobbing your head even quicker than you were the last time; your mouth is warm and wet as you pull your mouth halfway off his length to focus solely on his tip, Jack's favorite.
Jack's head drops back completely, forgetting Shen is on the other side of the door.
“Everything okay in there?” Shen asks after a suspiciously long silence.
You glance up just in time to catch the way Jack glares at you weakly, desperately. You eye the door, hinting at Jack to reply.
“Fine,” he says tightly, forcing the word out while his other hand pushes you further down. “Just give me a minute, I'm having a migraine. In the meantime, find Dr.Ellis to cover me until then.”
You can practically hear the smirk in Dr. Shen's voice through the door.
“A minute,” he pauses, “right.” And with that, his footsteps retreat down the hallway. The second they disappear, Jack lets out a half-laugh, half-moan as your mouth is still wrapped around his twitching cock.
“You’re trouble.”
You finally pull back just enough to grin up at him, “Me?”
Jack's eyes narrow slightly. “Yes, you.” he suddenly stands himself up, one hand firmly gripping your waist as he guides you up with him. The movement is so quick, and within seconds, he’s turning the two of you around until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.
Then he gently pushes you back onto the bed, switching positions completely. Your breath catches as Jack reaches for the hem of his top and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly somewhere in the room, and God.
His broad shoulders defined muscles stretched beneath warm skin. The sight of him makes your brain fog. He catches you staring and smirks slightly.
“And if you keep looking at me like that, we're never going to leave this room,” he says, resting one knee on the outside of your thigh. “Turn around for me,” he mutters, already grabbing your hips, guiding you onto your stomach, his hand firm against your waist as you settle against the mattress.
Your breath hitches as you push your hips back at him. Your gingerbread panties are now on full display for him, earning a satisfied groan.
“God, those gingerbread panties.” He groans.
“You’re obsessed.”
“I might be.” He says, his voice low as his hands caress over the curve of your hips, followed by a hard smack landing on your ass, soothing over the spot immediately as if he already knows how reactive you are.
“Good girl.”
A quiet yelp slips from your throat before you can stop it. Jack immediately leans down, his voice softer near your ear.
“Shh,” he murmurs teasingly. “You're really trying to get us caught tonight, huh?” his fingertips continue to draw patterns across your skin, his fingers dangerously close to the heat radiating from your core, making your breathing uneven.
“If you get too loud,” he says softly, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot behind your ear. “I'm stopping.” He warns.
“So,” he continues, “are you going to be a good girl for me?” His voice was rough, threaded with amusement.
“Yes,” The answer leaves your mouth immediately, far too fast, far too desperate. Jack lets out a quiet laugh behind you, clearly pleased with himself.
“Good,” he presses another lingering kiss against your shoulder. Two large fingers creep between your thighs, rubbing between your wet folds through your panties, causing your whole body to react. The combination of his voice, his touch, and the warmth of his body heat behind you is almost overwhelming.
“Goodness, have you been this wet this whole time?” he says, pressing one of his fingers firmly over your sensitive clit, rubbing soft, consistent circles around it, causing you to jolt. He knew your body too well, even after all this time.
You whimper in response, bucking your hips against his fingers, wanting more. Jack immediately notices; he always notices, earning a deep, humorous laugh from him.
“Tsk tsk, so impatient.” His touch leaves you for only a second before he gently tugs your panties lower, slow enough to make your stomach twist with anticipation. He begins pressing gentle kisses to your bare hips.
“God, I missed you,” He mumbles to himself, taking in the view before his fingers go back between your legs, finding your clit again, causing a moan to slip from your throat.
“Fuck” you breathe out. He coats his fingers in your juices before pressing two fingers inside of you, only going to the first knuckle, causing you to squirm.
“That's it...” He praises, pushing his fingers further down to the second knuckle, leaning down to kiss along your shoulder again, slower now, more intimate than teasing. His fingers begin to curl as he hits your sweet spot, causing you to cry out.
“Don’t forget the rules,” his voice controlled despite the way his restraint is visibly slipping. He continued to pump his fingers inside of you at an ungodly pace causing you to crumble beneath him.
A quiet sound escapes your lips before you can stop it.
“Please,” Jack immediately stills behind you. “Jack, please.”
The sudden loss of movement makes you let out a frustrated breath, your chest rising and falling as you glance back at him over your shoulder.
“Please, what? He asked softly, “Use your words.”
God
You can barely think straight with the way he’s looking at you right now.
“Please,” you hesitate for a second, “please fuck me.”
Then suddenly, Jack guides you onto your back, the movement firm enough to startle you. He settles between your legs again, one hand braced beside your head while the other tilts your chin towards him. His eyes drag slowly across your face. messy hair, flushed skin, swollen lips, completely unraveling beneath him.
“I want to look at you during every second of this.” His voice is rougher. Jack leans down before his mouth crashes against you again. The head of his cock poking at your entrance, causing you to moan breathlessly against his mouth.
His shaky hand reaches down, grabbing the base of his cock, lining himself up with your entrance. Slickening himself between your folds as he bites down on his bottom lip, face full of lust and desire.
“I’m not letting you go this time.” The words hit you harder than anything else tonight. Not the kisses, not the tension, not even the way he looks at you now like he's trying to hold onto something he almost lost.
He pushes the head of his cock inside of you. Low groans slip from both of you. The sound swallowed between the heated kisses as reality fades further into the background. The hospital, the pagers, did not matter anymore.
Only him, only this.
“Fuck... Were you always this tight?” his breath hitches as he buries himself fully inside of you. His voice strained with disbelief.
“Shut up,” you moan out breathlessly. “I haven't been with anyone since we last slept together, last summer.” The confession slips out before you can stop it.
The reaction from him is immediate. His head lifts to look at you properly; something darker and more emotional flashes across his face.
“Oh, have you been waiting for me?”
You roll your eyes weakly despite the heat rushing through your core. “You’re insufferable”
A low laugh escapes his lips before he kisses you again, slower this time but somehow more intense.
“That's my girl,” he mutters softly against your lips, causing your stomach to twist.
He says snarkily as he begins to snap his hips against you. Jack's hands tighten around your waist as he pulls you closer, which is almost impossible.
“You’re a mess for me.” He says between grunts, pulling out all the way just for a second before slamming back inside of you. His thrusts were rough, merciless, and everything you needed.
Small sounds keep escaping you, no matter how hard you try to stay quiet. Eventually, Jack captures your mouth again in another deep kiss, swallowing every breathless moan. His pace became sloppy. Exhaustion from the shift is finally catching up to both of you. Jack's forehead is slicked with sweat as he props your legs onto his shoulders, hoisting your hips up. Hitting a spot you thought was impossible to touch.
“Shh, baby... I know” Jack breathes against your skin, placing a gentle kiss on your calf. His voice was strained and uneven. His movement begins to lose its rhythm, turning rougher, messier, like he's hanging onto the edge right alongside you.
“I'm close,” he admits, his forehead dropping briefly like he's trying to hold on to the little strength he has left
“Me too,” you practically cry out; he sets your legs down. Firmly grabbing one of your trembling thighs while his thumb finds your clit again to run frantic circles around it, knowing it would send you over the edge.
You grab Jack's wrist, nails pressing into his skin as heat rushes through you all at once, your orgasm taking over your body. Jack watches you unravel beneath him as quiet curses slip past his lips.
“fuck” watching you unravel like that sends Jack over the edge, his own orgasm rushing over him as he quickly pulls out, unleashing a load of white lines across your stomach.
The room falls quiet except for the breathing and the distant, muffled sounds of the hospital somewhere outside the walls. The air feels heavy, warm, and humid. For a long moment. Neither of you say anything. Jack quickly wipes your stomach off with his white t-shirt before pressing a kiss on your stomach.
He eventually drags a tired hand down his face before looking back at you. Curls are damp and completely wrecked now. And despite all that just happened, the look in his eyes is softer than it’s been all night.
He catches you staring.
“What?” He murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.
You shake your head at him, “nothing.”
Jack studies you for a second longer before his expression shifts into something more serious, more vulnerable.
“I meant what I said earlier.”
“About what?”
Jack runs a tired hand through his curls before looking back at you, still sprawled across the bed. A soft laugh escapes his lips.
“You want to know something pathetic?”
“always”
“Every time they released the schedule for the month,” he starts glancing down briefly before looking back at you again, “I checked to see if you were on it for nights.” he pauses. “I kept telling myself I was over it. Over you.” He laughs again, quieter this time. “Then every couple of weeks I’d see your name somewhere in the hospital and suddenly my entire day was ruined.”
Something in your chest aches at his confession
“I didn’t know how to do this right,” he admits, “with you.”
The honesty in his voice nearly undoes you more than anything physical tonight ever could. Jack leans back, brushing his fingers on your cheek gently.
“But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then suddenly, your pager explodes to life inside of your scrub pocket, causing both of you to flinch. You groan immediately, sliding off the bed, grabbing it from your pocket, squinting at the message.
“Trauma consult,” you mutter. “Of course.”
Jack lays his body back with a dramatic sigh, “I hate this hospital.”
You laugh softly as you sit up, reaching for the rest of your scrubs scattered around the room. Reality comes rushing back far too quickly. Jack watches quietly while you get dressed again, putting back on his boxers, his expression softer now than it had been all night.
Once you finish pulling your scrub top back on, you reach for your claw clip from the floor, only for Jack to gently take it from your hand first.
“C’mere.”
You step between his legs automatically.
Jack gathers your hair carefully, fingers surprisingly gentle as he clips it back into place, smoothing a few loose strands afterward. The intimacy of the gesture feels almost more dangerous than everything else tonight.
“You’re staring again,” you murmur.
“Can you blame me?” Heat rises to your face instantly.
Jack smiles faintly before leaning forward and pressing one last lingering kiss against your forehead, then to your lips.
“Go save lives, doctor.”
You roll your eyes lightly, though your chest still feels painfully full as you turn toward the door.
But just before you leave, Jack speaks again.
“Y/N?”
You look back, and the look on his face alone tells you everything before he even says it.
“I’m serious this time.”
Your heart stumbles somewhere in your chest. For once, you believe him. Another overhead page sounds through the hallway, dragging both of you back into reality.
“We'll talk more about this later, after our shift?”
He nods his head, “Sure thing.”
You shoot him one last smile before slipping out of the on-call room and back into the chaos of the ER, his confession still lingering warmly beneath your skin long after the door closes behind you.
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: A quiet weekend away. Coffee, sunshine, the lake house, too many feelings - and one question that changes everything.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 94: No crying before you had coffee
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It felt like a pretty normal day when you woke at around nine, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the blinds.
You frowned a little when you noticed the empty bedside next to you. Lately Jack was a big fan of morning cuddles - especially when it was his day off - and the bed felt weirdly empty without his body next to you.
You yawned and stretched extensively.
You could hear soft movements down the hall. Quiet footsteps. Lizzie babbling somewhere in her room.
So Jack got it.
Maybe you could catch another round of sleep. You had just pulled the blanket higher when the bedroom door opened.
Jack stepped inside, smiling, holding a mug in one hand. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
You blinked, surprised.
He looked suspiciously put together - dressed in jeans, a black shirt, smelling like he’d already showered. “I brought you coffee.”
You sat up with a little groan, then took the mug from him. He lowered himself carefully onto the bedside and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead.
“Morning.” You squinted at him. “Why are you already dressed?”
He looked at you, mildly offended. “I’ve been up for hours.”
You frowned. “Bad night?”
"Kind of.” He shrugged. “Well, no, that's not true. It wasn't bad. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Hm.” You took a sip of coffee, leaning back into the pillows and watched him. “You sure? Is it your leg?”
A faint smile crept onto his lips. “No, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’m just old, you know?”
You laughed. “Night shift really wrecked your circadian cycle, huh?”
“Something like that. I already fed Lizzie. She’s currently in her bed, already planning several escape routes.”
“Yeah, sounds like your kid” you replied dryly, taking another sip. “So what’s the plan for today?”
He looked at you for a moment, then scratched the back of his head. “Well, I need you to trust me for like…” He checked an imaginary watch. “... a couple of hours.”
You blinked. “Um. What does this even mean?”
“You drink your coffee. Then do whatever you do to get ready. Get dressed. And then, well - we’re leaving.”
He smiled at you. That stupid calm smile that usually meant he had already decided and just needed you to get along with it.
“We’re leaving?”
“Yep.”
“... leaving where?”
He shrugged. “That’s a secret.”
You narrowed your eyes. “A secret?”
“Yep. I need you to pack a bag.”
“A bag?” you echoed, stupidly. You felt like he was leaving out several important details.
“Just for one night. You won’t need much. But maybe pack something nice.”
You sat up slowly, hair still messy from sleep. “Wait.” Your brows pulled together. “What about Lizzie? Last time we checked we still had a child.”
Jack waved dismissively. “Already handled.”
“Handled? How?”
He gave you another kiss on the forehead, then stood. “Just handled. You really need to trust me more, sweetheart.”
“Um.” You scrunched your nose, then closed your eyes for a moment. “Jack.”
“What?”
“Why are you behaving like a mildly attractive kidnapper?”
He stared at you. “Did you just say mildly?”
You grinned. “Okay. Very attractive kidnapper.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “So, I’m ready when you are. No hurry.”
Then he disappeared again.
You stayed sitting in bed for another moment. You were deeply confused, slightly intrigued and a little excited.
You couldn’t quite make sense of Jack’s orders but well - coffee first, weird boyfriend behavior later.
Half an hour later you stepped out of the bedroom - showered, dressed and still confused.
You found Jack in the living room, sitting next to Lizzie, building something with blocks. Or more like - he was trying to build something and she was enthusiastically sabotaging his efforts by putting every single piece into her mouth.
The second she saw you she smiled.
“CADO!”
You burst out laughing. “I’m not an avocado, bean.”
Lizzie obviously didn’t care and started crawling toward you. You bent down and scooped her up, giving her little kisses on cheek and forehead while she giggled.
“She’s in an excellent mood.”
Jack looked at you, clearly smug. “I tend to have this effect on people.”
You laughed again. “Confidence clearly suits you, Abbot.”
Lizzie snuggled against you, one thumb in her mouth, the other one grabbing your shirt. Jack looked at you both, then cleared his throat.
“So, did you pack a bag?”
You raised an eyebrow. “I did but it’s not easy when I have no clue where we’re going.”
“Did you pack something nice?”
“I did.”
“A swimsuit?”
You blinked. “Um. No.”
He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You better do.”
“Anything else special I need to pack?”
He shrugged. “Not really I guess.”
“Okay, well then, I think I’m ready then.” You felt a flicker of excitement in your stomach - but also some kind of guilt. Lizzie, lazily playing with your hair, babbling nonsense into your ear, snuggling close - and you were going to leave her again. Vancouver had felt long enough - and now this? You were just going to disappear again.
Jack stood with a grunt, adjusting as his prosthetic shifted under his weight. He gave Lizzie a gentle kiss on her chubby cheek and then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Trust me, she’s gonna have fun.”
Your eyebrow raised. “With whom?”
Jack grinned - and in that exact moment the doorbell rang. “Perfect timing I’d say.”
He gave you a quick kiss on the lips, then walked toward the hallway. You followed suspiciously with Lizzie still on your hip. Jack opened the door.
Robby stood there holding a large iced coffee, sunglasses shoved onto the top of his head, smiling. “No need to worry, the babysitter arrived.” He glanced at his watch. “Only five minutes late. I’d say… success.”
You blinked. “Um. Hey?”
Lizzie shrieked delightedly when she saw her godfather, already stretching out her little arms toward him. “DADA!”
Jack looked deeply betrayed for a moment. “Not even close to dada, bean” he said, slightly stiff. “That’s Robby.”
“RARA!”
“Close enough” Jack said with a deep sigh.
“Well, by tomorrow night she’ll be able to say ‘That’s my cool godfather, Michael Robinavitch’, don’t you worry” Robby said matter-of-factly, then handed Jack the iced coffee. “He made me bring this for you. Iced latte, two shots of caramel, oat milk. Right?”
You blinked. “Um, yes, right.”
Robby nodded proudly. “I’m crushing this” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Then he took Lizzie from your arms, cuddling her, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “So, Elizabeth, let’s get you ready. We’ve got a playground date.”
Jack handed you the iced coffee, while you were still processing what was going on here. “You’ve got a playground date?” you echoed, confused. “How on earth would you get to know any parents?”
Robby, who was still snuggling Lizzie, gave you a look. “I’m friends with a lot of different people” he said in a serious tone. “And well, it’s Donnie with his kid. He said the playground in Wightman Park is great and so we’re checking it out.”
You turned toward Jack. “Aren’t you kind of jealous your work husband is taking your kid to meet up with other men?”
Jack blushed a little, caught off guard for a minute, then he shrugged. “He’s allowed to see other guys” he replied dryly.
Robby gave him a weird look, then turned back toward Lizzie. “Okay, so, I’ve got a key to this place and I know everything I need to know about this little demon here. Including an unhealthy obsession with avocado and her favorite stuffed giraffe she needs for sleep. So - please - could the two of you get your stuff and get the fuck out, so we can start our godfather-goddaughter bonding weekend?”
Lizzie stared at him, delighted. “RARA!”
You started to laugh and finally took a sip of your sponsored iced coffee. “Okay, well, that was clear” you said, looking at Jack.
He grinned. “Good.” Then he reached for your hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Adventure.”
The old porch swing creaked softly beneath you.
Your uncle’s lake house looked almost exactly the same as it had two years ago. Same weathered wood. Same view through the trees where sunlight danced across the lake. Same quiet that somehow felt bigger out here - like the whole world had decided to lower its voice for a while.
Warm June air settled pleasantly against your skin as you curled deeper into the corner of the swing, coffee warm between your hands.
From inside came the familiar sound of cabinets opening, which made you smile faintly into your cup.
Jack had disappeared into the kitchen almost immediately after arriving, apparently incapable of relaxing before checking groceries and reorganizing half the fridge.
You shifted a little, tucking one leg beneath yourself.
The drive here had been suspiciously nice. Not because Jack usually wasn’t attentive - he always was. But today somehow felt slightly dialed up. His hand rested absentmindedly on your thigh the whole drive.
He checked in constantly. You comfortable? Too warm? Too cold? Need another drink? A snack? A kiss? Another earth-shattering orgasm?
The very unnecessary - but deeply appreciated - diner stop because apparently “No, sweetheart, I’m not feeding you gas station food.” You stealing fries from his plate while still insisting you didn’t actually want any. The extra coffee to go afterward because one thing about Jack Abbot was that the man survived on caffeine, stubbornness and approximately four hours of sleep.
You had teased him at one point, asking if he was trying to seduce you through exceptional boyfriend customer service. And he had just shrugged.
And now you were sitting here, in what was probably your favorite place on earth, smiling stupidly while sipping a perfect cup of coffee.
Your phone buzzed.
Robby:
Your daughter ate sand.
This information was immediately followed by a picture of Lizzie sitting in a sandbox looking profoundly pleased with herself.
Robby:
I stopped her after the second handful because I believe in moderation.
You laughed out loud. Then a video followed: Lizzie crawling after an older kid in the playground, shrieking somehow aggressively while Robby narrated in the background, sounding deeply amused. “You’re very social today, Lizzie, but please don’t scare the other children. You’re like this one girl in The Exorcist.”
That only made you laugh harder.
“You okay out here?”
You looked up. Jack stepped onto the porch carrying a plate of cut fruit like he was starring in a commercial advertising healthy food. You blinked.
“Jack, that’s too much food. I’m not starving, you know?”
“I’m a provider, baby” he replied seriously.
You snorted.
He set the plate down, then lowered himself carefully beside you with a quiet grunt.
“Did Robby send an update?” he asked.
You turned the phone toward him. “Apparently your child developed a taste for sand.”
Jack nodded slowly. “Great. Then he only has to dust off her diaper.”
You laughed again and he looked at you - really looked at you - for a second before reaching over to pull you closer. One arm around your waist, your legs tangled loosely across his lap, his chin brushing lightly against your temple.
“Happy?” he asked quietly.
You looked at the lake through the trees. You were sitting in the warm sun. You had coffee and a ridiculous amount of food. Robby apparently succeeding at keeping your child alive. And your favorite human was sitting next to you.
Happy didn’t even begin to cover it. But you couldn’t think of a better word, so you just leaned more into him.
“Yeah. Really happy actually.”
For a while neither of you said anything. Jacks thumb brushed along your arm in a slow rhythm. Then you looked up at him.
“Is this why you wanted my address book? To secretly plan an overnight stay at my relatives’ house?” you asked, smiling teasingly. “Didn’t want to blow too much money on me after I spent so much in Vancouver?”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head while he popped a strawberry in his mouth. “Yeah. That’s exactly it. Couldn’t financially recover from Vancouver.”
You grinned. “Last time I brought you here, you were fully convinced I needed help hiding a body. So maybe-” You tilted your head. “- this time you’re the one keeping a dirty little secret?”
Jack chuckled under his breath - quiet, warm, a little too amused. “Sweetheart” he said, shaking his head to himself. “I’m terrible at keeping secrets. You know that.”
You weren’t convinced. “You’re not exactly an open book, Abbot.”
He glanced over at you then - lingering for half a second longer than usual, something warm and unreadable crossing his face. “You’re impossible” he muttered quietly, more fond than annoyed.
“And yet-” you said smugly, lifting your coffee. “- you kidnapped me anyway.”
Jack chuckled again. “True. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
The lake had gone quiet in that way it only did toward evening. Water lapping gently against the wood of the jetty. Birds somewhere in the distance. The occasional rustle of trees in the warm spring breeze. The sun had started to dip lower, washing everything in gold.
You sat beside Jack near the edge of the jetty, barefoot, dressed in the summer dress Jack loved on you, one leg folded beneath yourself while your fingers traced absentminded little patterns against the weathered wood.
The whole day had felt strangely perfect. A walk through the woods. Swimming in the lake (you, not Jack - never Jack). Lying in the sun in your bikini while snuggled up against him, Jack half-asleep beside you, talking about everything and nothing at once.
You turned your head when you heard Jack’s footsteps coming closer. Then he lowered himself beside you, placing a bottle of champagne and two glasses on the wood beside him.
Once he was settled he grabbed your hand, holding it without saying a word.
“Okay” you said, narrowing your eyes. “I need to ask.”
Jack glanced over. “Hm?”
“Why do we have champagne?”
His expression did something strange and he hesitated. “Um. Well.”
Your eyebrows lifted immediately.
Then he huffed out a nervous laugh and rubbed a hand briefly over his face. Then he looked at you. “Come here for a second?”
Something in your chest shifted. His tone was… soft. Nervous.
Jack stood carefully. You stared at him for a moment longer before pushing yourself up too. Then he reached for your hand again.
He gently pulled you closer until you stood in front of him near the edge of the jetty, evening light spilling gold across the water around you.
And suddenly - you knew.
Jack looked out over the lake for a second, jaw tight in that nervous way you recognized immediately. He looked more nervous than you’d seen him in a long time.
“Okay” he said quietly, like he needed to reassure himself. Then he exhaled slowly. “Jesus Christ.”
You blinked, while he laughed softly at himself, shaking his head once.
“I actually had a whole speech planned.”
Your fingers tightened instinctively around his. He squeezed back.
“And now I’m so fucking nervous I’m forgetting half of it.”
You swallowed hard. “Jack.”
He looked at you properly then. His expression softened into something so unbearably open it made your chest ache. “You know” he started quietly. “My whole life changed the day I met you.”
You felt your throat tighten instantly. Your heart was beating so fast it nearly jumped out of your chest.
“I almost didn’t go shopping that day” he admitted with a quiet laugh. “I’d just gotten off night shift. I was exhausted. I remember standing in my kitchen trying to decide if I could eat cereal for dinner.”
That got a tiny laugh out of you.
He smiled. “But I went anyway. And honestly?” His voice softened. “I thank god - or whoever is in charge for this kind of stuff - every day for this. Because somehow I walked into a supermarket and met you.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And you didn’t just steal my shopping cart that day.” He paused and actually looked smug for half a second. “You also stole my heart.”
You barked out a laugh through immediate tears. “Jack!”
“No, come on” he said quickly. “That was good.”
You laughed harder. “That was terrible.”
“It was charming.”
“Painfully cheesy.”
“Yeah okay. Maybe a little.” He huffed quietly.
For a second the laughter settled some of the nerves vibrating between you.
Then he looked down briefly. When he spoke again his voice sounded quieter.
“I love you so much.” He swallowed. “I love our life. Waking up next to you. Hearing you laugh from another room. Watching you be Lizzie’s mom - even when both of you are probably gonna be the death of me.”
You laughed weakly, already crying now. He looked emotional too. His eyes were glassy and he was trying very hard to hold himself together.
“I adore you. I adore how smart you are. How kind you are. How funny you are.” He shook his head once, overwhelmed. “And somehow, for reasons I don’t fully understand, you chose me.”
Your face crumpled. “Jack-”
“No, sweetheart. Please.” His voice cracked slightly. “Let me finish.”
He took a shaky breath.
“I really didn’t think I’d get something like this again. I didn’t think I’d get a family. A child. A home.” His eyes dropped for a second, then back to yours. “I’m so fucking grateful for you.”
Tears had started slipping down his face now despite how hard he was trying to stay composed.
“I’m so grateful for this. For us. For this whole ridiculous, messy, beautiful thing we somehow made.”
He swallowed again, then looked down briefly. He exhaled slowly and then, carefully, he lowered himself onto one knee.
The prosthetic one.
Your hand flew to your mouth instantly. “Jack…”
He looked painfully nervous when he pulled a little turquoise box from his pocket with fingers that shook slightly.
“I just…” He stopped, laughing quietly at himself. “Fuck, I had a better sentence for this, I promise.”
You let out the most broken little laugh.
He looked up at you again. “I just really wanna keep doing this. You. Me. Us. For the rest of my life. I love you so much, sweetheart.” He drew in a shaky breath, then opened the box. “Will you marry me?”
You stared at him because for one completely overwhelming second your brain simply… stopped. The entire world had gone strangely quiet around you. Everything faded into the background.
Because Jack was kneeling in front of you. Actually kneeling. Looking up at you with watery eyes and shaking hands and so much terrifying hope written across his face it made your chest ache.
You looked down at the ring. It was simple, elegant, very… Jack somehow.
A thin platinum band, cool silver against the dark velvet of the little turquoise box. The diamond sat slightly higher, sharp lines catching the golden sunlight - not fully square, not round either. Clean. Timeless.
Expensive enough to make you briefly lightheaded.
And all you could think was: Oh my god.
Your mouth opened. Closed again. Tears slipping helplessly down your face while you stared at him. At this ridiculous, handsome man who had somehow become your whole life.
“Oh my god” you whispered shakily.
Jack smiled nervously. “Sweetheart?”
“Yes” you said, voice cracking. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” You laughed helplessly through tears. “Yes. Yes.”
Jack’s face crumpled immediately. “Oh.” He laughed once, completely overwhelmed. “Oh, thank god.”
He looked briefly down, blinking very hard. “Jesus Christ.” Then he looked back up at you. “Okay. Okay.” His hands shook a little when he took the ring.
You held your hand out automatically - and somehow that nearly finished him off emotionally. Because for a second he just looked at it - at you.
Realizing you had actually said yes.
Then carefully he slid the ring onto your finger.
It fit perfectly.
“Oh my god” you whispered quietly.
Jack huffed out the tiniest laugh. “Yeah” he managed. “Kinda my reaction too.”
He planted one hand briefly against his thigh, pushing himself carefully upright. Slower now and significantly less dignified than the kneeling part. And halfway through there was the tiniest wobble.
“Okay” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t embarrass yourself now, Abbot.”
Despite the tears, you laughed immediately and reached instinctively for him. “You can’t say stuff like that anymore” you whispered, still sounding overwhelmed. Your fingers tightened around his arm. “I’ll be an Abbot too.”
Jack straightened with a tiny exhale and stared at you like his brain short-circuited a second ago. He blinked, processing what you just said.
Then - he kissed you. It was a hard kiss, warm, maybe a little desperate, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real. One hand cupped your face while the other slid around your waist, pulling you closer. You kissed him back immediately, laughing softly through tears.
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You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
Summary: You've had a crush on your attending Jack Abott and in a final effort to get over it you go on a date but that makes it worse.
cw: Medical jargon(probs wrong but whatever) Age gap mentioned/implied, pittlings mentioned. Unrequited Love with a twist.
Part two here
A/N: Feedback is always welcome!! let me know your thoughts and a part two in in the works as we speak!
You had promised yourself you would give dating one last try, in an effort to get over your much older, hot, attending Jack Abbot. So here you were on a date with some random guy that you matched with on tinder that offered to take you out to dinner and grab a couple of drinks. Your date was a nice, good-looking guy, but it wasn’t him.
Jack itched a very specific scratch for you that you didn’t even know you had; maybe it was lying dormant until you started your residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. You and Jack had developed a friendship, being on the night shift, a nightcrawler if you will, and in turn, the friendship blossomed into something else for you, an insatiable crush.
Your date was talking about some work project that he was working on that he was really excited about, and you were half listening, your mind racing with thoughts of Dr. Abbot. You don’t know why he consumed your thoughts so much; maybe it was because of the way he looked at you when he let you take the reins on a Thoracic Aortic Dissection Repair. He looked at you like you hung the stars in space and made every mountain and valley. He couldn’t stop gushing about you to day siders.
“Did you hear what I said?” your date said, interrupting your daydreaming
“ No, I’m sorry, I got a little distracted.” You give him a sincere smile and tell him to keep going.
He studies your face for a second like he’s trying to decide if you’re distracted or just not interested, and then he laughs it off.
“It’s fine,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “I was just saying my team finally got approval for the rollout. It’s been, like… months of back and forth.”
You nod, leaning forward slightly, trying to re-engage. “That’s actually really exciting. Congrats.”
And you mean it. You do. He’s nice. He’s attentive. He picked a good place, asked you thoughtful questions, remembered you said you liked spicy food, and made sure to order something you’d share.
On paper, this should be working.
But your brain betrays you again.
Because suddenly you’re not here anymore, you’re back under harsh OR lights, the hum of machines steady and grounding, your gloved hands steadier than they had any right to be. Jack standing just behind your shoulder, not hovering, not micromanaging… just there.
Not because you knew exactly what to do because of the training and studying for hours on end, but because he looked at you like you couldn’t possibly fail.
You blink, snapping back to the present as your date shifts in his seat.
“So, what got you into medicine?” he asks.
You open your mouth, but for a second, no words come out. Because the real answer sitting at the front of your mind isn’t about childhood dreams or helping people.
It’s about late nights. Controlled chaos. The adrenaline. The quiet, unspoken bond between people who choose to stay when everyone else goes home.
It’s about him.
You force a small smile. “I guess… I like the intensity of it. The pressure. It feels” you pause, searching for a safer word, “worth it.”
He nods, impressed. “Yeah, I could never. I’d pass out.”
You laugh softly, but it fades quickly.
There’s a lull.
And in that silence, it hits you sharply and uncomfortably. It’s been happening all night, you feel it, and you know he does too
It’s not fair… especially not to him. It’s rare that you find a man who isn’t a total piece of shit.
Because he’s sitting across from you, fully here, fully trying… and you’re mentally somewhere else entirely, replaying the way Jack leans against the nurse’s station at 3 a.m., sleeves rolled up, eyes tired but locked in on you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
Your date clears his throat. “Hey… can I be honest?”
You look up, caught.
“Yeah. Of course.”
He gives a small, almost apologetic smile. “I feel like I’m competing with something I can’t see.”
Shit. You exhale quietly, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass.
He’s not wrong.
And for the first time all night, you stop trying to fake it.
“I think…” You start, then shake your head slightly. “I think you might be right.”
There’s no anger on his face, just a kind of understanding that almost makes it worse.
“Is it someone at work?” he asks gently.
You hesitate.
Then, barely above a whisper, “Yeah.”
He nods slowly, like he expected that.
“Does he know?”
You let out a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t even know what there is to know.”
Because what do you call this?
A crush? That feels too small.
An attachment? Too clinical.
An ache? Closer.
You look down at the table, then back up at him, more present now than you’ve been all night.
“I’m really sorry,” you say, and this time there’s no autopilot, no polite script that you usually use when dates aren't going well, but this is different.“You didn’t deserve a half-there version of me.”
He gives a soft shrug. “Hey… at least you showed up. That counts for something.”
You smile faintly, but your chest feels tight.
Because now you’re thinking about what happens next.
Not with him you already know that answer.
But with Jack.
Because walking away from this date isn’t the hard part.
The hard part is going back into that hospital… back into those long nights… and pretending that the way he looks at you doesn’t mean anything.
When it might mean everything.
The date wasn’t far from your apartment, so you walked back home, taking the scenic route, which happened to pass by the park near the hospital. It was like your body went on autopilot, and somehow you ended up at the park, sitting on a bench that you’ve sat on so many times after terrible shifts with Trinity, Whitaker, and Mel. You took a deep breath and sighed, looking up at the sky, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with you and why this crush was, let’s face it.. eating you alive. He was much older than you, and you knew that; you knew that he was married but had lost his wife, and you also knew that he spent his weekends doing SWAT. He was different from the men you knew, and maybe that was it, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. You sat there with your eyes closed and head back for a moment until you heard his voice
“You alright, kid?” he asked. You jump at the sound of his voice
“Holy shit, you can’t sneak up on people like that, Jack,” but yes, I’m fine
He lets out a chuckle at your reaction, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he didn’t just completely knock the air out of your lungs.
“Didn’t realize I was that stealthy,” he says, stepping closer to the bench. “Or that you were that deep in your head.”
You sit up a little straighter, heart still racing, not from being startled anymore, but because it’s him. Of course it’s him. Like the universe just decided to make things harder tonight.
“I wasn’t,” you lie, brushing your hands together like that somehow resets you. “Just… needed some air.”
Jack tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way he always does, quiet, observant, like he’s reading everything you’re not saying.
“You don’t come out here for air,” he says simply. “You come out here when something’s off.”
God.
You let out a small exhale, shaking your head. “Do you ever not analyze people?”
“Occupational hazard,” he replies, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Then, softer, “Rough night?”
You hesitate.
You could brush it off. Keep it light. Keep it safe.
But something about the way he’s standing there close, but not too close, giving you space but not leaving makes the truth feel a little harder to swallow down.
“I was on a date,” you admit.
There’s a beat.
It’s subtle, but you catch it in the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly, the almost imperceptible shift in his expression before he schools it back into something neutral.
“Oh yeah?” he says, tone casual, but a little too measured. “How’d it go?”
You let out a breath that turns into a soft, humorless laugh. “Not great.”
Jack nods once, like he’s processing that, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He just moves, slowly lowering himself onto the other end of the bench, leaving enough space between you that it shouldn’t feel like anything…but it does.
“Guy wasn’t your type?” he asks.
You stare straight ahead at the dark outline of the park, hands clasped together in your lap.
“He should’ve been,” you say quietly. “Nice. Funny. Actually listened when I talked. Like, objectively, no complaints.”
“But?” Jack prompts.
You swallow.
“But he wasn’t you.”
The words are out before you can stop them.
Silence.
Heavy. Immediate. Loud.
You feel it the second it lands, your stomach dropping as reality catches up to your mouth.
You turn your head slightly, not enough to fully look at him, but enough to feel the shift in the air beside you.
“Sorry,” you say quickly, a little breathless now. “That just—came out wrong, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah,” Jack cuts in softly.
You finally look at him, and he’s not looking at you his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, jaw tight, like he’s trying to keep something contained.
“That’s not…” he exhales slowly, shaking his head once. “That’s not something you get to say and then take back like it didn’t mean anything.”
Your chest tightens.
“I know,” you whisper.
Another silence stretches between you, but this one feels different, charged, fragile, like one wrong word could snap it.
Jack runs a hand over the back of his neck, a familiar tell you’ve seen a hundred times in the hospital when something’s weighing on him.
“You’re not stupid,” he says finally. “You know what this is.”
It’s not a question.
You nod faintly, eyes dropping to your hands.
“Yeah.”
“And you also know why it’s a problem.”
That one hurts more.
Because yeah, you do. An attending and resident fraternizing it’s an HR nightmare.
“Yeah,” you repeat, quieter this time.
There’s a long pause before he speaks again, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.
“I care about you,” he says. “Probably more than I should.”
Your breath catches.
“But this—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, not quite looking at you still, “this isn’t something I can just… let happen.”
You blink, trying to keep your composure, even though it feels like something inside you is unraveling, you feel tears building up, and you silently pray they don’t fall
“Because you don’t feel it?” you ask, barely above a whisper.
That gets his attention.
He turns his head then, finally looking at you, and that look?
It’s worse than anything he could’ve said.
it’s not empty and It’s not indifferent.
It’s full.
“That’s not the issue,” he says quietly.
And somehow, that’s the most devastating answer of all.
The tears fall before you can even blink them away, Jack’s expression shifts the second the tears fall, whatever walls he was holding up crack just enough for something softer, more human to come through.
“Hey,” he says quietly, immediately closing the distance between you, not crowding you, but close enough that you can feel his presence. “Hey, don’t—don’t do that.”
But it’s already happening.
You wipe at your face, frustrated, embarrassed, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’m fine, I just—” your voice breaks, and you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m a little tipsy, I should go.”
You move to stand, needing to escape this bench, this conversation, him but his hand gently wraps around your wrist.
Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to stop you.
“Don’t run,” Jack says softly.
God. What is his problem.
That’s what this is, isn’t it? Running. From him, from yourself, from the fact that this isn’t just some harmless crush you can laugh off with Trinity at 4 a.m.
You let out a small, broken laugh, still not looking at him. “I’m not running, I’m saving what’s left of my dignity.”
“There’s nothing undignified about this,” he says immediately.
You finally look at him then, eyes glassy, voice raw. “Crying over someone I can’t have? Feels pretty pathetic to me.”
His jaw tightens at that.
“It’s not pathetic,” he says, firmer now. “It’s human, you know that of all people you know that.”
You shake your head, pulling your wrist back gently, but you don’t move away this time. You just… sit there, shoulders heavy.
“I knew this was stupid,” you whisper. “I knew nothing could happen. I know that. And it doesn’t change anything.”
Jack exhales slowly, looking down for a second like he’s choosing his words carefully like he always does when it matters.
“Yeah,” he admits. “That’s usually how it works.”
That honesty makes your chest ache even more.
“I don’t even know why it’s you,” you continue, voice trembling. “I’ve dated people my age, people who are easier, people who are available. And then you just—” you let out a frustrated breath. “You just exist and ruin it.”
That pulls the faintest, sad smile out of him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I tend to do that.”
You huff out a small, tearful laugh, but it fades quickly.
“I hate this,” you admit.
“I know.”
Silence settles again, but this time it’s quieter. Not as sharp. Just… heavy.
Jack leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, looking out at the empty park.
“I lost my wife,” he says, not looking at you. “You know that.”
You nod, throat tight. “I know.”
“I spent a long time thinking that part of my life was just… done,” he continues. “Work filled it. The chaos, the hours, the SWAT stuff, it’s easier than dealing with anything real.”
You glance at him, surprised by how much he’s giving you right now.
“And then you show up,” he says, finally looking at you again. “And you’re—” he pauses, searching. “You’re brilliant. You’re relentless. You don’t back down when you should, and you care more than you let people see.”
Your breath catches.
“And it makes things complicated,” he finishes quietly.
There it is.
Not a rejection.
Not an admission.
Something worse....the in-between.
You swallow hard. “Complicated doesn’t really feel fair.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
Another pause softer, “But fair doesn’t mean right.”
You look down at your hands again, voice barely there. “So what now?” Jack watches you for a long moment, something conflicted in his eyes.
“We go back to work,” he says finally. “We keep doing what we do.”
Your chest tightens. “Like nothing happened?”
His expression falters just slightly. “Like… we don’t let this ruin what we do have.”
And that hurts in a completely different way.
Because what do you have?
It isn’t nothing. But it’s also not enough.
You nod slowly, even though it feels like agreeing to something that’s going to break you a little more every day.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Jack studies you for a second longer, like he wants to say something else, like there’s more sitting right behind his teeth, but instead, he just reaches out, gently brushing his thumb under your eye to catch a tear you missed.
The gesture is soft. Careful.
And somehow… worse than anything else.
“Get home safe,” he says quietly.
Not stay.
Not wait.
Just… go. And this time, when you stand up, he doesn’t stop you
Several days go by, and you call in sick, unable to face Jack, and naturally, he texts you to make sure that you're doing okay, and you can’t say you're not showing up to work because of him, so you lie because what else would you do?
The lie sits heavy the second you hit send.
“Just a stomach bug. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Then disappear.
Then come back again.
Jack: You sure? Need anything dropped off?
Your chest tightens, thumb hovering over the screen. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He always shows up. Just… never in the way you actually need him to.
You: I’m good, promise. Just gonna sleep it off.
This time, it takes longer.
Jack: Alright. Rest. Let me know if it gets worse.
That’s it.
No overstepping. No pushing.
No stay.
You toss your phone onto the bed like it burned you and roll over, staring at the wall. The dull ache in your chest flares again, sharper now, because it’s not just confusion anymore.
Its absence.
The next few days blur together in that weird, stagnant way where time moves but you don’t.
Mel and Trinity show up like a storm unannounced, loud, carrying takeout, and zero patience for your isolation.
“Absolutely not,” Trinity says, kicking your bedroom door open like she owns the place. “You smell like sadness and poor decisions.”
“I do not, you start, but Mel cuts you off, already pulling your curtains open.
“You’re spiraling,” she says simply. “We’re intervening.”
You groan, burying your face deeper into your pillow. “I’m sick.”
“Mhm,” Trinity hums. “Sick of pining over your emotionally unavailable attending, maybe.”
You freeze.
Silence.
Then, muffled into the pillow, “I hate both of you.”
“We know,” Mel says, not even slightly offended. “Now sit up.”
You don’t want to.
But you do.
Because if you don’t, they’ll drag you, and honestly, part of you knows you need it.
They don’t push too hard. Don’t make you relive it all in detail. Just enough teasing, and enough honesty to keep you from completely disappearing into your own head.
And then, of course, Langdon.
Because God forbid the universe gives you one calm variable.
“You look like hell,” he says when you open the door, already holding two Penguins tickets like a bribe.
“Wow,” you deadpan. “What a compelling invitation.”
“Sidney Crosby is literally playing,” he counters. “And you’ve been MIA for days. I’m doing charity work at this point.”
You hesitate.
Because the idea of leaving your apartment feels… exhausting.
But staying feels worse.
“Fine,” you sigh. “But if I hate it, I’m blaming you.”
“You already blame me for things I didn’t do,” he shrugs. “This isn’t new.”
The arena is loud.
Bright.
Alive in a way that feels almost jarring after days of quiet.
At first, you’re not really there, just going through the motions, reacting when Langdon nudges you, half-watching the game.
But slowly… it starts to work.
The noise drowns out your thoughts. The energy pulls you out of yourself just enough that you can breathe without it hurting so much.
“You’re smiling,” Langdon points out at one point, smirking.
“Don’t ruin it,” you shoot back, but there’s no real bite behind it.
For the first time in days, the ache dulls.
Not gone.
Just… manageable.
Later that night, you’re back home, the quiet settling in again, but it feels different now.
Less suffocating.
You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone.
At his name.
At the thread of messages that are so painfully normal.
And that question creeps back in, louder now that you’re not drowning in your own thoughts:
What did he mean?
“We don’t let this ruin what we do have.”
Your stomach twists.
Because what you have with Jack is… everything and nothing at the same time.
AHHHHH I hope you enjoyed this, I had so much fun writing this and not going to lie it was a little painful at times but don't worry guys, it's gonna get so much better!!!
Summary: Because of bad experiences with men, you don't think that someone could actually like you in a romantic way, and because of that, you don't notice how your attending is down so bad for you.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors.
You were always that friend that men didn't ask out or ask for your number, but they did for your friends. Since high school, you liked a boy and they just approached you to talk about your friends, if they were single, what they liked, or if you thought they would accept going out with them. You wanted to scream every time it happened, but instead you smiled and answered back even if it broke your heart every single time.
So now, as an adult, when a man flirts with you or compliments you, you don't think they are actually flirting or meaning the compliments, because…
Why would they?
It's something that has grown in your head, with time and more men that have dismissed you for someone else or asked to date one of your friends. So when your attending, Jack Abbot, starts to flirt with you very subtly, you actually don't notice because, in your mind, no one would do that and you just thought that it was him being friendly.
How he always knew when you needed coffee at a specific time on your shift and he always got that for you on time when you were just thinking about getting one. How he always got it right, the way you liked your coffee.
Also, Jack could be a little grumpy sometimes, answering a little sharply to anyone but you. He was always sweet and talked to you with a half smile and a shine in his hazel eyes that everybody noticed.
Everyone except you.
And you wouldn't have if it wasn't for Ellis.
She approached you in the middle of your shift as always, you were doing your charts and she probably just wanted to mess around. After some chat, she dropped it, no warning or anesthesia.
“But Abbot is in love with you.” She just said it like it was common knowledge.
You froze, your fingers stopped answering you, you looked at her trying to find out if she's joking and when you saw how totally serious she was, you panicked, that couldn't be true, it wasn't possible, all his gestures were friendly, what would he even look at you for? Definitely not more than friends, you told yourself that you didn't fit with him, he was too handsome.
“You know it, right?” Parker asked after seeing your stunned face.
You just looked at her, wide eyes and red faced.
“Girl… that man is on his knees for you.” She was as stunned as you but for a different reason.
You actually didn't know.
“Have you ever seen him bring coffee to any of us? Let alone get our preferred order right? Give us a soft tone when he's instructing or annoyed. And I can go on and on all night long.”
She left you there because a trauma was coming in. You weren't able to move or think straight. You just repeated to yourself that it wasn't true, that Ellis was messing around with you. But every time you looked at Jack, her words repeated in your mind and you wished they were true and that couldn't happen.
Every time you let yourself have a crush or fall for someone, it ended up with you being rejected, hurt in the most painful way. And when Parker's words wouldn't leave your mind, you started to avoid your attending, running away from every room where he was before he could approach you or direct a single word at you. You presented your cases to Shen or Cruz until it became evident that you were avoiding him.
You didn't leave Jack a choice, not knowing what he did for you to not let him go near you; it was killing him. He made sure to follow every move you made until you grabbed your things and said goodbye to everyone except him. He followed you quickly to the parking lot and didn't give you a chance to run away from him.
“Hey, can we talk?” he stopped you before you could reach your car keys.
“I've got to go…”
“Did I do something?” he asked nervously.
You didn't look at him, trying to stop the butterflies in your stomach and Parker's words repeated in your mind.
“No,” you mumbled.
“Then why are you avoiding me?” he insisted, trying to understand what could have possibly happened to make you avoid just him.
“I’m not,” you whispered, trying not to focus on the warmth of his hand on your arm.
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”
The pet name made shivers go down your back and again you tried to convince yourself that he could possibly say that to any other woman.
“I’m not.”
“Did I say something?” he was more desperate this time. “Whatever I said to hurt you, I didn't mean it that way, I–”
“You didn't say anything wrong,” you assured him, stopping his rambling.
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing.” You tried to go away but he didn't let you.
“Please,” he mumbled your name, not knowing how much you loved hearing it coming out of his mouth.
He shifted his weight from leg to leg nervously given your lack of response.
“Did someone say something?” Again you didn't answer but the shift in your expression answered for you.
Jack sighed defeated.
“I’m so sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable–
“It doesn't,” you said so quickly that you realized what you had said after you did it.
Jack frowned, confused. “Then…”
“Do you actually?” you whispered, unable to look him in the eyes, preparing yourself for the rejection.
“What? That I'm in love with you, sweetheart? Because I totally am.” he said it with such confidence and like it was something so obvious.
You looked at him confused.
“Why?”
That caught him off guard, he didn't understand why you were asking, but if that was what you needed to finally believe him.
“Because you're amazing, you're beautiful, smart, kind, the best under pressure, I love all the gestures that you do when you focus on something or you're excited, how you jump to help people that you don't even know, and I can continue all night long.” He kept getting closer to you, watching how your eyes started to tear up.
“I can't believe you,” you mumbled more to yourself than to him but Jack was so close to you by this point that he heard it anyway.
He sighed desperately.
“Why? It's the truth, honey, the real question is why wouldn't I be in love with you?” he whispered, taking one of your rebellious strands of hair and moving it away from your face.
“Because nobody has ever wanted me that way,” you confessed, holding back a sob but he could clearly see it in your eyes.
How you actually believed that.
Jack felt his heart ache and the need to take you away from everything that could hurt you or have made you think that way because, in his mind, you were the most beautiful woman ever and he would feel very lucky if he could ever have you one day. He couldn't stand that you thought about yourself like that.
Before he could say something, you said something more.
“During my whole life, it's never been me, when I was a teenager the boys would be interested just in my friends, they wouldn't care about me. Now it's no different, something is wrong with me, Jack, you don't actually love me." The pain in your voice when you actually believed your own words made Jack want to cry.
How had nobody ever told you how pretty you were?
How had nobody seen in you what he saw?
How did they not see you for who you really were?
He didn't understand but he didn't care either, because he saw it, and he’ll make you see it too even if it takes him years. He'll make sure you know how pretty, intelligent, and beautiful you are. An incredible person that anyone in their life should be grateful to have.
“Then they are dumb as fuck, they don't understand the incredible girl that they are losing.” he cupped your face with his hands and cleaned the tears with his thumbs. “How lucky they could be to have you in their life.”
“You don't mean it,” you whispered, trying to convince yourself, starting to sob in his arms.
“I do, sweetheart. You don't understand how bad I do,” he insisted, looking deep into your eyes with that intensity that only he had. “I know what I want.”
“What do you want?” you mumbled.
“You.”
He leaned into you, nose touching yours, he waited for you to step back, to give him a sign for him to step back, a glimpse from you that told him you didn't want that. And when he didn't find it he pressed his lips into yours, you took your time but you returned his kiss letting yourself go, letting yourself be loved.
When he pulled away you found yourself wanting more.
“Nothing is wrong with you, I truly love you and if you need me to repeat that to you every single day I will, I don't care, sweetheart.” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours and brushing his nose against yours.
You smiled at that contact and the way he called you, you loved hearing that word coming out of his mouth. You had started to believe him and he could see it in the way you relaxed under his touch, stopping your tears.
“I love you too, Jack,” you said shyly in a quiet mumble that made his heart warm. “I just… I–”
He captured your lips in another sweet kiss before you could say something that was going to make his heart ache again and the anger for whoever had made you think that you couldn't be loved could crawl into him.
I actually didn't like this, but I wanted to publish something 🫠
Summary: Jack kisses you and you think that it's the start of your relationship. But little do you know... (5.2k)
Warnings: angst, senior resident reader, implied age gap, mentions of drinking, mentions of food, use of pet names, Jack is a dumb idiot, yearning, Jack is taller than reader, pda, happy ending, Dr.Shark is a lil bit of an asshole here
Like full-on unashamed kiss on the lips. It happens one morning after the shift, the build up tension getting too high for both of you.
It's the morning before you are supposed to go on a vacation for 2 weeks. Two long weeks on the beach with shitty cell service.
And two long weeks of giddy and excited feelings about seeing Jack again.
But as it usually goes, you don't get the happy welcoming as you thought you would.
You should have known better. Should have known that something was going on with Jack when he started to shorten his text messages and the time in-between responses got longer.
You practically skip happily into the ER with two coffees in your hand, one for you and one for Jack.
But when you finally see him you don't get the butterflies effect you were expecting. Instead, you skid to a halt and your face falls.
There's a woman, an incredibly pretty woman, standing way too close to him. Her perfectly manicured hand teases the short sleeve of his black shirt, and Jack doesn't do anything to stop it.
You almost feel sick when you see his hand on her waist.
Jesus fucking christ. You feel so damn stupid. You got one kiss from the man and you already expected something more. But again, you should have known better, a man like Jack won't settle for someone like you. Someone barely into her senior attending position.
Your eyes sting as you quickly hurry towards the locker room and you dumb both of the coffees in the trash.
You don't notice as Jack's eyes follow your figure with regret, worry and yearning. Why should you? You can't even look his way as you hide in the locker room, waiting for the long shift to start.
-
You practically avoid Jack like a plague and to your disappointment, Jack doesn't really seek you out either. Gosh, he would have definitely cornered you by now if he was seeking you out.
So you are far too relieved to head home. You've practically been holding your tears back whenever you were charting or not doing something important.
You bolt out of the ER, sparing only quick goodbyes. You get to your bus stop with your headphones in, blasting sad music, pregaming for the crying session at home.
Even waiting for the bus makes you sad. You haven't been at the bus stop for months because Jack kept insisting to drive you home after each shift.
And as if your thoughts somehow lured him your way, you see Jack jog a little towards you.
You quickly turn your head away and finally to your luck, the bus comes just as Jack gets to you.
You don't bother to wait, not even when he calls after you. Tears spring into your eyes as you pay the fare and sit down furthest from Jack's view. You don't want to hear anything he has to say. The sight, he oh so generously gave you earlier, was more than enough.
-
"Okay, spill it." Parker corners you in the break room. "What the hell is up with you and Jack?"
You wince hearing her words. I guess, your reluctance towards him isn't as subtle as you thought. "I don't know what you are talking about."
Even if she's one of your closest friends, you don't think you're ready to tell her what happened. You feel so stupid and embarrassed about it.
"Bullshit." She spits out and takes a seat in front of you. "It's like someone died whenever you two are in the same room, hell even if you are in the same sight."
You stuff your mouth full because if you start talking, you are afraid you won't be able to stop and then the tears won't stop, either. So no, confiding in her right now isn't an option.
"Nothing is going on. Literally nothing." You enounciate the last word with too much force for it to really be nothing.
Parker gives you a look. "Listen, I'm not having this shit. I've been watching you mope around for a week now. We're going for drinks after the shift, and then you'll tell me."
"Day drinking? Is that a new strategy for night shift?" Who knows what else has changed since you were gone?
"Yes, if it's this necessary." She doesn't give you the room to argue or anything. She just leaves you there. You push the food away no longer hungry as you think about Jack.
-
You are two drinks in when you start talking. "He kissed me." You blurt out, words already a little slurred.
"Who kissed you?" Ellis asks, she's drinking more slowly than you. She wants to keep an eye on you since you are clearly intending to get wasted.
"Jack. Jack kissed me." You say quietly. Fuck, not even the alcohol can soothe the burn of your embarrassment.
"Jack kissed you?" Ellis' eyes widen. "What? When was this?"
"After my last shift before the vacation." Your cheeks are practically burning. You can see Ellis piece it together slowly. You weren't the only one who saw Jack being all smiley and touchy with the woman.
"Jesus. No wonder, you guys are all glares and longing stares." Ellis says.
"Ughhh. What is wrong with me?" You bury your face in your hands, pushing the palms against ths tears building up. You hate this. You hate feelings like this just because of some stupid man that is clearly not interested in you.
"Hey, hey, hey. Babe, so what? You just kissed. He probably wasn't even with the woman yet."
You shake your head in frustration. "That's not..." You start words muffled. "It wasn't just a kiss for me. I thought-I thought...."
"You thought there would be more." Ellis' eyes soften with understanding.
"I'm so stupid." You whimper into your palms. "I thought there was something between us. Something more than just some random, meaningless kiss."
"No, honey, you're not the stupid one. He is. He's an idiot for letting you go. And I saw how he looked-looks at you. You definitely didn't imagine anything." She reaches out to your elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"You're wrong. He doesn't even look at me. Maybe he just wanted to have some fun before he started dating again." God, you almost feel like puking as you say that.
"Jack? No way. He's not-" You can't listen to this anymore. Ellis defending the man, even if some part of you knows she's right. You know she's just trying to help but you still feel too raw to talk about it.
Because it definitely wasn't just a kiss. It was stolen glances. Quick, not-so-accidental touches of your hands. Lulling morning conversation in his car. Grabbing breakfast together. Just....It was a lot.
"Gosh, this is getting a little too depressing for drinking, no? Let's hit this bar. I hear it's always fun." This time you don't give a chance for Ellis to say something against it.
And seeing you in so much pain, she's definitely not stopping you from bar hopping. You should get drunk as a skunk. You have enough reasons for it.
You abandon your half drank drinks and step into the sunny streets of Pittsburgh. But it's just your luck that you don't get too far.
Jack's walking down the street with the woman. Hand in hand. Smiling from ear to ear (maybe if you weren't so tipsy, you'd notice how forced the smile looks). And this time, you really do feel sick. Like is this some cruel joke he's playing at you?
You sprint back inside the bar and straight into the bathroom. You empty your stomach, sobbing as you do.
"Oh, honey." Ellis kneels down besides you, holding your hair and lets you cry until you feel better.
Yeah, she's definitely going to have a word with her boss, alright.
-
"You are a real asshole, you know that?" Ellis practically spits the words with disgust at Jack the next time she sees him.
"Okay?" Jack frowns at her, trying to figure out what he had done to make her call him that. Maybe he overstepped in one of the procedures?
"Yeah. I hope you sleep like shit knowing what you've done. Treating her like this? It's pathetic. And I'm glad she's not with you if she'd be treated like this. Like man, I thought you were a good guy." Ellis says her truth, head shaking in disapprovement and she sets out to leave the room. Jack stops her with his hand.
"Is this...Is this about me and y/n?" Fuck. Jack didn't know it was this bad. No, that's not true. He just hoped you were doing better than him. That you got over him.
"Yeah. Who else would it be fucking about?" Jack has never seen Ellis this mad at him.
"It's not like that." He whispers. "I'm no good for her."
"I don't think you just get to decide for her."
"But what do I have to offer to her? I'm old. And she's still young enough. I've seen it happen before, the hurt that I unintentionally cause them when they truly learn about how fucked up I am." Jack runs a hand through his hair frantically.
There's nothing, nobody he'd rather have more than you. But you deserve better.
"Where's this coming from?" Ellis looks taken aback. "She already knows the fucked up shit about you, and I didn't see her running. You are the one running and hurting her." She takes a deep breath before she continues.
"At least fucking stop parading around the ER with the woman. It's uncalled for and cruel. Y/N doesn't deserve any of this and especially not seeing you with other women."
Ellis delivers the words like a blow to his gut and finally leaves.
Jack stays standing there. It takes him a while to get his shit together and get back to saving lives. Everything Ellis said is true.
He truly is an asshole. And that's exactly why he should stay away. Even if his heart, his mind tells him to do otherwise.
-
God, you feel exhausted. The shift was one straight from hell, and you kept catching Jack looking your way. He looked like he longed to come to you and say something.
But you decided you didn't want to know. He can keep whatever explanation he has to himself.
You pack your stuff up, pushing your things into the bag with more force than necessary, and slung it over your shoulder.
You head out through the triage and curse loudly when you see the pouring rain. Great, just fucking great. You didn't pack an umbrella last night because the weather forecast didn't say anything about a storm.
You head to the bus stop with a sigh and you are throughoutly wet by the time you get to the stop. The water keeps dripping from you because the pouring rain isn't stopping.
You check your phone for the time, impatiently waiting for the bus to finally show up, when a truck stops in front of you.
You don't even need to look up to see who it is. You have the rumble of his car memorised perfectly.
You hear him roll down the window, but you stubbornly stare at the time on your phone.
"Y/N, come here, I'll take you home." Jack's practically pleading, you are going to get sick from the cold water drops.
"No thank you." You say sternly, he and his help can go to hell. You don't need him. And you definitely don't need to be feeling so upset about the fact he just said your name and not 'angel', 'doll', 'sweetheart' as he used to.
"Please, just get in the car. I'll only drive you home." Yeah, right. Like you can believe that he'll keep his mouth shut. Fuck him. You don't want to hear all about how lovely and perfect his new girlfriend his.
"I said no." You finally look up, stating the words harshly. Jack looks surprised by your response and still doesn't move the car.
There are multiple cars stopped behind him and he's still not moving. "Leave Abbot. My bus will be here soon."
You see him flinch at the use of his last name and it doesn't bring you nearly as much satisfaction as you thought it would.
You sigh, defeated, you don't want to see him hurt by your words. Not even if he's the one who hurt you. "Please, just go."
Jack stays there, looking at you with something you don't want to recognise in his eyes. He stays until the cars start blaring their horns at him.
"Text me when you get home." He says before he finally rolls the window up and leaves.
It's better this way. You can't be anything to Jack. Even being his friend would be too painful.
Respectful colleagues it is then.
-
"You didn't text me yesterday." Jack corners you as you head to the bathroom.
Of course, you didn't text him. He has no right to know whether you got home safe or not. You're not his anything. Is it a little bit petty? Maybe. Is it warranted to protect your heart? Definitely.
"Why would I be texting you, Dr. Abbot? We're colleagues, I don't text my colleagues everytime I get home safe." You say it with as much conviction as you can. Trying to make the words somewhat believable.
Jack literally stumbles back from your words. And if he wasn't regretting his decision before, he'd definitely be now.
"Y/N...." He tries to reach out for you but you step back.
"If you'll excuse me I need to go." And then you run away to the bathroom.
As soon as the stall doors close behind you, you let out a quiet little sob.
You thought that It'd stop hurting by now. You thought that after the sadness turned into annoyance it would stop.
But no. You still feel like shit. And today, it seems to be hitting you even more. You, of course, are sick from the rain.
There are painful chills all over your body but your heart aches even more. But you have work to do, no time to dwell in your sad feelings. You emerge from the bathroom and dive straight into work.
It's only hours later that somebody notices you don't look okay. "Hey, honey, you okay? You don't look too well." Lena asks you.
You are basically nodding off in the chair as you try to focus on your charts. You can probably guess how you look.
Face drained of any of the usual color, eyes glassy, lips chapped. "Just a little tired. " You lie because if Lena caught the wind of the fact you are sick she'd immediately send you home.
And you don't want to be home where all you can think about is Jack. And you don't feel that bad. Your head is throbbing just a little.
"Go take a break. And no talking back." Lena says and there's no arguing with the woman.
You get up, probably much quicker than you should have, because your head spins and you stumble back a step.
"Whoe, easy tiger. You okay?" Shen's big hands catch your waist as you try to stabilise yourself.
It's no use, your vision starts getting a little hazy. You really need to sit back down. And probably eat something. "I'm f-fine."
"You don't look fine." Shen looks with worry at you, eyes questioning Lena what the hell is going on with you.
And it's the last thing you hear before your vision goes fully black and you pass out.
You wake up in one of the ER rooms with iv in your arm. There's nobody besides you in the room as you curse loudly.
Jesus. This is so embarrassing. Passing out at work? What were you thinking?
You groggily start to reach out for the iv, ready to rip it out of your skin and get back to work.
"Leave it be." His deep voice fills the room and of fucking course it's him.
Jack looks anything but pleased to see you. There are deep frown lines on his forehead and his mouth is set in a thin line.
"I'm fine." You whisper, averting your gaze from his upset face.
"Clearly." He says sarcastically as he watches the fluids slowly drip into the iv. "I don't know what you were thinking, coming to work this sick."
He sounds so mad at you that you start to feel even more bad about this whole accident.
"I'm sorry. I didn't feel that bad before." You say oh so quietly because you really didn't think it would get so bad that you'd pass out.
Your little voice seems to calm him down, but he's never the one to be angry. He doesn't want to be seen as the boss and a teacher that leads with anger and emotions.
"I know, sweetheart." It's your turn now to flinch at the use of the pet name. "Shift is ending in a few hours anyways. I called you an uber to get you home. Lena has some medicine to fight the cold. I'll see you in three days."
Three days off? That's exactly what you don't want. You'll lose your mind for 3 days.
"I just need to sleep it off. I'm sure I'll be fine-"
"Nope. If you don't take those days off I'll report you to Gloria." There's no real threat behind his words and you both know it. And even if he did report this, she'd just scold you for coming to work sick. She doesn't get much say when the ER she runs is so understaffed.
"Fine." You mumble out.
Jack steps closer to you to get the iv out, and you practically turn your body away from him so you aren't tempted to ogle him.
He has a girlfriend for christ sake. And no interest in you. That becomes your mantra as his gloved hands gently take care of you.
"Okay, all good. The uber is already waiting outside and Lena has your things as well." Jack tells you, and you just nod.
You hear him let out a desperate kind of sigh but you don't stay long enough to listen to anything he has to stay. Running away yet again.
You grab your things from Lena, say your apologies and goodbyes to everyone and then leave.
You don't bother to get in the uber. You politely tell the man that he can cancel the ride and then you head for the bus.
You meant what you said. Jack is nothing to you, not anymore and you won't let your colleague pay for the overpriced uber.
-
You wake up to a banging on your apartment door. You fell asleep still in your scrubs on your couch so it takes you a minute to figure out where you are and what day it is.
You sleepily head towards the door and peak though the hole to see. Jack is standing there, looking very unhappy
You crack the door open despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you not to. "Yes?"
He practically shoves his phone in front of your face. "Want to explain this to me? Did you take a fucking bus home? Are you insane?"
You are still too sleepy to be aware enough to recognise that it's worry not anger in his eyes.
"Yes, I took the bus. We are colleagues, Abbot, I'm not letting you pay for my uber when I'm perfectly capable of taking the bus. And don't even get me started on what would your girlfriend think if she saw you paying for my rides...." You scoff loudly, ignoring the pained expression on Jack's face. He looks like a kicked puppy. "Goodnight, Abbot."
You try to close the door but he puts his foot there and before he can truly think about it, he makes his way inside your apartment.
"We are not just colleagues, and you know it." He states, eyes glued to yours as if he's trying to convince you of his truth.
"Do I?" You laugh dryly, and it makes the throbbing headache from before creep in back. But you are running out of patience and this man clearly doesn't know how to take a hint.
"You kissed me." You step closer to him, finger jabbing at his chest. "You kissed me. Lead me on. Made me believe that there could be more. Practically planned a date as soon as I'd be back from the vacation. And I fucking believed you."
You are too tired to scream at him and your exhausted, stern and quiet voice makes it even worse for Jack to listen to how much he hurt you.
"I fucking believed that you could want me. "Your voice breaks at the last word. "But no, you were just passing time, huh?"
Jack opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. "Just leave, Jack. Please just fucking leave. I don't want to hear anymore lies. Please just let me breath for once."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There are tears streaming down your pretty face, and Jack's hands itch to wipe them away. To be the one to bring you comfort in the pain he caused.
"I-I-I..." He tries to explain, just say anything to make you cry less.
"Please. Just go." You beg him as you already retreat from him and back on the couch. Jack lingers in the doorway, watching as you lay down and sob into the cushions.
But he can't leave, not when you are like this.
"I do want you." He says loudly and surely. Your small, tearful face looks at him and you shake your head.
"I've wanted you since the moment you stepped into the ER. I've wanted you every second of everyday ever since. And I want you now so fucking much it hurts. "He takes one step closer to you with every word he says.
You are still shaking your head, eyes closed tight. "Angel, look at me."
You don't. You won't.
Only when he gets close enough to crouch in front of you, you do open your eyelids. You can barely make out his face through all the tears.
"I want you. Always." He punctuates every word. "But somebody said...you deserve better and it's true. I'm old and broken sweetheart. You deserve somebody who doesn't get shot at as a hobby. Whose life isn't so scarred just yet."
He finally acts on the stupid impulsive thoughts and brushes your cheek. You don't flinch, and Jack takes it like the biggest victory of his life.
You go putty under his warm touch, too exhausted to fight your feelings for him.
"That's so stupid. You don't get to decide that." You whisper, the feisty mood from minutes ago already replaced by exhaustion. "And it's bullshit." A fresh set of tears clouds your vision.
"You should go. Don't keep your girlfriend waiting." You say dismissing his words as empty promises and you turn around to face the back of your couch.
"There's no girlfriend."
"I saw you, remember?" God, he can't seriously think you are this stupid.
"I know, doll. But I broke it off after a few dates." He doesn't tell you that she showed up to the hospital uninvited. That he didn't want her there not when he was so excited to see you.
"I saw you even after the hospital." You confess, sniffling. "Last week, after shift."
Jack rakes his mind for when could you possibly mean. Oh.
"Well, I guess, you didn't stay long enough to see her smack me across the face with her purse after I told her I'd drive her home and there wouldn't be any breakfast."
An almost smile breaks out on your face. "Good, I hope it stung."
Jack laughs and the corners of your mouth twitch to join him despite the sour mood. "It did. She even chipped my tooth."
Finally. Fucking finally, Jack thinks. He hears your quiet little giggle after a long, painful month.
He listens to it, memorising it so he can think about it when he closes his eyes tonight. "Angel. I'm so sorry for everything. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd never want to do that. You mean too much to me."
His warm palm settles on your hip over the thick blanket. "I hope we can find a way to be more than colleagues again. Friends even. But I know it takes time. "
You don't know what to respond to that because you both know you don't want to be just his friend.
"I'm gonna go now. Sleep and take your medicine. I'll check in on you later, and you better answer."
You nod, a barely there motion, but it's good enough for Jack. He stands up, knee ticking and with one last squeeze of your hip he leaves you alone.
Alone with the feverish dreams and messy thoughts.
-
Three days later, you march into the ER like a new person. Turns out those days off did actually help you.
Because there was just something about what Jack said. That somebody told him something about you. And you couldn't understand it until it clicked.
"Park!" You stop him on one of the floors. "A word?"
The surgeon gives you a triumphant grin and immediately makes his way towards you. His grin is all you need to confirm you were right.
"Hey, gorgeous. Changed your mind about that date?" He asked you out only a couple of days after you got home from the vacation.
"No. But I wanted to ask you something. "His grin falls when he hears your serious tone. "Did you tell something to Jack about me?"
"Did he say something?" He scoffs, another clear sign that he did.
"He didn't. I figured it all on my own." You glare at the man. "What did you say to him?"
"Just the truth. I saw you two kissing and figured it needed to be said. That he's old and miserable and that you deserve somebody better than him."
You stare at him in disbelief, the nerve on this one. "You are crazy. The only one who's old and miserable is you. Don't try to ask me out again, asshole."
You start to back away from him, walking backwards so you can glare at him. "And by the way, Jack's not even that much older than you. So I'd be careful who you go around calling old. It might come biting you back."
And then you leave, heading towards Jack like a woman on mission.
-
Jack is looking at some charts when you grab his arm and drag him to the nearest empty room. He goes willingly, only confused frown shows his reaction.
"Well, hello to you too, angel. You look healthy." He grins at you but when he sees your stony face he shuts up. Maybe he misread the signs of your friendship healing since you've been texting him health updates the whole 3 days.
"Did you seriously, and i mean seriously, take an advice from Park? He's like one of the worst people I know. He's an arrogant bustard and you let him get to your head?" You ramble furiously.
"How-How did you find out?"
"I put 2 and 2 together after you talked to me and after Park asked me out."
"He did what?" Jack spits out. His attention snagged by the word 'out'.
"Asked me out." You cross your arms over your chest. "I hope you can finally see why he told you to stay away."
"I'm such an idiot." Jack mumbles out in disbelief. Park was taking out his competition, and Jack let him do that so fucking easily.
"Yes, you fucking are." You scoff, shaking your head at this ridiculous situation. "But this doesn't change anything. I'm still hurt and mad at you."
Jack nods, completely understanding. What he did was so incredibly stupid and he hates how much he hurt you. He might just have lost the best thing that's ever happened to him just because of his insecurities.
"I know." But he'll be damned if he doesn't try to win you back. "I'll work on it." He promises.
You nod slowly, allowing him to try get back into your life. Because even if it's hard to admit it, you miss him. Miss the breakfasts together, the rides home, the teasing and just about everything that was common between you two.
-
A month goes by and Jack dedication to getting you back never waivers. He's there everytime you need help, everytime you need a reminder to drink and eat. He's there to drive you home and he doesn't try to make a conversation until you do.
He's there when a patient yells at you, defending your honor even if you don't ask him to. And he's there to bring you flowers. Every. Single. Day.
It's getting kinda ridiculous, the amount of bouquets you have at home at this point. You are pretty sure, he bought a whole flower shop just to get you flowers every day.
And he's there to just be there for you. He listens, gets better and prays to god that you'll eventually forgive him. He apologises profusely, too.
And after a month of all of this, you do. You basically forgave him right away but the girls convinced you to let him brood over this for a lil longer. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it.
It's the end of shift, and you're waiting for Jack next to his truck. He appears a few seconds later, limping slightly from being on his feet for too long.
He smiles softly when he sees you leaning against his door. After such a long day, he's happy to have a pretty girl like you to drive home.
"Ready to go home?" He asks as he nears you.
"Yes, just one more thing." You say as you take a step closer to him and reach for his shirt.
You pull him down, close to your face and give him a few seconds to pull away, he doesn't. He lets you plant a soft, soft kiss on his lips and eagerly kisses you back.
He practically groans into your lips, the relief of getting to feel you again immense.
And you feel the same. The wait for this kiss was so worth it.
When you pull away, both breathing heavily, you giggle as you see his happy smile. "Change of plans. You're not going home. There's a breakfast calling your name." Jack says, voice all rough from the kiss.
"Oh? Is that so?" You tease, sneaking your hands into his curly hair.
"Yes." He just simply says before he pushes you against the car and kisses you hungrily again.
He has over a month worth of kisses to make up for so he better start now.
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Jack goes all out for your first Mother's Day.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 93 I want you to know this language count as elder abuse
--- --- ---
Sunday morning started suspiciously.
When you opened your eyes, the side of the bed beside you was empty. Which, in itself, wasn’t strange at all. On his free days Jack rarely slept in. He usually was awake at dawn, only to crash around noon and need a nap.
But the apartment felt… off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but something was different. You frowned sleepily in your pillow.
“Jack?”
Nothing.
You sat up slowly, hair messy, still wrapped in sleep and one of Jack’s old shirts. The clock read 8:14 a.m. You yawned, then stretched lazily.
You could hear noises from down the hall. Jack’s voice, followed by high-pitched laughter that could only belong to Lizzie.
Still half asleep you shuffled toward the kitchen. You stopped in the doorway.
Jack stood at the stove in grey sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, glasses on, hair still slightly messy like he’d only half bothered fixing it. One hand held a spatula while the other balanced Lizzie on his hip.
She wore a tiny shirt that said: Of course I’m cute. Have you seen my mom?
You blinked.
Jack looked up and smiled immediately. “There she is. Good morning sweetheart!”
Lizzie noticed you a second later. Her entire face lit up. “MAMAMA!”
She nearly launched herself out of Jack’s arm.
“Okay” Jack laughed, adjusting his grip. “Apparently somebody missed her mommy.”
You walked over and kissed Lizzie’s forehead, before leaning into Jack for a real kiss. He tasted like coffee.
“You left me alone in bed” you mumbled against his mouth.
He kissed you again. “Temporary tragedy. I had things to do.” He paused, then smiled. “Happy Mother’s Day, my love.”
You blinked. “Oh.”
Right.
Mother’s Day.
That somehow belonged to you now.
That thought hadn’t really crossed your mind yet, but now, after Jack said it, something warm bloomed quietly in your chest.
“CADO!” Lizzie shouted.
You blinked. “What?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know exactly but I think she might wanna say avocado.” He paused for a moment. “And if that’s her actual first word I think I’m gonna lose it.”
“CADO!”
Lizzie laughed and put her tiny hands on his cheeks.
You tried to hide your smile and looked around the kitchen. Jack had set a beautiful breakfast table - fresh bread, toast, eggs, neatly cut fruit, pancakes, even a beautiful flower bouquet stood in the middle of the table.
You slowly turned back to him. “Jack.”
“Hm?” He looked suspiciously pleased with himself.
“That’s way too much.”
Jack shrugged lightly. “You deserve this.” His expression softened slightly. “You made our kid. Seemed only fair to spoil you a little.”
Somehow that made you emotional immediately. You swallowed hard.
Jack noticed and pointed the spatula at you. “No crying before you had coffee.”
You swallowed again, trying to hold it together. “Okay” you whimpered.
“Good girl.” Jack kissed your temple. “Now sit down. I’ve got this.”
Breakfast turned into a long, lazy affair you enjoyed tremendously. You were very happy munching your way through all the things Jack had prepared, sipping on your second mug of coffee while Jack was on child duty.
At one point she threw a piece of banana onto the floor, looked directly at it and suddenly burst into tears.
Jack sighed deeply.
“Bean” he said patiently while crouching to pick it up. “You dropped it yourself.”
Lizzie cried harder.
“Yeah, okay.” He looked at you. “I guess that’s somehow emotionally devastating, huh?”
You laughed quietly in your coffee, while shamelessly checking him out. Domesticity looked unfairly good on him.
And those glasses?
He knew what he was doing.
Eventually Lizzie settled again in her highchair with enough fruit to keep her occupied for a while. Jack disappeared briefly, then came back carrying something behind his back.
Your eyes narrowed immediately. “Jack.”
“What?”
“That face means something.”
He ignored that and instead carefully put something down in front of you.
It was a card - slightly crooked, clearly homemade. The front read: Happy First Mother’s Day. In handwriting that was very obviously Jack’s.
Your breath caught immediately. “Oh no.”
Jack visibly relaxed. “Open it.”
Inside was a big handprint in a deep shade of pink with a tiny handprint inside in pale pink paint. And in uneven lettering:
Mama ❤️
You laughed weakly. “Oh my god.”
Lizzie immediately started clapping for no apparent reason. “CADOMAMACADO!”
“Whatever Bean” Jack said with a smile, ruffling through her curls, then hesitated for a second.
Finally he held out an envelope.
You lifted an eyebrow, then took it. “What’s this?”
He shrugged once, suddenly looking suspiciously uncomfortable. “Nothing dramatic.”
You blinked. “Jack.”
“Just… um… read it.”
You looked at him for a second, then opened it. The first line alone nearly finished you:
To the best mom I know.
“Oh, fuck you, Abbot” you muttered quietly.
Jack pointed immediately, a small grin on his face. “Watch your language. We have a child.”
Lizzie shrieked happily and threw her hands up in the air.
You swallowed hard, then kept reading:
Sweetheart,
I know you worry sometimes if you’re doing enough or getting motherhood right. But Lizzie looks for you in every room. She lights up when she sees you.
And honestly? I think she won the lottery getting you as her mom.
Watching you become her mother has been one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
I know this first year has been hard. Pregnancy was hard. Those first months were hard. And I know you gave more of yourself than anybody probably realized.
But you’ve been incredible.
I honestly don’t think Lizzie or I could’ve gotten luckier.
Thank you for loving her the way you do.
And thank you for loving me too.
Yours,
Jack
You stopped - then immediately started crying.
“Damnit” you whispered.
Jack stared at you, then stepped toward you. “No, sweetheart, no - good crying?”
You laughed weakly through tears and nodded. “Yes.”
Jack exhaled so hard it was almost dramatic, then pressed a kiss on your head. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“You wrote me a letter!”
“Yeah, well.” He rubbed the back of his neck once, suddenly looking awkward. “You had the baby. Felt unfair if I only got flowers.”
That made you cry harder. “Oh my god.”
Jack sighed softly and crouched beside your chair, one hand settling instinctively on your knee. “Hey.”
You looked at him, tears still streaming down your face.
“You okay?”
You nodded quickly, wiping at your face. “It’s just…” You let out a watery laugh. “Nobody ever wrote me something beautiful like this.”
Jack’s expression shifted - softer, warmer, but almost sad for a second. “Well” he said quietly. “Somebody should’ve. Because you’re really fucking amazing.”
That nearly took you out again.
“Okay” he said quickly, already standing again. “Before this turns into a complete emotional disaster before noon…”
He disappeared again, then returned holding a small blue box.
You stared at it. “Jack.”
“What?”
“You got me jewelry?”
“Mhm.”
“Jack.”
“It’s your first Mother’s Day.” He looked suddenly almost shy about it. “I wanted to do it right.”
You opened it carefully.
Inside was a delicate diamond necklace - elegant, simple, beautiful. Matching the jewelry he already got you - the bracelet, the earrings.
“Oh my god.”
Jack looked weirdly nervous now. “You like it?”
“Are you kidding?” You looked up immediately. “Jack. It’s beautiful.”
“Good” he said, already relaxing again.
You laughed weakly, already emotional all over. “You’re absolutely insane.”
“Probably.” He leaned down and kissed you. “But you deserve nice things.”
You kissed him once more, before you could start crying again.
About an hour later the doorbell rang.
Jack looked suspiciously unsurprised - usually he hated surprise visitors. This time? He didn’t even flinch.
You frowned, then you went to open the door.
It was Mara.
Coffee in hand. Sunglasses on. A wide smile on her face.
You blinked, surprised. “Mara?”
“Hey.” She pulled you into a brief hug and pressed a quick kiss on your cheek. “You look great.”
“What are you doing here?” you managed, then looked back to Jack, who leaned casually against the wall. “What’s happening?”
“You didn’t tell her yet?” Mara snorted. “Your boyfriend is disgustingly thoughtful. That’s what’s happening.”
You tilted your head. “Um. What?”
Jack shrugged, his hands deep into his pockets. “I booked you something.”
“You booked us something?” you echoed, not really understanding what he meant.
“A spa day.”
You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Well, three hours.” Mara checked her phone. “Massage. Facial. Mani-Pedi.”
You stared. “Jack.”
“Don’t feel guilty” he said immediately, because he knew you. “Before you even start.”
“I can’t just-”
“Yes, you can.”
“But it’s-”
“No.”
“But Lizzie-”
Jack looked almost offended. “I’m very capable of handling her. I’m literally her father.”
Mara nodded. “He’s kind of competent.”
You still hesitated.
Jack stepped closer and gently tucked hair behind your ear. “Sweetheart” he said quietly. “You always take care of everybody all the time.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek.
“Lizzie. Me. Everybody. Let somebody take care of you for once, hm?”
You looked at him for a long second. God, that face. That stupid soft expression that somehow always made resistance feel impossible.
“... okay.”
Jack smiled. “Good.”
Mara checked her watch. “Shoes. I don’t wanna be late.”
You laughed quietly and obeyed.
Before leaving you crouched briefly in front of Lizzie, who was happily crawling around the living room.
“Be nice to daddy, okay?”
She looked deeply uninterested. “BABABA CADO DADA!”
“Yeah, exactly.”
Jack helped you get up and kissed you once. Then again.
“Relax” he mumbled quietly against your mouth.
“I’ll try.”
“You better. Don’t want to have to punish you later.”
You blushed. “Jack.”
He chuckled. “No, honestly, honey. Relax. You deserve it.”
The apartment settled into evening slowly. Dinner had somehow taken over the entire coffee table because Jack had, unsurprisingly, ordered a lot of Indian food.
“You ordered half the menu” you said while staring at the containers.
“I thought you were starving after getting pampered today.”
You grinned, still feeling completely relaxed after your spa treatment.
Lizzie meanwhile sat happily on her playmat, devouring naan at an alarming rate. At one point she somehow managed to smear raita directly into her hair.
Jack sighed deeply. “Bean.”
Lizzie smiled, completely unbothered, putting another piece of naan in her mouth, munching happily.
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your wine.
The stupid little domesticity of it all.
God, you loved this.
Eventually Lizzie hit her limit. One second she sat happily babbling to herself. The next she pressed both hands dramatically against her face and started crying like her mere existence itself had suddenly become unbearable.
Jack looked over immediately. “Oh no.” He stood. “She’s done.”
You tilted your head. “Yeah. Seems like it.”
He scooped her up without hesitation. “Okay, Bean” he muttered quietly. “Bath. Pajamas. Bed. You’ve had a big day.”
“Mamamama” Lizzie complained sleepily.
“Mama’s eating. Sorry Bean. You’re stuck with daddy.”
You smiled while watching him disappear down the hall.
Maybe it was the wine. Or the letter. Or just the weird emotional weight of the day.
But your chest hurt a little.
Around forty minutes later Jack came back, looking tired in a way only active parenting made him look. His hair was a little messier, his shirt slightly damp from bath time, his expression soft.
“She’s out?”
He nodded. “Absolutely unconscious." He dropped onto the couch beside you with a sigh. “Tiny tyrant was exhausted but fought sleep like she was resisting arrest.”
You smiled into your wine. “She’s got your stubbornness.”
He chuckled, then shifted a little closer. He put one arm around you like it belonged there. Neither of you talked for a while. Your fingers drifted absently over the necklace.
“You know you really didn’t have to do all this today” you said quietly.
He glanced down at you. “I know. But I wanted to. It wasn’t a big deal.”
You blinked. “No big deal?” you echoed, while counting in your head.
The handmade card. The handwritten letter. The breakfast. The spa. The necklace. Dinner.
You looked back down again and suddenly your eyes burned all over again.
“Oh no” you whispered.
Jack groaned. “No.”
“Sorry.”
“Sweetheart.”
You laughed weakly while wiping your face. “This is all your fault.”
He pulled you gently closer until your head rested automatically against his shoulder.
“You know what my favorite thing is?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head.
“Watching Lizzie look for you.”
You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
Jack looked down into his wine for a second. “The second something happens?” He shrugged softly. “She wants mommy. She looks for you in every room. She thinks you hung the moon.”
That absolutely finished you. You pressed your face briefly into his shoulder, crying uncontrollably for a while.
“Oh my god” you muttered weakly.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry” you managed between sobs.
“No.” He kissed the top of your head. “Not even remotely.”
You stayed like that for a while. Curled into him. Crying your eyes out.
Eventually there were no more tears.
You straightened a little, wiping your eyes, then tilted your head. “You know…”
“Hm?”
“You’re annoyingly good at Mother’s Day.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You shook your head slowly. “Thank you. For everything.”
His expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I kinda do, Jack.”
He shrugged. “Well, you know - I plan on keeping the mother.”
You laughed so suddenly you nearly choked. “Oh my god, that was disgustingly smooth.”
“I know” he said with a smug smile.
You stared at him for a moment, then kissed him.
“Lizzie’s still asleep, right?”
Jack checked the baby monitor briefly. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oh?”
You looked at him, then kissed him again. “Because I think this mother deserves one more gift today.”
Jack blinked, then his expression changed. “Oh.” He started grinning, then stood, holding out his hand. “Far be it from me to disrespect the wishes of a mother on her special day.”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
I want you to know this language counts as elder abuse
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: A cozy evening at home turns unexpectedly suspicious when Jack starts asking very unusual questions.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: (link coming later; vacation-me scheduled this post in advance so please be patient with me)
--- --- ---
Jack waited until Lizzie had finally fallen asleep. Which had taken approximately forty-five minutes, one bottle, two increasingly desperate lullabies and a brief hostage negotiation involving a stuffed rabbit.
By the time she was out you were curled into the couch in your pajamas, half watching television and scrolling through your phone.
Jack lingered suspiciously near the bookshelf. You noticed immediately - mostly because Jack only hovered when he wanted something.
“Question” he said casually.
You looked up slowly. “Yeah?”
“Do you have your relatives’ contact information somewhere?”
You blinked. “My relatives?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “Well” he said eventually, shrugging. “Thought maybe we could send Christmas cards this year.”
You stared. “Christmas cards?”
“Mhm.”
“It’s May.”
He shrugged again. “Planning ahead’s responsible.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “You hate planning ahead.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Jack” you said flatly. “You bought Dana’s birthday present in the hospital gift shop.”
“That was a perfectly acceptable candle.”
You looked at him for a long moment. Something about this felt weird. Not alarming, just… weird.
“Are you actually okay?” you asked carefully. “Did you hit your head at work or something?”
He sighed. “Honey.”
“No, seriously.”
“Can I just have the addresses?”
You sat up. “Why are you suddenly behaving like you cared about Christmas?”
Another shrug. “Maybe I contain multitudes.”
You snorted. “Fine. But just for you to know - your post-night-shift brain is so very weird.”
You disappeared briefly into the hallway and returned with your old address book. Jack took it with suspicious enthusiasm, while you flopped yourself down on the couch again.
“Hm” he said casually while flipping through pages. “You’ve got a lot of family.”
“Yeah.”
He nodded absently. “Bernie” he read. “Is that the uncle with the lake house?”
You frowned. “No, Uncle Bernie is the one with the weird haircut and the alpaca farm. Uncle Zach is the one with the lake house.”
“Hm.” He flipped another page. “Your family still goes there every summer?”
“Mhm.” You looked up briefly. “Why?”
“No reason.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Jack.”
“Hm?”
“Are you interviewing me?”
“No.”
“You’re such a shit liar.”
He looked up with that deeply innocent expression that usually meant he was guilty of something. “I just want to learn more about you.”
“I already told you everything.”
“There’s always more to learn. I didn’t know about your Uncle Bernie's alpaca farm for instance.”
Your suspicion weakened for approximately four seconds. “That’s kind of cute I guess.”
He shrugged. “I’m kind of cute.”
You barked out a laugh. “So, now you’re going to put these addresses in your Rolodex?"
Jack stared at you. “A Rolodex? How old do you think I am?”
“Um.” You pressed your lips together, already fighting laughter. “I prefer not to answer that question honestly.”
Jack narrowed his eyes immediately. “Oh, wow.”
You grinned. “Just saying.”
“No, no. We’re not moving past that.” He put the address book down slowly. “You think I’m old?”
“I didn’t say old.”
“You implied Rolodex.”
“Um, yeah, fair.”
Jack looked at you for another second like he was deeply offended. Then suddenly he threw himself dramatically onto the couch, directly onto you.
“Jack” you yelped, immediately laughing as his weight pinned you halfway into the cushions.
“Apologize.”
“For what?!”
“For calling me old.”
“You’re being dramatic” you managed between laughter.
Before you could recover he leaned down and started kissing you with deeply unreasonable determination. Your cheek. Your temple. Your jaw. Quick, obnoxiously affectionate kisses while you dissolved into laughter beneath him.
“Jack - stop-”
“Say sorry.”
“No.”
Another kiss. Then another.
“Apologize to your handsome, youthful boyfriend.”
“You made a dad-noise getting up from bed this morning.”
Jack gasped theatrically. “Wow.”
His fingers immediately found your sides.
“No - no, Jack-”
“Too late.”
You broke into helpless laughter almost instantly. “Okay! Fine! I surrender! I’m sorry!”
He paused immediately. “Good.”
Jack stared at you for one long second before burying his face dramatically into your shoulder. “I want you to know this language counts as elder abuse.”
You laughed again, then pulled him closer, lips brushing briefly against his ear. “Would it count as elder abuse if I dragged you into the bedroom to show you how sorry I am?”
He lifted his head just enough to look at you properly. “Well” he said very seriously. “that’s the kind of abuse I’m extremely into.”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.
You’re new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. You’re definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, you’re barely looking where you’re going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry– I didn’t even see you,” your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried you’ve already made an enemy and you hadn’t even started your shift.
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
“Hey, kid– easy, easy. You’re okay.” His voice is instantly calming. “You our new nurse?” he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.
He’s incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. He’s taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.
Collecting yourself, “Uh– yes! That’s me–” you stumble over your words internally cringing, “I’m so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.”
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his hands– oh, you’ve got to stop thinking like this. You’re so fucked.
“Dr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.” His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. “But don’t let it happen again.” His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
“No, no of course not. I promise. I’ll be 45 minutes early every day!” Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like you’ve already failed before starting.
“Jesus, kid, breathe.” He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re apologising like you hit me with your car.” He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesn’t ruin you, doesn’t cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.
“I’m really not usually this much of a disaster– well, most of the time.” You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like he’s studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once you’re settled.
“Oh– and, kid?” He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
“We do have supplies here, I promise.” he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him when– Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lena’s fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shen’s smirk.
“Stay away from my nurses, Abbot. She’s clearly a good kid.” She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jack doesn’t look away from the board, smirking a little.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. “Just being friendly.”
Shen scoffs, “Yeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.”
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lena’s sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
“There ya are, honey. I’m Lena, your charge nurse. C’mon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?”
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
───────
True to your words, you’re never late again.
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since you’re starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldn’t bother him, if you’d at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you can’t let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldn’t stop watching Abbot’s hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how they’d feel cupping your face, your neck, inside you–
That’s when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldn’t be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, you’d go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, “Oh, uh, I’m okay, thank you.” Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if you’re hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.
He’s so lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
“You got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if you’re not careful.” Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
You’re his.
───────
Admittedly, you’re making it very hard to make you his.
You’re almost too polite with him. A small, “good evening,” greeting when he comes in, a simple, “see you tomorrow, boss,” whenever you head out. You’re impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You don’t even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows that’s not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when you’re not as busy, just charting.
Jack’s leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your ear–
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.
“Oh– Dr. Abbot!” you startle, being caught off guard.
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you don’t turn your head, you can’t. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
“This is good stuff, kid, keep it up.”
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, “Uh– thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.
You’re so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe he’s read this all wrong.
───────
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now you’re here and he’s all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
You’re sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.
“S’alright if I join ya?”
You’d been too tired, too into your phone you hadn’t noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
“Listen, kid. I just wanna apologise if I’ve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?” His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
“No, god, no. You’ve never– that’s not it–” Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It's not you.” Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
“You sure, kid? You can tell me–”
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
“You make me nervous.” You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
“Honey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. “Please?”
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didn’t completely ruin everything–
“S’okay.” His expression softens, voice gentler now. “You never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?”
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you haven’t entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
“I want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.” His inflection on Robby’s name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
“I mean it. Anything.”
───────
He notices how you don’t run from him anymore, don’t push him away, let him exist within your space.
You’re still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and he’s proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
You’re about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
“All good in here?”
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.
“Mhm.” Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
“Good. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, can’t I, sweetheart?” His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
You’re starstruck. Sweetheart.
You blink, unable to respond, but he’s already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
───────
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. You’re just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.
You’re off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient they’re on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasn’t dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient that’s a danger to your safety.
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where he’s leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. You’re assessing for the right time to jump in. You’re so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? You’re so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadn’t even spoken, smiling along.
His heart breaks.
You’re used to this, being spoken over always happens, you’re just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though you’re a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
“Hold up, kid.” You hear him jogging slowly behind you.
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if you’re trying to hide it.
“You leaving without saying goodbye?” he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,
“Didn’t think anyone would notice.” You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
“I notice.”
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. You’re speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
“C’mon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?”
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. It’s a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. He’s silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like they’re the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
“Hey. M’proud of ya, for speaking up in there.”
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.
“It didn’t really feel like I did.” You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
“You did. I’ll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?” Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
“G’night, sweetheart” He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
He’s proud.
───────
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time he’s within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
“Good catch, sweetheart.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”
“Jesus, you really make my life easier, y’know that?”
And he always delivers.
Aside from the praise, he’s incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.
But he’s also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.
Tonight is no different.
You’re in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how she’d been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughter’s back and legs, suspecting her husband’s abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that you’ll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.
He’s unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
“You bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permission–” He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
“Sir–” Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.
“No!” He shrugs her off
“Your permission?” The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. “You’re laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think I’m gonna let you be near her?” She’s defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, you’re never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.
“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way you’re so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughter’s side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jack’s hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
“Go take a breather, yeah?” His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him you’re fine, you don’t need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.
───
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
“You did really well there – with the girl.” He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell he’s looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
“She shouldn’t have had to hear that.” Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. “Talk to me?” His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. “It’s stupid, really.” You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. “I just don’t handle yelling very well.”
“Yeah. I thought so, honey.” His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. “That’s not on you.” His voice is gentler now.
“I feel ridiculous.” You wipe quickly under your eyes. “I should be able to handle it better by now.” Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
“No.” His response is immediate, firm but gentle. “Don’t start thinkin’ the answer is makin’ yourself colder.” He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
“Take as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, I’ll take you home, yeah?” His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you can’t possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too much–
“Ah, ah, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
───
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as you’d had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
She’s gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lena’s voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God you’re so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
“Hun, you don’t wanna go down that route.” Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like she’s truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
“Oh– no it’s not like that.” you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
“Trust me, hun. I’ve been around long enough to know, men like him don’t realise the effect they have on girls like you.”
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
“You’re young, go on dates. Don’t pine over old men like him, you’ll only get hurt.”
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man who’s naturally charming and kind to everyone?
You’d completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time you’re walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbot’s actions towards you, trying to search for when you’d started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but you’re already down the street by the time he’s at the door.
───────
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and you’re colder than ever.
You’re distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder you’ve been working.
You’ve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you what’s wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.
He notices how you’re no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, you’re pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he can’t help and it’s hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesn’t want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. It’s completely wrecking your body, but you don’t want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
“Hey, brother, I gotta ask.” Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadn’t arrived yet, before lowering his voice. “Somethin’ going on with her lately?”
Jack’s brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. “Why?”
“She’s running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.” Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl can’t be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.” His expression tightens. “M’worried about her.”
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
“Fuck.” The word leaves him quietly.
“I’ll talk to her.”
───
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes you’d be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. He’s rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. It’s beautiful, and he doesn’t realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a man’s forehead, and you’re blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and he’s looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you.
He shouldn’t feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man you’re stitching up, he’s definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. You’re still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasn’t been for too long. He can’t take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how you’re no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
“Hey–” Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbot’s expression. “Did you need something?”
Jack’s jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time you’ve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesn’t even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
“Didn’t realise we were entertainin’ patients now.” His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.
“I-I’m sorry–” Your voice is meek, he can’t bear that he caused this.
“Just don’t let it happen again.” Jack’s voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, he’s hurting you and he’s completely out of line.
───
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. He’s completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure you’re okay if he’s also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell you’re exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time you sat down.
“Hey– hold up.” His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. “You eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.
“M’fine.” You’re short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.
“It’s quiet, you should take your break–” He tries but you cut him off.
“I said I’m okay.” Though your tone has little real bite behind it, it’s still harsher than he’s ever heard it.
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You won’t look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.
What he doesn’t see is the guilt flooding your face.
───
You need to apologise. He’s your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you can’t get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, you’ll find him. Explain yourself.
You’re standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
“That guy– from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.” She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
“That guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.” You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
“C’mon, you’re young. Live a little! He’s insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger I’d jump his bones–” you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
“Lena! You’re married!” You turn towards her with a wide smile.
“I can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.” She smirks before continuing. “What’s the harm? He’s still here isn’t he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sex– just do something to get you outta this slump, y’hear me?”
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You don’t want that guy. You want Abbot.
What you didn’t realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lena’s grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who she’s talking to, who she’s talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. You’re smiling, like you’re considering it. He can’t handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. “I dunno, Lena.” Your voice is almost sad. “He’s not who I want.”
“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you, honey?” Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. “M’sorry, hun. It’ll pass, I promise.”
You don’t want it to pass.
───
You can’t seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, it’s a kid.
“Pediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.” The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.
“Initial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.”
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesn’t want you here.
The EMT cuts in. “Father pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.”
“Decreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.” Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbot’s jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The mother’s wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kid’s abdomen.
“Pressure’s dropping.”
“BP 78/40.”
“We’re losing him, Abbot.”
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But you’re spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the mother’s wailing. Jack’s chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
“Get her out!” He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he can’t focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
“Gauze.” He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
“I can’t afford hesitation right now.” Jack’s voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. “If you can’t keep up, leave.”
You feel like you’ve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like it’s caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know he’s right, you shouldn’t have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy could’ve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didn’t want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boys’ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbot’s words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
───
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that he’s the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He can’t. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
───
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lena’s concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.
You set up your tool table beside you, and you’re lucky your patient isn’t a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.
You’re utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.
“Shit–”
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
“Oh shit you okay, lady?” You hear the patient ask, but you’re already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
“God fucking damn it, piece of shit–” You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
You’re not that lucky.
“Hey, listen, I wanted to say that– what the fuck?” Jack’s voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you don’t speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing you’re going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact you’re hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
“Sit.” He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
“You don’t have to–” You attempt to say you’re fine, you don’t need help, it’s a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, there’s something softer behind them, concern.
“Yeah. I do.” His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him you’re trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You can’t read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He can’t look into your eyes again, the broken teary look you’re adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like you’re trying not to cry in front of him.
“This’ll sting–” He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much you’ve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
“I’ve got you.” He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. “You’re alright, sweetheart.”
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
“M’so sorry.” Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, please–”
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
“Hey– No. No, honey. Don’t.” His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He can’t stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. “I keep fucking up–” you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
“God, c’mere.” He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. “You got nothin’ to apologise for, y’hear me?
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.
“I shoulda never yelled at ya, it weren’t right.” His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. “You get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.”
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didn’t do anything wrong.
“Is he– is the kid–” You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. “He’s good, he’s stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.”
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isn’t mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
“I never wanna make you feel like that.” His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. “Never again.”
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid you’d been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
“Jack–” You practically whimper his name.
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
It’s hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. He’d kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.
“I didn’t– I convinced myself you didn’t want me like that.” Your whisper breaks the silence. “I couldn’t be around you, it hurt too much.”
Oh.
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, you’d affected him so much tonight he snapped. He can’t imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
“You don’t gotta explain, sweetheart.” He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. “But you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.”
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
“How’d this happen?” He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if it’s deep enough for a bandage or stitches.
“Wasn’t–” You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. “Wasn’t paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped n’ tried to fix it, blade slipped.”
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.
“Why didn’t ya tell someone, hmm?” He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.”
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, you’d broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
“You always come to me when you’re hurting, yeah? I hate that I didn’t know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.” He begs, squeezing your thigh.
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. “Good.”
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. “There we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.”
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
“There she is.” He coos at your smile.
───────
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that you’d been running yourself into the ground for.
He didn’t tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
You’re leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. “What’s got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?” he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. He’s so in tune with your tells by now, you couldn’t even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.
“Don’t hide from me, my sweet girl,” his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, “It’s nothing, really, It’s the animals–”, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, “It hurts”, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jack’s face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah? That’s what’s gotten my girl all upset?” his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if he’s silently judging.
“They might have had family or friends waiting for them!’’ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why you’re upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing it’ll upset you more. He doesn’t mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he can’t help but let out a low chuckle.
“You’re right baby, m’sure they’re sat around the dinner table, waiting for ‘im to come home.” He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.
“Jaaaaack! It’s not funny,” you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.
“M’sorry, baby, c’mere.” He’s still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
“Shh, baby, I know, I know.” He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. “I was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?” His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. “You know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.” he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
“You just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.” He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jack’s breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesn’t make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
“S’why you’re my favourite nurse, baby”. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, “What is?”
For the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. “Your sensitivity, compassion, empathy.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quip– “It’s not the sex?”
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
“You were my favourite before the sex smartass– no, you have a big heart, biggest I’ve ever known, you care deeply.” You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
“Plenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.” You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and it’ll wear you down.
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
“Not like you, baby.” His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.
“You hear me, baby? Hmm?” he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
“You’re m’favourite attending.” You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadn’t expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
“Oh yeah? S’not Robby?” He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
“I know, sweetheart.” He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
─
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if you’re okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
“Jack!”
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that you’re hurt somehow.
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, “Baby, what’s–” he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.
You’re crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
“I swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!” you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, “baby, what are you doing?”
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
“Please– kill it, quick!” you beg him
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, “What if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?”
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. “Jack, I swear to god–”
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
“Yeah, you’re not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.”
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: A warm spring afternoon, playground chaos, competent dad Jack and one very interested playground mom.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: (link coming later; vacation-me scheduled this post in advance so please be patient with me)
--- --- ---
The weather had finally turned warm. Properly warm. The kind of spring afternoon that made Pittsburgh briefly feel almost charming. Sunlight spilled across the playground, jackets had been abandoned and every exhausted parent in sight looked vaguely relieved not to be freezing anymore.
Lizzie had decided playgrounds were the greatest invention known to mankind.
Which, unfortunately for Jack, meant he had spent the last twenty minutes following behind her like a mildly anxious bodyguard while she crawled toward danger with alarming confidence.
“Bean.” Jack reached down automatically, redirecting her determined hands away from a suspicious puddle. “We’re not touching playground water today.”
Lizzie looked deeply offended by that decision. “DADADADA!!!”
“Yeah, I know.” He adjusted her little sunhat. “Life’s hard.”
A second later she spotted another toddler near the baby swing and immediately lit up.
“Dadadadaa!”
“Yeah?” Jack followed after her, one hand hovering nearby out of habit. “You making friends?” He hesitated for a moment. “You’re suspiciously social. Don’t know where you got that from. Definitely not from me” he added.
Ten minutes later she had officially reached her limit.
One second she was happily crawling after bigger children with deeply questionable coordination, babbling aggressively at a little boy who clearly wanted nothing to do with her. The next she sat down in the mulch with sudden dramatic determination, lower lip trembling.
Jack noticed immediately.
“Oh no” he said quietly, already crouching beside her. “Princess, what happened, hm?”
Lizzie looked up at him, then started crying. Deeply offended, tired baby crying.
“Yeah” Jack sighed softly. “I know, Bean.”
He scooped her up easily before she could fully commit to emotional devastation. She curled into him immediately, small hot face pressing against his shoulder while one hand grabbed at his shirt.
“You’re done?” he asked quietly, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “Need a break?”
“Mamamamama” she complained into his shoulder.
“Well, close enough” he murmured.
He carried her toward one of the benches near the sandbox and sat down with a quiet exhale, settling her comfortably on his lap. The weather was warm enough that he’d traded sweaters for a dark t-shirt, sunglasses pushed onto his head while he reached into the diaper bag beside him.
“Okay.” He grabbed her water bottle first. “Let’s see what the problem is.”
Lizzie accepted water like someone dying in the desert.
There we go” he said softly. “Bit dramatic, Bean.”
A tiny hand immediately reached for his face.
“Yeah, okay. Love you too.”
He brushed sweaty curls gently back from her forehead and unscrewed one of those fruit puree pouches with the kind of competence that only came from repetition.
Beside the sandbox a little blond boy sat completely absorbed in driving toy cars through the dirt, making loud engine noises.
“Max, honey, a little quieter, hm? And don’t put that in your mouth.”
Jack glanced up automatically. A woman stood nearby holding an iced coffee, maybe early thirties, pretty in an effortless kind of way. She looked mildly exhausted in the universal parent way but smiled apologetically when she caught his glance.
“Sorry” she said with a laugh. “Apparently sand is today’s snack.”
Jack huffed quietly.
She looked at Lizzie. “How old?”
“Ten months” Jack replied automatically. “Well. Almost eleven.”
Her expression softened. “Oh my god. Tiny.”
Lizzie looked over suspiciously, cheeks full of fruit puree.
The woman hesitated briefly before nodding towards the bench. “Mind if I?”
Jack shrugged lightly. “Go ahead.”
She sat down beside him, setting her coffee down while her son continued excavating the sandbox with concerning commitment.
“I’m Isabelle” she said after a moment.
“Jack.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Lizzie. “And this is…?”
“Elizabeth. But everyone calls her Lizzie.”
“That’s adorable.”
Lizzie blinked at her for a second before immediately shoving sticky hands against Jacks chest.
“Ah.” Jack sighed. “Excellent. I really wanted to be covered in applesauce, kid.”
“You seem very calm about that” Isabelle said, smiling.
Jack looked down at Lizzie, who had now fully committed to wiping her snack-covered hands directly against his shirt.
“I work in emergency medicine” he said simply. “This barely qualifies as a crisis.”
Isabelle looked at him again now. Properly. “Wait. You’re a doctor?”
Jack nodded once while unscrewing Lizzie's water bottle. “Mhm. Down at the PTMC.”
“Like… an actual doctor?”
He looked briefly confused. “I mean - yeah?”
“In emergency medicine?”
“Yeah.” He handed the bottle to Lizzie, who immediately tried drinking sideways. “I’m an attending there.”
“Wow” she said, before she could stop herself. “Okay. That’s impressive.”
He shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”
She looked at him for another second. “Honestly, you’re handling this very well.”
“Hm?”
“Her.” She smiled. “You seem really good at this.”
“Oh.” He looked down at Lizzie. “Thanks.”
“You can always tell who actually parents” Isabelle said casually. “Some dads just kinda… stand there.”
Jack snorted quietly. “Well, I didn’t have a kid just to sit on the sideline.”
Isabelle laughed again, then glanced very casually towards his hands. A second later her gaze drifted back up again.
“So” she said lightly, leaning back against the bench. “Just the two of you then?”
Jack nodded absently while wiping fruit puree from Lizzie’s chin. “Yeah, just us today.”
Isabelle tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced toward her son. “Well, it’s really nice seeing a father here, you know? My husband - well, ex-husband” she corrected herself quickly. “He never would’ve done playground duty.”
Jack looked up briefly. “Hm?”
“Playground duty.” She gestured vaguely. “Max loves it but his dad always hated stuff like this. Always had to work. That was one reason why we got a divorce.”
Jack nodded once. “Oh.” He paused. “That’s rough.”
Isabelle tilted her head. “You seem really good at this though. Honestly, most dads would already look overwhelmed.”
Jack looked down automatically. Lizzie had somehow acquired half a pouch of applesauce on her shirt. And his.
“Well, she’s good at keeping me humble” he muttered.
“She’s adorable.”
“Yeah.” He smiled softly. “Thanks. She’s pretty great.”
And then - suddenly, Lizzie froze.
Jack went still. “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
Jack narrowed his eyes slightly. “I know that face.”
He scooped her up. Lizzie stared directly at him, then grunted. A second later there was a deeply concerning sound.
Jack closed his eyes briefly. “Oh, come on.”
The smell hit approximately three seconds later.
Isabelle blinked. “Oh.”
Jack looked down and immediately sighed like a man who had fought many battles and lost several. “Okay. That’s bad.”
Unfortunately the diaper hadn’t contained the situation. Like - at all. A suspicious stain had already started spreading across Lizzie’s little pants. And - Jack looked down at himself.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Isabelle tried - and failed - not to laugh. “Catastrophic?”
“Catastrophic” Jack confirmed.
Lizzie looked deeply pleased with herself.
“Bean” he muttered. “Why are you like this?”
Still balancing her on one arm, Jack crouched beside the diaper bag with the resigned efficiency of somebody who had done this approximately a thousand times.
Wipes.
Changing mat.
Emergency outfit.
Diaper.
Socks.
“Oh wow” Isabelle said, impressed. “You came prepared.”
Jack shrugged. “You kinda have to.”
He changed Lizzie with the kind of calm competence that suggested he could probably handle an intubation at the same time. Minimal panic, maximum efficiency.
“Okay” he muttered quietly to Lizzie while fastening the clean diaper. “You committed crimes today.”
Lizzie kicked her feet happily. “Mamamama.”
Jack looked down at his shirt again - and sighed.
“Sorry, give me a second.”
He grabbed a clean t-shirt from the diaper bag and pulled the ruined one off with zero ceremony. And Isabelle could see his bare chest for a moment.
Broad shoulders. Strong in the kind of practical, deeply unfair way that came from years of actually using his body rather than trying to impress anybody. Muscle softened just enough by age to look real. Warm skin scattered with pale freckles across his shoulders. A glimpse of old scars crossing his chest and back. Faint lines at his neck when he moved.
Hot silver fox.
Jack pulled the clean shirt over his head like none of his body was remotely noteworthy.
Isabelle looked away a second to late.
He settled back onto the bench with Lizzie already climbing determinedly into his lap again like the entire poop incident had never happened.
“Okay” Isabelle said casually, trying very hard to sound normal. “This might be weird, but…”
Jack looked over.
“Do you maybe wanna grab coffee?”
Jack blinked. “Oh.” He glanced briefly at his watch. “Um, no sorry.” His expression softened apologetically. “Meeting my girlfriend in like ten minutes for ice cream.”
“No, no.” Jack smiled, genuinely oblivious. “Maybe next time? Max seems sweet. We’ll bring Lizzie. My girlfriend’s always happy when this little troublemaker here makes playground friends.”
We.
Of course there was a we.
“Yeah.” She smiled tightly. “Sure. Sounds nice.”
Then he looked down at Lizzie.
“Hey, Bean.” He adjusted her little hat again. “Wanna go see mommy?”
Lizzie lit up immediately. “MAMAMAMAMAMAMA!”
Jack laughed softly. “Yeah, thought so. She’s obsessed with her mom.” He stood and gave a small wave. “See you around, Isabelle.”
He shouldered the diaper bag and was gone, without looking back.
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
pairing(s): jack abbot x reader | dennis whitaker x reader
summary: when you get stood up, jack's there to pick up the pieces.
warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, jealous!jack, dennis is a meanie and not in a good way :( age gap relationship, reader is late 20s and jack is 50
words: 1.5k
a/n: thank you so much for all your guys' love on my first jack fic 👀 was definitely not expecting that! i apologise to all my fellow dennis lovers, pls forgive me! hope you guys enjoy xo
The clang of Dennis setting things down on the bench in the locker room made you jump and slam your locker accidentally, cursing beneath your breath.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, a hint of a laugh in his voice.
You glance over your shoulder to look at him, he looked tired with his bloodshot eyes and his hair sticking up in all directions. He still looked cute as hell.
“It’s fine,” you laugh, “you look tired.”
“Yeah,” he grins, rubbing the back of his neck, “had a nap before I came in and it was absolutely the wrong decision.”
You laugh as you nod, “yeah, I appreciate you changing your shift.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
You and Dennis were going out for a late lunch after your shift so he’d changed his shift to be with you on the night shift. The door flew open and Jack popped his head in.
“You two just gonna stand around talking all day? C’mon, we’ve got lives to save, let’s go,” he grumbles as you and Dennis follow him. Someone was in a foul mood today.
“I made a reservation for 3, is that too late?” Dennis asks as you fill in your charts at the nurse’s station.
“No, that’s all good with me. Gives me enough time to sleep and get ready.”
“Y/N,” Jack calls out, his voice sharp making you glance up to see him with his arms folded across his chest, standing in front of the nurse’s station with his eyebrow raised, “come put a chest tube in this patient.”
“Surely a medical student could benefit more?”
“Now, Y/N,” he left no room for argument.
“See you later,” you mumble to Dennis and follow Jack into a bay, “are you okay?”
“What?” Jack snaps back, throwing you off.
Sure, he was always a little grumpy but he was sweet and he’d never spoken to you like that. You sigh as you look up at the screen as you thread the tube in, “are you mad at me? Did I do something?”
You hear him heave out a sigh. “no, I’m not mad at you. I just having been sleeping, sorry, doll.”
His voice was soft now, you glance back at him and his whole face had softened and he was looking at you with those big sad eyes. You were a sucker for those wounded eyes. You nod but don’t say anything more.
As you were finishing your shift, Dennis touched your elbow as he brushed past you, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah of course, see you.”
He grins at you as he slung his rucksack over his shoulder before he left the hospital.
“You and Whitaker got plans later?” Jack asked casually but there was an edge in his voice that you couldn’t place, but you and Robby shared a look.
“Yeah, we’ve got a date, its why I’ve got tonight off.”
Jack nodded, his eyebrow twitching. You liked Dennis, he was cute and safe. But Jack? Jack was a whole other story; you were trying to get over him but it was hard.
“Well, have a good time.”
“Thanks,” you watch him as he gives Robby a hug before he leaves, glancing back at you.
You get to the restaurant right on time and head over to the hostess.
“Reservation?”
You nod, “um, should be under the name of Whitaker.”
She nods and grabs two menus before leading you to an empty table in a cute little candle lit corner. Huh, he wasn’t here yet. You waited and waited, calling and texting Dennis but he never responded. Finally, when they needed the table back you left, feeling humiliated and hurt. You got changed for work and head in like you usually would. You definitely did not want to be alone with your thoughts tonight.
As you walk in, Dana looks up at you in surprise, “thought you had a date tonight, kid?”
At her words, the dam broke and tears spilled from your eyes, “hey, hey,” she coos, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “c’mon, none of that,” she took you into the lounge, “wanna tell me what happened?”
“He didn’t show,” you choked in a shaky voice, “he left me sitting there like an idiot, didn’t even call.”
Dana shushed you as she rubbed your back, “you’re gonna be okay.”
The door bursts open a minute later, “Dana, we need,” Jack stops short as he looks at your blotchy face, “you okay?”
You nod, wiping at your eyes. Dana excuses herself, leaving you alone with Jack who was studying you with darkened eyes, “come on, doll,” he holds out his hand as he pulls you up. You follow him out onto the roof into the fresh night air, “wanna talk about it?” his voice was gruff as he looked out at the city below.
“Dennis didn’t show,” you mumble, it wasn’t just Dennis you were upset about. You hadn’t had a relationship in years, every time it looked like you were getting somewhere, something happened that showed you exactly why toy didn’t date often, “what’s wrong with me?”
That made Jack’s head whip around to look at you in alarm, “what? Nothing is wrong with you, you’re beautiful, smart, kind. Whitaker’s an idiot, didn’t know he had it in him.”
“Maybe it’s karma, maybe I deserve this.”
“Karma?” he scoffs, “what kinda cosmic bullshit is that?”
“I mean I was kind of using him to get over you, thought I needed to get back into the dating game.”
“Me? You like me?” a flicker of hope crossed his face and you nod, rubbing the side of your nose.
It was so much easier to tell him now, “yeah,” you sigh, “although I’m still trying to get over you.”
“What? Why the fuck would you do that princess?” he asks, his face all scrunched up. The nerve of him.
“I heard you Jack! After we had that gnarly fight a year ago, I heard you talking to Robby about me. You called me a child, well, a little girl is what you called me.”
Jack’s brow creases in confusion before he groans, running a hand through his hair, “I wasn’t talking about you sweet girl, no, Robby and I had a disagreement over a patient.”
Shame and embarrassment washed over you, you had avoided him for a year, “I’m an idiot, I’m sorry, Jack,” you cover your face with your hands.
You hear him chuckle as he takes your hand away from your face and holds it in his, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, “so, you chose Whitaker, huh?”
You nod with a shrug, “I thought he was sweet, cute and safe. I didn’t think he’d hurt me.”
Jack sighed as he cups your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that’s fallen, “I would never ever hurt you.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever,” he confirmed before kissing you slowly and softly. The kiss was wet from your tears but it was sweet and his lips tasted like that cherry menthol chap stick he was always using.
“Is this why you were a jerk yesterday?” you mumble against his lips, making him laugh.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that,” the corner of his mouth quirks up as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb rubbing across your cheek, “you really wanna work tonight?” he asked, chuckling when you nod.
As you were leaving the hospital, Dennis was coming in, all of the colour drains from his face as he sees you, “oh my god! I’m so sorry.”
“I called and sent messages.”
“My phone was switched off, I lost track of time,” he says sheepishly as he rubs the back of his neck.
Before you had a chance to go off on him, a pretty woman came running over to him, “you forgot your lunch,” she glances at you before hurrying back to her car.
“You were with another girl?” you felt like a hypocrite, considering that you were kissing Jack mere hours ago but you’d never stand Dennis up. Ever.
“C’mon! Her husband died and she needed me.”
You scoff, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, “needed you?! We had a date!”
“Raincheck?”
“No, absolutely not.”
Jack touched the small of your back, “I’ll take you home, sweet.”
Dennis scoffs, his jaw clenching and his nostrils flaring, “didn’t know you were into sloppy seconds, Dr Abbot.”
Sloppy seconds? You’d never even kissed Dennis. Before you could register what you were doing, your hand cracked him across the face. Dennis looked as surprised as you felt as he cradled his cheek, a red mark blooming on his pale skin. Jack pulled you away before anything else could happen.
“I can’t believe I slapped him!”
“If you hadn’t, I would have, the little shit deserved it.”
Jack glances over at you as he drives, his free hand creeping onto your thigh, when you place your hand over his, he smiles, “do you think maybe we could try this?”
“What, me and you?”
“Uh huh.”
You pretended to think about it, “let’s start with breakfast.”
“I like breakfast.”
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