(masterlist currently under construction, except changes in the near future)
The Pitt
dr robby
i’m okay
^after a patient attacks you, robby is there for the aftermath
respect
^angsty blurb ft you ending it with robby
too late pt1
^you suffer a miscarriage after robby ends it
trinity santos
hostile work environment
^trinity accidentally makes you cry, and spends the next few days unable to cope
jack abbot
tiktok trend drabble
^“i found your bsf on tinder” trend
frequent flyer pt 1 pt2
^jack worries that the woman he’s in love with is being abused
i just want you safe
^a patient attacks you
mel king
love at first sight?
^mel knocks you over in the ED and it turns her world upside down
dennis whitaker
broken arm blurb
^you break your arm, dennis breaks down
cassie mckay
f*ck SMUT
^cassie likes to bite you during sex and it leads to an unfortunate situation with javadi
Slashers
general HC’s
Slashers s/o with a service dog
Seeing the slashers maskless for the first time
Slashers with a s/o with chronic migraines
Slashers s/o hurt by a victim
Slashers s/o hurt by a victim pt.2
Slashers first meeting their s/o
Slashes first meeting their s/o pt2
Slashers s/o nearly killed by victim
Single fics
Thomas Hewitt accidentally hurting his s/o
Vincent sinclair comforting his s/o
Stu Macher telling his s/o he’s a ghostface
rules for requesting
I will write almost anything unless it makes me viscerally uncomfortable and feels like a detriment to the platform.
I write for all smut, fluff and angst, and if you request something I’m not comfortable with I won’t mock or castrate you, I just will delete the request/not write it.
the pitt was oddly relaxed for a saturday night, majority of the current crowd consisting of minor lacerations or sprains. shen was standing by the board, nursing a watered down coffee, as ellis grabbed a chart from the nurses station, and jack, well, it was only 11pm and he was already bothered.
no, ‘bothered’ wasn’t the right word.
it didn’t encapsulate the way his fists clenched against the inside of his crossed arms, biceps pulling at the hems of his short sleeves.
no.
jack was genuinely tweaking.
having to restrain the way his lip was attempting to curl in disdain. shoes toeing the tiles like they had to be forced to stay grounded and not carry him towards the offensive figure in the room.
which mind you, was currently a patient. a man in his mid to late thirties if jack had to guess without glancing at the chart. a man laying perched against two pillows, one of which jack definitely thought he didn’t need.
jacks eyes watch the other man’s, following his line of sight in a direction that has him inhaling deeply.
he thinks if this continues any longer someone will end up laid out on the recently waxed linoleum and it wouldn’t be him.
his jaw flexes.
moving to take a step forward.
“let’s see if we can get you feeling better, how does that sound?”
and his shoulders are dropping slightly, however still remaining in his firm stance. his eyes search for the least offensive thing in the room, you.
all friendly and dotting on the man in a way he doesn’t deserve. and he just nods his dumb head, at you, smiling all wide, a dopey, smug, stupid fucking expression, as you lean in to check the cut on his forehead again.
his last shred of sanity was riding on the zen you brought him, the way you occasionally glanced his way and then shyly looked away.
all shy and sweet and pretty, something that swells in jacks chest and pulls at something lower when he compares that to way he had you last night.
mouth open, cheeks wet as jack pounded into you from behind, one hand on your hip and the other bracing him against the sheets you clung too.
he reached around your front, hand fumbling between your legs to press tight circles against your clit, a deep, throaty groan leaving his lips as you clenched around his cock in response. the tight suction of your pussy engulfing his length encouraged his hips to speed up, movements beginning to stutter as you spoke his name, low and slightly muffled.
“jack”.
“jack?”
his eyes snap up, the haze in his eyes coming into focus as they land on your expectant expression. he clears his throat.
not embarrassed, nor bothered as he asks you to repeat your question.
and you do, a curious yet amused look in your eyes. it’s something about the patient, who he really couldn’t care less about, despite his hippocratic oath. asking if he thinks your current assessment of the injury is accurate.
he nods once, tense.
then a second time with more of a commanding presence, one he normally carried as a highly respected attending.
you smile, no teeth yet full positivity as you turn to address the patient, hands moving as you elaborate on the next course of action. you shift, move to the right, bend slightly to grab something from the shelf housing basic medical supplies, gauze, tape and, oh, who gives a fuck.
jack watches your movement, gaze soft, until it glances towards the man to your left, and immediately darkens.
the patient is no longer smiling at your words, he’s now staring at your ass.
blatantly, it’s not just a quick look, his eyes are lingering.
jack can physically feel the disgust bubble into rage as he watches it all unfold. he wants to say something, his self control is dwindling fast.
he takes a step, the subtle movement catching your attention. you don’t notice his annoyance immediately, although you can’t help the surprise that plasters across your face as he snaps that he needs to speak to you in the hall.
“now.” isn’t a suggestion.
your pulse is racing as you follow him out of the room, sending a quick explanation of getting further tests to the patient. jack doesn’t hesitate in his exit, nearly ready to tug you out by the waist if you had spent too long giving a reason to the egregious snot rag perched up like he owned the hospital.
you can feel heat lick at your neck as jack holds open the door to the break room, polite in the way he beckons you in, desperate in how his eyes rake over your body as you walk past.
the fluorescents aren’t as bright as the hall, yet not nearly as dim as you’d appreciate as you feel someone looming behind you.
you turn, attempting to remain neutral as if you can’t feel your heart thudding against your ribs, smell the musk of jack and his sweat and turmoil and remnants of your perfume on his collar.
“i didn’t like that guy.” he’s speaking before you’re fully facing him, voice low in the way that sits in your lower gut and makes you squeeze your thighs together.
you can’t hide the grin that creeps over you as his hands plant on your hips, grip steady and grounding as he begins walking you backwards.
you snicker, all fake serious and heavily lighthearted as your throat bobs, “no?”
jacks own mouth twitches, like he wants to joke with you but decides against it, you laugh, “could’ve sworn you loved him.”
“fuck off,” it’s said to your face although not directed at you, no malice or weight behind it as his tense stature continues it melt the longer he’s alone with you, “don’t bring him up.”
“uh, you did.” is chuckled, quickly cut off by a gasp as your ass hits the cabinets lined against the wall. jack smiles, easy at the sound you made.
he’s quick to duck his head down and press a sweet kiss to your lips, quickly devolving into something more as his tongue licks at your teeth and begs for permission.
you grant it. easily.
your hands are grasping at the muscles of his back, gripping at the fabric of his scrub top as one of his hands move to caress the dip in your back, the other taking firm hold of your ass.
he squeezes once, then twice as a choked sound from your throat gets muffled by his tongue.
walsh steps towards the break room, glancing at her phone, one hand out, about to turn the knob. before a hand takes hold of her wrist, not forceful, yet compelling as she jolts and meets the face of shen.
he’s still sipping at his dunkin, expression nonchalant utterly causal as he beckons her away from the door.
“trust me, you don’t wanna go in there.”
a/n i’m still working on too late part 2, if anyone has any ideas on what they’d like the ending to be like, please lmk in the comments! :)
robby thinks he’s bad for you. too old, too rough around the edges, too damaged to be around a young, beautiful, budding doctor as yourself. so he ends it, unaware of your pregnancy, unaware of your grief until you face a medial emergency in the middle of the ED.
dr robby x f!reader
rating. 18+
wc. 3.3k
synopsis. robby thinks you’re too good for him, too pure and optimistic… young. he decides to cut you loose, allow you to flourish without him dragging you down. that is, until he faces the idea of losing you forever.
tags/warnings. MDNI, TW MISCARRIAGE, mention of blood, needles, medical inaccuracies, robby is very conflicted, robby thinks you’re too good for him, breakup, lots of angst, reader and robby are deeply in love, reader is devastated, grief, power imbalance, improper coping mechanisms, early stage pregnancy, detailed miscarriage, reader is significantly younger than robby, age gap, female pronouns, female anatomy, afab reader
requested? yes
A/N. enjoy <3
as you stare down at the positive test in your hands, the overwhelming urge to be sick in the toilet you’re currently sat on tugs at your stomach.
your fingers tremble around their hold on the stick, eyes beginning to burn as your vision grows foggy.
“you still good in there?”
samira.
you swallow harshly, sucking in a breath that gets lodged in your chest and sits there like a permanent reminder that this is real. reluctantly, with sweat starting to dot across your nape, you swing the stall door open.
the brunettes brows pinch as she pushes off the adjacent wall, arms crossed as she takes a few steps forward. then her expression shifts, more steady than yours but sharing a similar panic.
“shit.”
“yeah.” you sigh, hoping the continuous, deep breaths will calm the way your pulse has become erratic.
“was this intentional?” you can tell by the hesitant look on her face she most likely knows the answer, she just wants it confirmed to her. you’d roll your eyes if you weren’t so busy nearly hyperventilating, sniffing as the accumulation of tears has caused your nose to run.
“no.”
“do you want this?”
“i don’t know,” children, it’s a conversation you’d never had. you’d been focused on your career for years now, something so very important and overall time consuming you’d never stopped to really think about it. did you want kids? even if you did, it wasn’t the right time, you were still an R2, your life was constantly hectic, “i’ve never put much thought into it.”
“how will you tell him?”
your eyes squeeze shut. that was the first thing that came to mind when the two lines appeared. how would he react? would he lash out at you? no, he wasn’t that kind of man, you knew him better than that.
“will you tell him?”
your eyes snap open at that, gaze darting up to land on samira who’s looking at you with an expression that makes you want to shrink. sympathy, she was a sympathizer after all.
“of course i’m gonna tell him,” even if you wish it was all just a dream, and any second you’d wake up and it would all have just been-, “but what if he reacts badly?”
samira hums, like she’d thought of that as well, shifting from one foot to the other.
“honestly, i don’t know how to answer that for you, but what i’ve seen, he’s a pretty good guy,” somehow she always knows what to say, and you appreciate her words, “plus if anything happens, you still have me. and mel, and pretty much everyone, you’re well liked.”
you laugh softly, wiping at a tear that escapes your eye.
“you’re just saying all that to make you feel better.”
samira smiles.
“doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“thanks, seriously.” you stand, capping the pregnancy test and pocketing it before passing samira to wash your hands. your eyes meet your own in the mirror, soap lathering as scalding water runs over your palms. the warmth is a decent distraction from hoping no one will notice your now puffy cheeks and wet lashes.
samira raises her brows at you through the mirror.
“will you be okay?” you’re not sure how to respond, hands gripping the edge of the sink counter. your eyes meet hers.
you decide to just nod.
“hey, can we talk?” you jog up to where robby stands in the ambulance bay several hours later, hands in his jacket pockets. he turns to you as you stop beside him. there’s a look on his face you can’t place, maybe fatigue, something you’ve seen countless times before and yet different.
“yeah, we need too,” those words throw you a bit off balance, and suddenly you’re anxious that maybe he found out before you could tell him, “and fortunately, i have a minute.”
“great, um,” you falter, heart rate picking up as you glance down at you sneakers, “it’s kind of important.”
robby looks at you again, this time however, you see a hint of concern behind his rough exterior, one he doesn’t hide but is picky with who gets to witness it. although just as soon at it appears, his face falls blank, forehead lines deepening as his brows furrow.
he motions for you to speak, an action so unlike him you stumble over your words.
“oh, uh, you go first, mine will kinda need a conversation,” you grimace at the way you stutter, so foreign to you yet so human in your worries as the attending in front of you just stares, “seriously, tell me.”
your smile is brief, full and bright as the man takes a deep breath, the corners of your mouth falling in tandem with your heart as his next sentence renders you speechless.
“we need to end this.”
what.
you pause, taken aback.
“what?” robby sighs at your response, turning away from you and shaking his head like he didn’t say something that’s left you nearly gasping for air even while outside.
“i’m ending it,” and you feel a sting across your face as if you’ve been slapped, accompanied by a painful throbbing in your chest, “our relationship, fling, whatever you’d like to call it.”
fling? is that how he saw it? sure he said relationship first, but to throw out that other word? is that really all it’s been to him?
“i love you.”
“mmm it’s mutual.” is giggled as you’re perched in his lap, nuzzling into his scruff as he nurses a scotch.
“that’s what you wanted to tell me?” it’s like your senses can’t process this information, the incessant buzzing in your head growing as the seconds tick by.
robby nods, lips forming a tight line.
“i think it’s best to end this before it gets too serious, before my sabbatical.”
your knees wobble, eyes blinking rapidly as tears begin to form.
“how’d you find me?” the sun sets beyond the horizon.
“would you believe me if i told you i looked in every room?” robby walks up beside you, shrugging off his jacket at the sight of a shiver running across your arms. the smell of the anti septic and his cologne invade your nose as the fabric is draped over your shoulders.
you laugh, face suddenly warmer.
“do you offer your jacket to all your residents?”
he smiles, crooked and real.
“only the ones i look in every room for.”
you can feel the test in your pocket, practically burning through the cotton of your zip up as you stand unable to even move.
“oh, okay,” is all that comes out at first, choked up and coming out less assertive than you had intended, “that’s.. really how you feel?”
you miss the way robby glances at you, the look he gives you as you stare down at the pavement, blinking back the glossiness to your eyes.
“yes.” it’s definite. almost like he’s been thinking about this for awhile, and yeah, he’s been a bit withdrawn lately but you wouldn’t have expected this.
your teeth sink into your bottom lip, fingers fidgeting against your jackets hem, the pitter patter of rain begins against the overhang.
“can we talk about this?” you plead, taking a step towards the man.
“ambulance is en route,” that’s all he says, like he can’t be bothered to discuss the bomb he just dropped, “now isn’t the time.” ouch.
“alright,” it’s not alright, and you think you might be sick all over the pavement, “i get it.”
you don’t.
you want to demand an explanation, grab his arm, beg him to tell you why and then convince him to stay.
maybe it’s the hormonal shift, maybe the way the rain has begun to come down harder. but you just want to summon the courage, something so suddenly broken in you just wants to cower away and lick your wounds.
you ignore the throbbing in your chest, the way your body sways at the fear setting in, and you simply turn, and walk back inside.
“she’s an R1?” brows raise.
“about to be on year 2, she’s-,”
“and you’re her superior?”
robby listens to your footsteps fade into the distance, until the doors shut and the howl of wind against the weather leaves him in silence.
his eyes focus on a pebble beside his shoe, watching it roll as he kicks at it. his eyes shut, head leaning back as the sound of sirens grow near. his hearing makes the distant screeching somewhat fuzzy, eyes suddenly snapping open and body lurching forward.
he holds a closed first to the front of his mouth, inhaling deep breaths to calm the way bile has risen in his throat. he swallows it down, sweat dotting his forehead as the gravity of the silence around him sinks in.
he inhales again, this time slightly choking on the air.
his head shakes, face pulling into a pained grimace.
“fuck.”
he kicks the pebble again, this time sending it halfway across the parking lot as the ambulance pulls up.
“i can’t take this.” robby is compelled by your tone, the way your voice is heavy and desperate. he steps closer, body heaving unsteady breaths as you don’t move away.
his hands raise to his hair, ruffling the short brown locks. he sighs, a noise that pulls a sound of complaint from your throat.
“don’t, don’t act like i’m imagining things,” your voice is quiet, almost so much so robby nearly misses it, then your confidence seems to dim, “but… just tell me i am, and i’ll back off.”
his eyes snaps to yours.
“back off?” you shrink beneath his gaze.
“yes, i-,”
“you think i want that?” you’re unsure if that’s rhetorical, you almost laugh.
“michael,” you’re exasperated, “i’m asking you!”
the breath he takes is fast and shallow, head cocking to the side.
“it’s exactly that.”
you falter.
“sorry, what is?” you’re flushed warm to your ears as the man takes another bold step into your personal space, your back gently coming in contact with the wall behind you. you gasp at the startling contact, jaw shutting seconds after when a half bent arm is pressed beside your head.
then he’s leaning in, so close you can practically feel his bodies warmth, feel his breath across your face. he smells like cheap break room espresso, hand sanitizer, that heady musk of someone who’s been on their feet all day. every breath you take is just robby, it’s everywhere, all around you.
“you.”
you lick your lips, trying not to tremble at the way his eyes follow the movement of your tongue.
“you greeting me in the morning like i haven’t spent another sleepless night thinking of only you,” you feel something throb behind your ribs, “always so sweet to me, too good for what i deserve.”
you want to correct him, place a hand on his cheek and tell him that’s not how you see it. not at all. but before you can move against your outwardly nervous hesitation, he’s lifting one of your hands and placing the palm firm against his sternum.
you can feel the way his heart is beating, it’s fast, skipping a beat as your touch presses to him.
“you’re not imagining anything.”
you smile, fingers digging into the open zipper part of his navy zip up, pulling him down to meet your lips. his hands come up to cradle the sides of your face, fingers rough and calloused against your delicate skin.
your spine sparks with tingles as one of his hands drops to caress your back, holding your body steady against his.
as you pull away, you can’t contain the soft laughter that follows.
“i was wondering when you’d say something.”
“are you.. okay?” trinity is staring at you like any minute you’ll fall over.
“yeah,” and she’s not wrong on that assumption, considering the slightly slurred way you responded, “totally.”
the totally is choked up as vomit rises in your throat, lips shutting tight as you squeeze your eyes shut and place your forehead against the nurses station. trinity scowls, stepping back.
you sigh against the cold counter, not bothering to think about any germs you’re currently pressing your face against. your knees shake, joints burning as you stand.
a chart is handed off above your head, groaning as the back of someone’s hand presses into your forehead.
“you’re hot.” cassie.
“thanks.” is muffled.
you can practically feel the eye roll.
“kid, your temperature.” the redhead smiles down at you, removing her hand from your face.
“wait, you’re sick?” dennis walks up, eyeing the board as he does.
“she’s definitely coming down with something gross.” trinity retorts from her position still a yard or so away, looking at you like you’re a ticking time bomb of contagion.
it’s probably morning sickness, you think.
“fuck off,” you snap, well, as tough as you can despite the crack in your voice and the shiver down your spine, “i’m not contagious, trust me.”
the three of your colleagues watching your utter misery exchange looks as they hold back laughter.
“where’s the ducklings?” trinity refers to joy and oglivie.
“um, probably causing problems i’ll have to clean up.”
the clock ticks, the board updates.
chaos unfolds within mere seconds.
heavy footsteps echo as dana runs towards the little group thats accumulated.
“we’ve got a mvc 5 minutes out, it’s all hands on deck,” she’s rushing, going through all the paces of preparing for a massive trauma, her rapid gaze slows as it focuses on you, her brow quirks, “is she alright.”
cassie pulls a face, glancing down at you as more commotion fills the ED.
emma runs past carrying too much gauze, nearly slipping on the floor as she rounds a corner.
“i’m fine,” you able yourself to stand, holding back tears as a wave of pain shoots down your midsection, “totally fine.”
you briefly scan the ED, eyes landing on samira who’s saying goodbye to an older patient. she turns, eyes immediately landing on you as if she knew she was in your sights. her brows furrow, face growing taut with a look of concern you’ve seen on her many times before. she mouths a ‘are you okay?’ and you nod, a slow, steady motion as to now further nauseate yourself.
you attempt a smile, the curve dropping the second robby walks around the corner in a conversation with abbot.
“we need to talk.” you finally managed to get robby alone, albeit it’s the break room, but it’ll have to do.
he says your name, and it practically tears your heart in two.
“i can’t do this right now.” you want to scoff at his words.
“well when can you, especially considering you’re leaving tonight off to god knows where.” he’s been avoiding you for days, 3 whole days of acting uncomfortably professional whenever you interact. and can’t exactly confide in anyone about the breakup, no one even knew the the relationship to begin with.
excluding samira, and at least you could rely on her.
“its like you can’t even look at me,” you gesture towards him, watching how he evades eye contact, “case and point.”
“i have a patient to check on.”
“we always have patients to check on.”
robby stands, making his way to the door, still without glancing at your face.
“michael-,”
he says your name in a way that has you inhaling deeply, heart picking up and eyes growing glossy. you suck it up, it’s now or never.
“please, just listen.”
maybe it’s a stroke of luck, or maybe he’s just decided to pity you, but it’s a chance the minute his eyes meet yours.
“i’m pr-,”
“robby, we need you.” javadi pauses in the threshold, eyes wide and panicked. you don’t hesitate to step aside, making space for robby as he casts you a look you can’t quite read right before leaving.
there’s blood streaked across the white, tile floor. footprints trailing away from it, wheel tracks where gurneys had been moved. there isn’t much time to worry about that however as your hands are currently busy giving compressions.
you’re breathing heavy as you do so, trying to ignore a drop of sweat that dips through your brow and stings your eye. it’s cold, the ac is on high, you can feel the cool air on the back of your neck. although it’s doing nothing against the heat your body has built up.
you inhale, the thick smell of iron entering your nostrils and practically coating the inside of your mouth.
something tugs at your gut, then lower, a dull sensation rapidly beginning to cramp painfully.
“16 gauge bore iv going in,” that’s abbot, he’s to your right and although he’s inches away you think it could also be miles, your vision blurs, the sounds around you fade into a indistinct hum, “… .. ….”.
you think you hear your name, body faltering slightly as you miss the count of the compressions.
it’s louder, more demanding.
you blink, tasting lemon as your uterus attempts to tear itself from the front of your stomach when,
“are you alright, doctor,” is followed by your name, direct and mildly, by your own standards, irritated, “if you can’t manage-,”
“sorry?” you blink, heaving through what feel like failing lungs as sweat coats the back of your scrub top.
there’s so much motion in the patient room, blood dripping to the floor, attendings jumping in where they can, two med students huddled in the corner, langdon is across from you, eyes wide as he looks you up and down.
“are you alright?” you swallow at the question.
“yes.”
al-hashimi nods, diligent as ever but trusting in your resolve.
you decide against your prior answer.
“actually, no, someone take over.”
abbot is swift to take your place, casting you a concerned glance as you almost lose your balance taking a few steps back.
the pain roars, stabbing, crawling into your bones and planting itself.
you lean forward, willing yourself to take in air, not allow any more lack of oxygen to make the situation worse.
“what do we have in here?” robby.
he walks in, clearly rushing to gather any useful information as he snaps on a pair of gloves. you can’t even look his way, the slightest movement shooting aches across your lower body. you go to lean your back into the wall behind, rest your head at his heavy it’s grown, when something akin to pure agony rips through your midsection.
you let out a pained gasp, catching the divided attention of your fellow colleagues.
you hear robby speak, something questioning and worried. it doesn’t register, only the faded buzzing of the world around you as it all goes hazy.
“it’s extremely inappropriate.”
robby startles at the unexpected voice of al-hashimi behind him.
“excuse me?”
“your relationship.” she’s blunt, eyes focused on the way robby looks rather perturbed. he clears in his throat.
“it’s also not up for public opinion,” he states, arms crossing, “we don’t need to get personal to work well alongside each other.”
“she’s in her twenties.”
robby feels something in him sink a little. it’s a fact he knew, obviously, one that had kept him from you at the start.
“and she’s allowed to make her own des-,”
“i’m not done.” she doesn’t smile, in fact she looks more serious than he’s ever seen the woman.
“i had a friend in residency, same situation,” she beings to narrate, “but there was a serious power imbalance, and when he went down, he brought her with him.”
robby swallows, eyes casting towards his name badge.
“it’s inappropriate for a reason, and that feeling you have? it’s also for a reason.” she concludes, watching robby shift. he doesn’t look uncomfortable, more in a state of conflicting thoughts racing around his mind.
“food for thought.” her grin is tight and practiced before she walks away.
your vision goes black before you can think to brace for the fall.
you’re done. done with robby’s indifference, his hostility, his words. everything’s reached a boiling point you can’t come back from
“what the hell is wrong with you?”
are the first words out of your mouth the second robby approaches you by the lockers. the smile on his face is wiped clean off.
“sorry, i-,”
“no, don’t pull that confused bullshit,” you scoff, turning away from him so you can grab the multi colored owala you have stashed, “you know, i don’t know why i’m surprised.”
you feel a hand on your shoulder, a brief touch that makes your stomach tighten before you lurch to the side, shaking off the man’s gentle grip.
“can we not do this today? just tell me-,”
you don’t wait for his sentence finish, turning to face him with a expression that makes his tone falter, words stumbling.
“mommy issues?”
your eyes narrow, robby’s brows furrow, then his face shifts, realization. his mouth opens, you don’t let him get a word in.
“treating samira like a problem when the only issue here is your behavior.” you’re harsh, tone clipped as you stare at robby with the most disgust he’s seen, and especially never having been aimed at him.
you breathe heavy through your nose, eyes glossy like you’re holding back more frustration than that he can see.
“of all people, you, robby,” his name is spit out like its poison on your tongue, and hell maybe it is based on the look you’re leveling him with, “should know what it feels like.”
your locker shuts, you don’t slam it, above all your awareness always shines through. although it’s with a firm hand, one that shows restraint, giving robby an idea that if this wasn’t a crowded hospital, it would’ve been violently shut enough to knock its interior contents over.
you sigh, heavy, like you’ve decided something final. robby doesn’t like it one bit.
“it’s different,” he starts, and immediately wants to back track at the look you send him. complete disappointment, “my experience is different, i had it handled, she let it interfere with patient care.”
“she is a doctor, and a very good one.” you counter with. robby licks the back of his teeth.
“mistakes-,”
“happen,” you interject, tired. your head shakes, “but this wasn’t a mistake, and you were unjustifiably cruel.”
robby wants to retort but he comes up empty, mouth opening and closing like an idiot as you just stare, waiting for him to think of a logical response. he just can’t.
“what if it was me?” it’s a fairly low blow but you know he deserves it, something that will possibly reach him somewhere that will make him understand.
robby appears taken aback, eyes widening just a bit to let you know the words landed just where you wanted them too.
“that’s different.”
“there’s that word again,” you tone is utter defeat, unfortunately admitting to yourself that you knew that would be his response, no matter how much you wished it weren’t, “it’s not different.”
he goes to respond, you hold a hand up, silencing whatever he’s trying to say.
“it’s like you can’t allow someone to have a human reaction unless it’s yourself, like when you see yourself in someone else,” you pause, trying to calm your racing heart, the way your words begin to jumble, “you can’t deal with it! we all have struggles robby, would it kill you to have some empathy.”
his gaze drops.
“that’s the second time today someone’s said that to me.” he refers to a few hours ago when dr al-hashimi approached him.
you blink, slightly taken aback.
“so you’re telling me this is the second time you’re hearing this, and you still don’t get it?” you feel hopeless, as if no matter how much you explain it’ll all be fruitless.
you shift from one foot to the other, swallowing back your nerves that threaten to rise further.
a hand smoothes over your forehead for a second, soothing the growing headache, pressing into the lines across it.
robby goes for your hand again, and like several minutes prior, you pull away. robby reacts as if he’s been burned, face dropping as you now refuse to look into his eyes.
“we need space,” you choke, “i need space.”
you motion between your bodies, suddenly feeling trapped in the open hallway you stand in. robby’s throat bobs, one of his fists clench.
“i can’t be with someone who treats others like this, not right now at least.” you’ve decided, it’s final, and robby wants to find the nearest ledge. he grabs your forearm as you turn to leave, fingers wrapping around wrist like it’s the only way to keep you here with him.
“i’ll try, just give me a chance.”
your eyes meet his and finds himself releasing your arm the second they do. your gaze is hallow, you’re not looking at him with your usual love, affection. it’s all gone, replaced with indifference. he wants to puke, he can feel the bile rising in his throat, slowly choking him.
but instead he just watches you leave, stuck staring at the spot you once were.
a/n justice for samira i did NOT appreciate how she was spoken too.
you’ve worked night shift with jack for years now, so how come the one day he covers day shift for robby, you’re sitting in the waiting room with a nasty bruise on your midsection and a laceration across your cheek
jack abbot x f!reader
wc. 2k
rating. 18+
summary. jack chooses to ignore how his heart constricts when your hands brush, how your eyes meet his, especially when his fall to the wedding ring attached to a delicate, gold chain hanging right below the collar of your scrubs. however one moment can change everything and that proves true when he covers the day shift and finds you in the waiting room injured and with red, swollen eyes.
tags/warnings. MDNI protective jack abbot, afab!reader, blood, needles, inaccurate medical descriptions, mutual pining, age gap, (reader is mentioned as younger than jack), reader is referred to as “sweetheart”, resident!reader, talks of domestic violence, graphic violence, physical and emotional abuse, possible emotional affair between jack and reader, female pronouns, female anatomy
jack finds himself at your place in under 10 minutes, a feat only possible by speeding past multiple red lights.
its early, early enough that the rising sun casts a hazy glow across the parking lot, where jack finds himself immediately throwing the car into park and jumping out. his brain feels fuzzy, fingers trembling slightly as he approaches the apartment number he remembers you giving him.
there’s a few people out, some walking their dogs, the distant sound of the highway. following the walkway, jack finds himself freezing at the sight before him.
it’s you. sitting at the bottom of the outdoor staircase that leads up to your apartment. you’re looking down, a shadow across your face and obscuring your features.
jack immediately notes your clothes, still in your scrubs pants and undershirt, as if you’d just gotten home and still hadn’t had the chance to change. however he’s on edge at what he thinks is drops of red across the front of your top.
your eyes lift, clearly having felt a presence, and widen.
jack in front of you in seconds, hands out like he’s bracing for something, kneeling down on the concrete walkway where you sit.
he says your name, barely above a whisper. however the tone, the way it comes out like a plead tugs at your heart and brings a fresh set of tears to your eyes.
“sweetheart,” his voice breaks at the end, eyes scanning the entirety of you and focusing on your face. it’s littered with cuts, there’s large gash across the bridge of your nose, dried blood around your nostrils and upper lip. your cheeks are swollen, tear soaked and eyes heavy as you cast a glance down towards your hastily thrown on slippers, “what hurts?”
he doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, he knows it would be useless considering what he can already see. however he needs to know what’s worse, delegate priority to whatever’s giving you the most grief. although he isn’t ready for the choked sob that leaves your lips, and the way it utterly shatters what’s left of his already broken heart.
“everything.”
he shudders, eyes closing for a second at the way he can see blood coating your teeth, the struggle in the way the words left your lips. when your eyes meet again, his resolve has hardened.
“i’m taking you to the ED,” and although part of you wants to disagree, the rational part of you brain sees the look on jacks face, feels the extent of your injuries, and concedes, “we can handle the rest later.”
you nod, a slow, flinching movement following as something pulls at your collarbone.
you begin to stand, a hesitation in your sore muscles as you do so.
“let me… can i,” jack begins, words soft and careful against the night breeze. the look on his face cracks something behind your ribs, the way his face is devoid of anything positive, “can i please carry you.”
you, again, want to decline. keep any dignity you have left intact. but why feel that way? this is jack, you’ve spent a long time hiding this all from him, and now he knows the truth, he’s here, he came without hesitation the second you told him you needed help. there was nothing to shy away from anymore, especially from the one person you didn’t mind sharing everything with.
“okay,” and he’s bending down a bit, arms behind your knees and allowing you room to wrap your arms around his neck. it’s sweet, so much so you almost crack a smile at how gentle he’s being, how careful he thinks he has to be with you. it’s a stark difference to the treatment you’ve been facing head on for months now, “thank you.”
jack makes a noise at the back of his throat, something similar to reciprocity. his body is warm despite the chill of the early morning, arms sturdy around your body as he keeps you tight to his chest.
“no need to thank me.” it’s humble, so so jack. despite the fact he drove to you even when he just got off work and had to be exhausted.
you sigh against him, eyes shutting as you fall into a brief moment of peace. the safety of the man holding you allowing you a reprieve.
“yes i do.” it’s muffled into his shirt, but he catches it. he latches onto every word you speak, heart running a million miles and no longer caring if you can feel it. it beats for you, fueled by his utmost desire to keep you safe, bring you away from those who would case you pain, anger.
he tries not to think about the fact that right up that staircase he found you on, was the person who caused you this harm. the man. the only driving motivation for his current state is his love for you being stronger than his hate for another.
“thankfully the cut of your nose is superficial, it’ll just need a bandage for a few days,” cassie starts, sitting on the edge of your bed and looking like she’s been bared witness to a sight she never wanted to see. her brows are pinched together, staring at you with this unreadable expression, “however, you have a broken collarbone, and hairline fracture in your left wrist, not including the 13 cuts that, in addition, are thankfully superficial.”
jack exhales a breath he’s practically been holding since he sat you in a wheelchair and brought you into the ED.
“what the hell happened?” robby ran up to the two of you, clear panic written across his face.
which was then followed by dana, samira, and several other residents with questions an concerns you didn’t know how to articulate without giving away details you weren’t comfortable with sharing just quite yet.
jack positioned himself at your side, like a guard dog ready to strike, arms crossing over his chest.
“let’s leave the questions until after she gets treated, alright?” and that was that, jack brushing off his colleagues and wheeling you into the nearest available room.
you let out a gasp as you shift, face scrunching up as more of your adrenaline begins to fade. jack grabs your hand, thumb soothing over your knuckles.
cassie exchanges a look with the older man, nodding to herself as she casts you one more glance.
“i’ll get you some medication for the pain.”
“thanks, cass.” you smile, a smile but genuine one at the redhead as she leaves the room.
jack is quick to take over the spot where she was just sat, continuing to caress the back of your hand.
“i’m sorry for calling you,” are the first words out of your mouth, catching jack off balance, he looks like you’ve just personally offended him, “it’s just, i didn’t know who el-,”
“never apologize for calling me, or needing me,” he’s dead serious, an expression so raw it makes you shy away, warmth spreading across your face, “i’ll always come if you’re the one calling.”
and you know it’s the truth, in the way he’s looking at you, how his grip on your hand is grounding yet delicate.
“i shouldn’t have gone home, you were right,” you look to his hand on yours, “i feel so stupid.”
“don’t, none of this is your fault.” jack responds, voice so sure you start to really believe it.
“he just got so angry, and he usually does but-,”
“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY WIFE?!”
you freeze, eyes going wide as a familiar screaming voice reverberates through the hall right outside the room you’re currently in. jack immediately understands what’s happened, who’s shouting. commotion follows outside.
“please, i can’t deal with this right now.”
“and you don’t have too,” jack is sure in his resolve,” stay here.” and jack is reluctantly releasing your hand, casting you a troubled glance as he exits.
jack finds a predictable scene unfolding by the nurses station. a man is still shouting expletives, thrashing as staff attempt to calm him down and get straight answers. it only seems to enrage him further. ahmad is running up the commotion, preparing to psychically restrain the man as jack appears swiftly.
ahmad goes to grab the outraged man’s arm, nearly falling backward as he tosses his arm back and shakes his grip off.
“sir-,”
“if you’re just here to cause problems, you’ll need to leave.” jack says to the man.
their eyes meet, jack doesn’t falter, expression hard.
your husband stumbles, clearly having been drinking.
“are you the guy she’s been fucking?” the words only anger jack, gasps ringing out as people stop to stare at the escalating situation.
“excuse me?”
jack spits out, ready to defend your honor when a fist is suddenly flying at his face. he esmanages to narrowly avoid it, allowing the man to trip over his own feet slam into the wall.
“that bitch,” is slurred as he tries to regain his wits, only to get the wind knocked out of him as ahmad grabs his arms from behind and keeps him pressed to the wall, “you can keep her.” and jack wants to watch the bloody smirk on his face crumble as his fist collides with it. wants to hear bones crunch beneath his hand, but he just breathes, taking a step back so security can escort him out.
his finds himself back in your room after assuring the ED would remain a safe place for you to stay. you’re now laying down, eyes on you ceiling.
“he’s gone.”
“i’m sorry.”
jack blinks, caught off guard. he’s hesitant to sit beside you, the urge to take your hand in his overwhelming.
“what could you possibly be sorry for?” he’s genuinely confused, staring at you like your apologize was a personal offense.
“everything,” you scoff, like it’s obvious, “involving you in all of this, my mess-,”
“for the record, you didn’t involve me, i chose this,” he doesn’t mean to cut you off, however he can’t stand on the look on your face. the way you keep trying to blame yourself, your eyes find his, “but, what he said..,” he trails off, watching your eyes widen.
it’s not impossible to think you heard the yelling, considering how close it was happening. jack takes the pause in conversation to take a seat on the bed, waiting for you to give him a sign you’re uncomfortable, you don’t.
“i know, there’s other ways to be unfaithful,” jack feels his heart stutter at your words, your eyes shine with tears, “the only moments i’ve been happy are the ones you’ve been involved in.”
your hand bumps his, fingers trembling like your worried he’ll reject it. he’s quick, hands latching to yours and thumb immediately caressing the back of it in gentle, firm movements.
the silence is welcomed, warm and inviting. he doesn’t choose to acknowledge the lack of the ring around your necklace, it speaks volumes on its own.
your hand stays clasped with his. words are unneeded as of now, a conversation is due, however how the two of you just enjoy the peace. the knowledge that even if there’s bumps, the path is smoother than it’s ever been before.
Could you do a Cassie McKay x fem reader where Cassie is absolutely a biter (if you want to do some smut too if you’re comfortable woahhhh) and one day reader is on a shift with Javadi and McKay when Javadi notices a bite on reader and freaks out because “human bites can be so germ ridden and how did you not report being bit or attacked” and McKay has to be like “.. it’s okay.. no she wasn’t attacked..”
f*ck cassie mckay x f!reader
victoria javadi is normally good at minding her business, however she’s motivated to speak up after seeing a fairly deep bite mark on your shoulder blade
cassie mckay x f!reader
rating. 18+
synopsis. cassie’s a biter, which ends up metaphorically biting you in the ass when a certain intern notices.
tags/warnings. SMUT, MDNI the whole fic is not smut however several parts are, graphic sex, descriptive depiction of sex, lesbian sex, reader is afab, reader has a vagina and breasts, fingering r!receiving, biting, bleeding during sex, cassie is highkey possessive, slight bottom reader/top cassie, pet names, reader is a resident and younger than cassie, non descriptive possible age gap?
SMUT BELOW, DONT INTERACT IF YOU DONT WANT TO READ ABOUT SEX, BECAUSE THERE’S A LOT OF DETAIL
“how’s that?” cassie’s breath is hot on the back of your neck as she speaks, tingles trickling down your spine as goosebumps rise in their wake. the words are whispered into your molten skin, her lips following with a sweet kiss to flesh of your shoulder.
your elbows wobble, wrists aching as they slowly struggle to hold your increasingly exhausted body.
you attempt a reply, lips falling open only for your brain to short circuit when cassie twists her grip on you. something sounding akin to a broken whine leaving your throat.
cassie chuckles against you, it’s a deep sound that spills into your gut and warms your core.
“i didn’t quite catch that,” your knees crease further into the bed as the front of cassie presses into your back, the fabric of her sports bra against your spine, the cold metal of her chain occasionally swinging down to nip with ice at your sweat spotted skin, “wanna run that by me again?”
god, you can feel the smirk in her tone, the way she’s using her weight to push you further into the sheets, the heat of one of her hands digging into your naked hip.
“come on baby,” it’s begging in a way that has your eyes falling shut as her dominant hand finds the apex between your thighs, slightly rough finger tips softly parting your folds like she knows her way around, thumb coming up to press deliciously against your clit. that has your back twisting her hold, face screwing up as the woman only snickers, “oh yeah, that’s the spot, huh?”
“cass-,” your breathy call of her name is cut off by a guttural moan as two of her fingers find your hole, gingerly pressing into it as your body pushes back in time to meet the movement of her hand. your hips roll instinctively, hissing between your teeth as the sensation of being stuffed replaces the almost primal need from moments before, “oh, please.”
cassie smiles from behind you, some gorgeous, dark red locks falling into her face as she leans fully in to practically fold you into the mattress. the grip on your hip tightens, her blunt nails digging into your skin in a way you know will leave a mark. just in time to replace the old yellow of a bruise fading from a few days ago.
you swallow harshly, breasts falling forward into the soft comforter of cassie’s bed, cheek squishing into the pillow you’d use when you slept over.
“you’re dripping down your thighs,” it’s dirty, the way her tone makes you clench around her fingers, groaning heavily as the wet sounds from your pussy seem to meld with cassie’s deep breathing, “guess i’ll have to clean you up after.”
you hum, giggly at the physical euphoria of your nearing orgasm, and the way cassie is now pressing kisses into the expanse of your back.
“so gorgeous,” her free hand releases your hip to move around your body, finding your chest. she kneads at the plump flesh for a second before her thumb and forefinger attach themselves to your nipple, rolling the pert bud back and forth. the extra stimulation sends your heart racing, legs attempting shut only to be forced open by a scrub pant clothed knee. she tuts, as if you should know better by now, “can you feel that?”
her fingers are switching between hooking up into your g spot and scissoring, thumb pressing firm circles into your sensitive clit as it throbs beneath the motion. you can feel her lick up your shoulder blade, pausing and pulling back as her hands continue their steady work.
“you’re gripping my fingers,” she murmurs beside your ear, lips briefly touching the shell of it. you squirm, shallow breathing hitching, “who’s all this for?”
it’s a rhetorical question you always know the answer too.
“you.” you can sense the way cassie is looking down at you, it’s a look you’d gotten wet too far too many times before. your eyes squeeze tighter shut, picturing that exact image. her brows pulled down, lips tight in a straight line with that little curve at one side, the darkness of her eyes, the way her pupils enlarge and she swallows back the way her mouth waters at the sight of you. it’s an expression you especially enjoy when you’re on your back, the woman looking up at you from between your legs, tongue out and face wet as you practically ride her face.
cassie doesn’t bother to comment just then, only speeding up the motion of her fingers on your pussy as she suckles at the side of your neck. you whine, mouth falling open as you feel your orgasm approaching like a tidal wave. cassie seems to feel it as well, you can tell by the desperation in her actions.
“i can’t wait to have my mouth on you,” you wish you could see her face, “my pretty girl.”
your orgasm hits you as your legs collapse, allowing cassie to hold the lower part of you up as you body falls into unadulterated pleasure. you don’t care to cover your mouth as a silent scream leaves it, a bit of drool collecting on the pillow you lay on.
cassie’s unfortunately clothed breasts press into your lower back again, pelvis grinding into your ass as her teeth scrape across the skin of your shoulder.
you brace, a chill running down your limbs, maybe from exhaustion or because you know what comes next. you blink, slightly delirious as teeth are sinking into your flesh. you whine, feeling what you think must be a fine rivet of blood trailing down you skin. cassie’s thumb is quick to wipe it away, whispering sweet nothings as she begins to flip you over.
your thoughts begin to come back to you as cassie is busy lowering herself to the floor, knees thudding against the carpet as a cool breeze passes your core, legs opening as two warm palms push them to the side. a single, harsh yet soft word leaves your lips as you allow yourself to sink back into the blanket beneath you, cassie’s tongue making quick word on the mess between your thighs.
“fuck!”
“crap!” dennis shrieks as the patients artery ruptures, blood spraying from the exterior wound and hitting both you and the wall behind. fortunately the patient is sedated, completely unaware of the current predicament as robby runs in to access where he can help.
your mouth is shut tight to keep any blood from getting in it, making quick work of the injury thankfully no longer bleeding as you pack the wound and apply firm pressure, eyes scanning up to the monitor that slowly adjusts to a normal rhythm.
“73 bpm, that’s good,” you say, stating the obvious but finding it difficult to think as well as normal with the amount of red coating you. dennis gives you a look of sympathy, “i do think he bled a little though.”
robby’s snorts at the exasperated look on your face and the matter of fact tone to your joke, shaking his head and he exits the room to the call of his name.
“think you can cover while i change?” dennis is quick to nod, taking over your position while you snap off your gloves and toss them in the waste bin.
you pass a few wide eyes at your very crimson appearance, searching for an empty bathroom of patient room that seems to turn up out of the question. you breath a humorless chuckle, glancing towards the break room as it seems to be the only option left available.
the door swings open with little resistance, tired legs carrying you in. victoria sits at the one table in the room, scrolling on her phone as she sips at what you think is a fruit smoothie of some kind.
“that your lunch?” she looks up, placing her phone face down, expression dropping as her eyes look you up and down.
“uh, i made a sandwich but i forgot it… are you good?” you laugh, head shaking as you make your way to the backpack you left a few hours ago on the two seater couch.
“there’s worse things to be covered in.” you say, rifling though the bag as you come up with a clean, long sleeved top to replace the now dirty one under your scrubs.
“that’s, very true.” victoria shudders, her face scrunching it that disgusted look that you always got a kick out of. you lift the shift into the air a bit, holding it up so javadi can see.
“you mind if i change? don’t worry in wearing a bra.” you ask, smiling as she laughs.
“yeah, i am a doctor after all, so, yeah.” she laugh to herself, nodding down towards her smoothie. you lick at the back of your teeth at the sticky sensation of blood drying on your skin, making your way towards the skin. it’s an easy wash thankfully, most of it having stuck to you scrubs and under shirt.
a few crumpled paper towels lay in the trash bin as you begin to pull off your scrub top. followed by your long sleeve, careful to stay out of the line of sight where the small window on the break room door is.
just as you’re ready to fold up the now ruined grey shirt in your hands, a gasp rings out, your back straightening at the sudden noise.
“what?” you flip around, now facing victoria who looks like she’s witnessed a crime, one hand over her heart. she stands, not bothering to push away her chair that clatters as she shuffles around the table towards you.
you step back, eyes wide.
“uh, victoria?” you laugh, brows pinching together at the concern she leveling you with.
“did a patient attack you?” she’s whispering yelling it, as if the commotion of medical staff running around outside could possibly hear anything.
you jaw goes slack a bit, mouth shutting as you search for a reason for the younger woman’s sudden out of the blue question.
“um, i don’t-,” you attempt to tell her you have no clue what she’s talking about, only to be cut off when the door opens.
“oh,” you recognize that voice, eyes glancing over to land on cassie who’s wearing that half amused smirk of hers, “did i interrupt?”
you know she’s teasing based on the way she kicks the door shut behind her and heads for the fridge. however her words don’t seem to reach javadi.
“if a patient bit you, we need to report it,” that gets your attention, the way she’s clearly now frantically going over in her head what to do. you take in the way cassie pauses mid chug on her gatorade, “oh my-, you could get all kinds of diseases!”
now you’re just confused, until cassie interrupts by approaching, confusion and worry taking over her expression of contentment from seconds before.
“bite?”
victoria nods, “look!”
and she’s ushering you to turn around, which you comply after a few moments of hesitation. you want to roll your eyes before you hear what sounds like a snort come from the redhead to your left.
“oh, that mark..,” she’s trying to hold it in so badly despite the look on her face you just want to wipe off, especially the way she’s avoiding any and all eye contact with you, “she’s fine.”
victoria gawks.
“um, actually, she’s probably not-,”
“no, it’s an old wound, it’s all good.”
“it’s red, and those are recent bruising patterns-,”
“victoria!” you smile, flipping around and laying both hands on her shoulders. you pray she doesn’t notice the way your face has gathered some warmth.
“should we repor-,” you shush her in the calmest, most adult way you can, eyes shutting as you purse you lips and shake your head solemnly.
“it’s alright, just do me a favor and tell no one.” she pauses as you stare her down, smiling like all of this is normal, like you’re still not half naked and sweating like crazy.
slowly but surely, she nods, eye cassie who just continues to look like she’s seconds from folding over in laughter.
“okay, i trust your judgment,” she seems to have forgotten she was on her lunch break as she simply grabs her phone and makes a swift exit, peeking through the threshold as she leaves, “i’m gonna check on that head lac in 6.”
the door shuts behind her, echoing throughout the room as cassie nudges you with her elbow.
“that’s so embarrassing for you,” she chuckles, face slightly pink and absolutely cheesing as she nonchalantly eyes your exposed cleavage. she lets out a little umph when you shove her, “technically, i’m your superior.”
your eyes roll, “oh yeah, superior idiot.”
“rude, just be glad she didn’t see your thighs.”
a/n requests open as always
taglist - i won’t be tagging anyone for smut fics, sorry but i can’t confirm who is of age and i don’t want to tag anyone under 18 for an adult fic… thanks for understanding
Could you do a fic with Jack abbot and the fluff prompt “I just want you safe”? With a nurse that works in the Pitt! We all know how dangerous being a nurse can be
bad company jack abbot x f!nurse!reader
getting stabbed at work isn’t ideal, thankfully it’s just an unused iv needle, not so thankfully, jack reacts badly.
jack abbot x f!reader
wc. idk im sorry it’s not long tho
rating. 18+
synopsis. you’ve done a million iv’s, more than all the doctors combined. however it just takes one patient with an aggressive streak to mess up a nice day
tags/warnings.MDNI, blood, needles, medical inaccuracies, patient assaults nurse, injury, jack gets a little violent, reader cries, fluff, yearning, protective!jack, angry jack, jack just wants you to be okay, readers a nurse, female reader, she/her pronouns, female anatomy
requested? yes
“i’ve been in this room 3 hours.” the man laying before you grumbles. you nod absentmindedly, trying to acknowledge the man’s feelings while remaining neutral.
“i’m aware sir, and i’m sorry.” you’re not sure what else to say. as a nurse, you’ve experienced your fair share of rude, entitled patients. you usually make an allowance for them. tell yourself they’re in pain, they’ve been waiting hours. even if they’re being unreasonable, you stay pleasant.
the man just mutters something under his breath before shifting his weight so he’s closer to the edge of the bed where your stool is.
“it’s unreasonable.” you nod again, placing tubing on the table beside the bed. the sweat on the pads of your fingers stick to the latex of your gloves.
“i agree.”
“and now i need an iv?” for the third time, you nod.
“yes, did dr abbot explain this process to you?”
the man squints like he’s trying to place a name to a face, “uh, yeah.”
“alright well, which arm would you prefer?” the man glances down, seemingly conflicted before rolling up his right sleeve. you can tell it’s his default arm for blood drawls and such, especially with how the vein protrudes.
“great, you’ll receive fluids through here, and what makes it convenient is we can also use it to draw any blood we may need from you.” your explanation is simple but easy for the regular person to understand, a sentence you’ve given to so many patients you can’t even remember all the faces of. you smile at the man as you rip open a sterile package of an alcohol wipe, rubbing firm circles on the crease of his arm.
“how long until those tests, the ones that um-,”
“dr abbot.”
“yeah, when do i get those? i need to get back to work.” you level him with a look of confusion.
“sir you have a head injury, you’ll have to be on observation for several more hours,” you speak as though he could be set off any moment, noticing the way his jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, “however we can get you some water, juice, a snack if you’re hungry?”
now you’re placating against the tidal wave of slow boiling frustration you feel beginning to radiate from the man.
“can we cut that time in half?” he breathes out, like he’s trying to soothe his annoyance, you appreciate it despite the anxious coil wrapping around your stomach. you know how fast things can escalate, you’ve experienced it first hand. just be polite, keep him calm.
“that would have to be a question for the doctor, i’m sorr-,”
“yeah bullshit,” you’re taken aback, visibly shocked at the sudden change in language from the man, “if you’d been in here 3 hours ago, i’d be home by now.”
you want to scoff, but the professional in you swallows it down to instead respond with a tight lipped smile.
“i’m very sorry about that,” you breath, “if you let me get this iv in i’ll try to hurry this whole process up.” you say that like you can control any of this, but if it relaxes the man, you’ve done the best you can.
“fine.” you think its settled, you think he’s realized he’s being unreasonable and will now act decent.
the man is still for a minute as he lays back down and you hold the needle intended for him at an angle. a million times, you must’ve done this a million times. but as the needle is inches from pale skin, the man lunges, hands out, pushing, one flies up into yours, knocking into your palm and lower arm so harshly you’re set backwards to the wall.
then he’s screaming, how you didn’t tell him you were about to use the needle, how big the needle is, asking how incompetent you could possibly be. you’re stunned, maybe by the force of the push, maybe because he just put his hands on you and you can’t even figure out what you do wrong.
there’s an echoing clink of metal rings as the curtain behind the open glass door he’s shoved aside.
“what in the fuck.” there’s a familiar drawl to the voice, one you’ve heard at the softest of times, whispering sweet words into your ears at the early hours of dawn, it’s different, now twisted and enraged.
you’re wobbling to a stand as a pair of hands steady you from the side. shen.
“woah, hey-,” ellis’s voice joins the party, panicked and as shoes squeak across the waxed floor, breathing heavy and you realize the man is still yelling and pointing at you when suddenly there’s this noise like a shuffle, your gaze shoots up.
your eyes are wide as you eyes fall on the patient right in time for his body to be thrown backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. that seems to shut him up.
jack approaches, fists clenched.
“you like that being done to you? nah, didn’t think so,” you should be worried about the fact that he’s just physically assaulted a patient who already has a head injury, however all you manage is a awkward wince as you raise your hand, “parker, get security in here, now.”
“ow, geez,” shen comments from his place still keeping you on your feet, even though you’re no longer dizzy, “blessings of this job i guess.”
your once normal hand is now skewed, a 20 gauge needle protruding from the middle of your still gloved palm. the little pink plastic at the end mocking you.
“jesus,” jack is rounding the bed, ignoring the complaints from the patient now slumped against the floor, “does it hurt?”
he discreetly shoos shen away, but you don’t miss the way he steps into his place, eyes on yours as he angles your chin up to meet his.
“um, is it weird to say not really?” you try to laugh, attempting to lighten the mood. jack doesn’t crack a smile, although you don’t miss the way his eyes soften considerably. the patient groans, throaty and irritated as security steps into the room with ellis, her arms crossed.
“you’ve got this?” jack doesn’t turn back for her to know he’s speaking to her.
“oh yeah.” her eyes pan to the man on the ground, expression hard. you can hear security and shen hauling the man to his feet as jack guides you from the room, practically blocking the entire view of your attacker.
lena exchanges a look with jack as he brings you into an empty patient room.
“scale of one to ten?” as you sit on the edge of the cot, face a tad pinched as the dull ache in your hand begins to set in.
you hum, thinking.
“solid 2,” you grin up at jack who’s already grabbed all the necessary supplies to help you, “this could’ve been so much worse if i’d already stuck him.”
you knew you weren’t the only one who had a fear of dirty needles, and thankfully, you’d gotten lucky this time.
“i don’t want to think about worse, this shouldn’t have happened to begin with.” and he’s right as he rips open some antiseptic, moving to sit before you.
“it happens.” you shrug.
“well, it shouldn’t.” jack responds, voice sharp despite the look of defeat on his features. you want to pull him in, settling for placing your non injured hand in his knee. his hand clasps over yours, its larger, more callused.
“i just want you safe.” his eyes meet yours, words coming out with breath you worry that he’s been holding since he separated the patient from you.
“i’m as safe as i can be right now.” you laugh, staring at the war vet across from you. his lips curve up at that, head tilting back it that cocky jack way.
“damn straight.” he says it like a promise you, and you believe him.
A/N sorry it’s so short. i’ve been so busy but i still want to get some fics out, also happy valentine’s day 💋
“you broke your arm?!” he’s staring at the purple cast on your arm like it’s an affront to his entire legacy. you huff, attempting to stifle a laugh.
“yeah, that’s why i’m her-,”
his pointer finger flies up like he has a point to make. to silence you? to emphasize his point maybe? all it does is grow your smile.
“you broke your arm,”
“dennis-,”
“and drove here?!” he looks like he’s seconds away from an aneurysm. a shade of red flushing his skin a color you’ve never seen.
“yes, because it didn’t hurt that much-,”
“most likely from adrenaline and considering i tell you over and over how much you can rely on me and just call me, no matter the reason, you drive with a broken arm?!”
“stop interrupting me!” you’re quick to shush him, never mind the way his voice has risen and you’re still in the ED. you can see it on his face, the panic, the fear, the way his tone is clipped.
his lips form a tight line, eyes red and quickly becoming increasingly glossy as his gaze falls to his shoes. it cracks something in your chest, bringing you to your feet so you can cradle one side of his face with your available hand.
“don’t-,” he stutters, soft and docile unlike seconds ago when you were sure he’d actually lose it for once, “don’t strain yourself.”
his hand comes up to cup around the back of yours, bringing your finger tips towards his lips so he can sneak in a peck. the touch tickles you, eyes finding his as you attempt to calm his still erratic breathing.
“my legs aren’t broken.” that makes dennis’s eyes fall shut, a shaky breath leaving his lips. he doesn’t want to think about the horrible image you just put in his head.
“i’m sorry that i yelled.” his eyes find yours again.
“you didn’t.”
“i didn’t mean to raise my voice.” you smile at that.
“i know.” he’s so sweet in the kisses he’s continued to press to your fingers, soft and lingering between words. a delicate touch of affection he was far too shy to share even up until recently.
“i just,” he sighs like the words hurt to think, like saying them out loud is wrong and more harmful than good, “when trinity told me you were here-,”
he pauses again, cupping your free hand in his and moving you back slightly so you can sit against the bed. he’s in his scrubs like he normally is, the fabric tight against his biceps as he grabs the stool behind him and drags it between his legs so he can lower to your level, face to face.
his brows are worried together, and you have to fight the instinctual response to run your thumb across the skin and smooth away his concern.
“she didn’t tell me what it was, just that you’d been here for awhile, because she thought i already knew.” your hand grabs at his again, pulling it into your lap as his grip tightens at your touch.
“i didn’t want to worry you,” you say it, feeling a little silly that you didn’t immediately contact your boyfriend who happened to be a doctor, and right around the corner, “i also felt a little stupid.”
“it’s such a silly injury, the least i could’ve gotten is something cool.” you attempt to lighten the mood, all it does it make this queasy look fall across dennis’s face. he pales slightly, his free hand lifting to scrub across his face while the other grips your hand in his like any second you’d disappear.
“please,” it’s muffled behind his palm, “god, don’t stay that.” he sounds like what you said has physically hurt him, like he’s bleeding across the pristine white of the hospital. your heart skips in tune with his pleading.
his hand falls, beautiful eyes landing on yours with a look of forlorn you can’t help the way your eyes widen.
“don’t say that, i never want you getting hurt,” he sounds so serious is sets something inside you aflame, “it makes me sick to think about, so please?”
you can’t promise him you’ll never get hurt again, it’s a given life comes with its fair share of hurdles. however the look his giving you makes you think maybe it’s possible. you glance at his lips, then your intertwined fingers.
you smile at him like he hasn’t spent the past half hour since finding out you were here in absolute emotional agony.
“okay, but you’ll sign my cast right?” you want to run your fingers through the curls of his growing mullet as his eyes roll. although he just stands, not for one second releasing your hand as he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead.
“of course baby.” is spoken into your skin.
A/N not proof read! just a little blurb while i work on other, longer fics
you’ve worked night shift with jack for years now, so how come the one day he covers day shift for robby, you’re sitting in the waiting room with a nasty bruise on your midsection and a laceration across your cheek
pt 2 here
jack abbot x f!reader
wc. 9k
rating. 18+
summary. jack chooses to ignore how his heart constricts when your hands brush, how your eyes meet his, especially when his fall to the wedding ring attached to a delicate, gold chain hanging right below the collar of your scrubs. however one moment can change everything and that proves true when he covers the day shift and finds you in the waiting room injured and with red, swollen eyes.
tags/warnings. MDNI protective jack abbot, afab!reader, blood, needles, inaccurate medical descriptions, mutual pining, age gap, (reader is mentioned as younger than jack), reader is referred to as “sweetheart”, resident!reader, talks of domestic violence, graphic violence, physical and emotional abuse, possible emotional affair between jack and reader, female pronouns, female anatomy
requested? no
jack abbot can remember the day he met you, just a young second year resident transferring to PMTC due to budget cuts. you were still learning, eager with a passion he used to possess, before it became routine, steady. you’d shown up with a notepad that by the end of the way hadn’t been touched once, forgotten in your locker along with a half eaten granola bar. the minor bruise on your cheek, running into a mounted cabinet you’d informed.
he knew it must’ve been difficult, suddenly tossed into a new environment, with new challenges, people who already were accustomed to each other. however he took notice in the way you didn’t waver, chin held high and shoulders back, no matter how often that night he swore he saw your bottom lip wobble. you were resilient, something he admired greatly and found himself drawn too even on the most desolate of nights.
jack could also recount the exact moment you became something more than his favorite resident and trusted colleague, something special.
he’d found himself on the roof, not yet beyond the barrier yet gripping it as if he’d cross any moment, if he decided as much. the sun had began fading into the horizon, the soft, orange glow of morning bright against the overwhelming dimness jack felt festering in his gut.
it was then that the door to the roof screeched in protest against rusty hinges as someone pushed past. a pause as jack pondered if robby had sought him out yet again.
“dr abbot.” you, with your gentle tone that threatened to tug jack over the buildings side. his mind swam, struggling against the tide.
he could hear how your shoes approached, the squeak of the soles so pristine and new. a mark of the shift last thursday when your last pair had been made a vomit mat by a young girl with the flu.
he wasn’t sure if you’d been looking for him or simply decided you wanted to watch the sunrise, maybe both if by coincidence. you appeared in his peripheral, eyes focused ahead mirroring his own watchful gaze of the city.
“tonight was rough,” you spoke, calm, in control. he appreciated that about you, your professionalism and how you knew when to put it to use, and right then he felt properly doctored. he wanted to agree, nod, although he found himself quiet, urging you silently to continue, “it’s always rough.”
if that wasn’t the truth he didn’t know what was. you hummed low in your throat, and jack swore he could sense your next move as you glanced towards the side of his face.
“dr abbot, why do you come to the roof so often?” ah, so you’d noticed, and of course you had. always so perceptive.
he kept his eyes on the horizon of buildings, willing himself to think of an answer.
“why did you become a doctor?” he answers with a question, finally tearing his eyes away from the view to take in the woman standing a few feet away. you probably felt as exhausted as you looked. eye bags heavy beneath slightly red eyes, the look you’d get when he knew you were already clocking out and bidding everyone goodbye. he’d seen the very same on his own face many years before you came into the picture.
you don’t seem bothered by his question, eyes however deviating from his to dance around, probably searching for a response. you’re always quick when a trauma comes in, firing off directions, on the go with medications, prepared and agile and ready. but he pocketed in the recess of his mind how you’d hesitate to answer questions outside of the ER, thoughtful and important, like the words you put out there mattered.
“i don’t know.” is something he isn’t expecting to hear, no life story, no long explanation of how it was your calling, all things he’s heard and respected.
and its final, your indecisive decisiveness, no bother the oxymoron. it was a tad refreshing, hearing someone so sure be just a bit unprepared for once.
jack decides he can reward your candor, sighing like giving any piece of him away will spell doom.
“sometimes i think about crossing the barrier and,” his pause means more than words could allow, a deep set line between his brows pushing together when your breathing stutters, possibly something akin to concern, “this job can get to you.”
he doesn’t have to continue for you to understand the silent storm behind his eyes, emotions you’re far too aware of.
jack watches with batted breath he doesn’t know how to exhale as you shift from one foot to other before looking back to him. you don’t look at him with pity, no, there’s something different hidden in your gaze, something that twists his stomach.
“my intern year we had a suicide attempt brought in, benzos from his aunts medicine cabinet,” you waver, lashes fluttering like you’re just now reliving the memory. your hands tuck into your colombia zip up, shoulders rising and falling like a deep breath that can’t help but be seen. you turn towards the barrier, leaning forward so that your stomach presses gently to it, “16 year old, was being physically abused by his uncle.”
jack doesn’t speak, he listens.
“they got sole custody when he was 11, parents passed in a head on collision,” its awful, and jack can tell it must’ve left a steep mark on your soul if it’s something you can recall so vividly. he’s had those patients, the ones that leave behind burn marks and cause your faith to slip just a bit further down then the last, “poor kid barely lived, all he knew was suffering.”
you sound like you did when jack first met you, the underlying fear that came with realizing lives were in your hands.
“that was my first loss as a doctor,” the light behind your eyes has dimmed just so slightly, and jack can tell you’re reliving a moment you’d long since buried. he knows because he’s been exactly where you are, it’s like looking in a mirror, “i see his face every time i fall asleep.”
it lands in jack’s chest with a dull thud, aching at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the sound of grief.
“it’s true when they say it doesn’t get any easier.” you concede, nodding towards the rising sun like it understands your plight.
silence fills the space between you and jack, a comfortable silence that stretches across the roof. where the two of you stand together, enjoying the way the morning air gradually grows warmer.
“worse if it did.” jack replies, there’s no room for interpretation in his words, just truth.
“the good cases don’t change the bad one, but they remind us why we’re doing this,” you’re sure in your words, and jack isn’t confident if you’re comforting him or just talking to keep him occupied, like if you were to stop he’d end up on the pavement, “and sometimes we just really need that reminder to cement.”
you were wise, in a way jack saw in how you spoke to patients, their families. something that not only comes with time but also from who you are as a person.
“you don’t need to talk me down,” jack speaks, his voice fatigued and quiet, “if anything, the thought of my team scraping me off the tarmac is reason enough.”
it’s morose, he can see the way your face seems to pinch at the picture he’s painted for you.
the subtle warmth of having another body near grows as you shuffle closer, shoulders a few inches away.
“maybe i ought to come up here more often.” it’s posed as an open ended idea, although jack can pick up on the finality in your voice. he finds a himself allowing the tug on his lips to pull into a smile, chin bobbing as he nods. your throat clears.
“as long as you don’t mind the company, dr abbot.”
“jack.”
“what?” your eyes scan the side of his face, searching.
jack turns to face you, that smile still lingering on his lips as he leans into the barrier.
“colleagues that hassle me this much usually call me jack.” it’s a tease on his tongue, a hint of mirth behind his gaze.
you’ve spoken his name before, when his presence has been absent, talking to lena or on the off chance dana. even in conversations with robby. although you always found yourself back at dr abbot, feeling a line you’d rather not cross unless the man himself allowed as much.
“alright,” your teeth show as you smile, light, comfortable, “as long as you follow your own advice and address me the same.”
jack holds your gaze, the two of you drenched in the hazy sunrise, simply allowing the accumulated stress to melt away from the night. he notices your free hand playing with the badge clipped to your scrub pants. the picture is of you a few months ago, wearing the same smile.
you’re nothing short of breathtaking, and jack can acknowledge that as the sun casts rays across your face. he’d noticed since the day you’d shook his hand, face hopeful. he wasn’t blind, he could see it even behind the layer of night shift grim and fatigue, the way your eyes would sparkle. he’d always considered himself a steadfast man, firm in his ideals and grateful for what he was given.
in spite of all that that held jacks self control, he found himself ready to allow you to tear down his walls. the gorgeous young doctor that cared far too much for her own good, and for some reason sought to confront a war torn veteran in his silent qualms.
“i should get going,” you pull at the last word, like you’re contemplating not heeding it and saying with jack in silence, “especially before robby pulls up on that godforsaken donor-cycle.” it’s cynical, an ill-mannered joke that pokes at the bruise of his friends habit of forgoing a helmet. he chuckles, allowing your crude attempt at humor to erode at something resembling hesitation within his chest.
“i’ll see you tomorrow, or tonight, dr-, jack.” it’s a messy sentence of corrections that cause you to huff, and if jack were to observe your mannerisms any harder he thinks he’d notice the way you seem to fluster beneath his gaze. that being said, your embarrassment is endearing to the older man.
“get some rest, knowing our luck shit will hit the fan.” he’s serious beside the way he placates it for the sole reason you’d once mentioned that thinking bad things will happen before they do is bad juju. whatever that means.
“i expect you to do the same.” you know how jack is, always worried about everyone but himself. he shakes his head like the idea of resting is humorous, casting a glance back at your departing smile as his eyes catch the way the sun reflects off something by the collar of your scrub top.
a wedding ring. precariously looped through a thin, gold chain around your neck. the diamond is quite prodigious, layered with clusters of even more diamonds. they lay on a bed of silver and gold, the band thin and delicate, a stark contrast to your dark scrub top.
jack feels something thorny lodge between his ribs, anchoring in place and refusing to adjust. his eyes watch the fine jewelry as it rustles against your movement, eyes casting up to yours in time to return the wave you send his way.
he shouldn’t be surprised, someone as kind as you, as strong willed yet soft and gentle. someone as exquisite as you were, who the day he met set the back of his neck aflame. who just now had opened his eyes to the startling realization that you weren’t simply a pretty thing he often found his eyes searching for, you were enigma. a painfully smart, beautiful woman who just kickstarted something he hadn’t felt since his late wife.
his eyes found the horizon once more, brows furrowing as his predicament seemed fully settle.
jack abbot‘s heart beat for a woman with a wedding ring around her neck. and it sunk in that while his racing pulse stuttered at the memory of your recent smile, yours raced for another.
jack knew he from that day forward he was fucked. the weeks that went by, the months continuing to grow closer to you like it wasn’t a threat to his health when you’d lean in and his lungs would fill with the sweet scent of your perfume. every time you’d save a life, your hand meeting his in a celebratory high five, your palm soft against his rough calluses.
sometimes he’d catch you out by the ambulance bay alone, simple gathering yourself as the brisk night air soothed your panicky, fried nerves. on occasion he’d join you, standing in silence as the only sound to be heard was your joint, steady deep breaths.
“this is the third time this week, i swear her conditions are progressively getting more outlandish,” dr shen commented as he placed a patient chart beside you, the binder making a dull thud as it landed. you glance towards john, brows raised in question, to which he nods. as you open the chart, your gaze roves over the pages, “purposeful?”
you hum, low in your throat. a habit you’d grown to utilize as an indication of your thoughts processing.
“seems like hypochondria, possibly munchausen, is it the same condition worsening or is it different every item?” you probe, eyes dancing across the woman’s patient file.
“we call it FDIS now, you know what that stands for?” jack. he appears from behind, arms crossing as he comes to a halt before you and shen. your head shakes, chin dipping as you find yourself slipping into an easy smile. he always knew when to teach you, however infrequent the moments arose now.
“yes, must’ve slipped my mind, sorry jack,” shen snickers as he watches the two of you, “factitious disorder imposed on self.”
“differing from..?”
“factitious disorder imposed on another, otherwise most commonly known as munchausen by proxy.” you’re proud of your knowledge, despite the flutter of heat you feel rising to your cheeks. maybe it’s the way jack is looking at you, that tired expression of his sinking into content at your answer. or maybe how shen thought your teaching moment was comical, deciding it the perfect time to obnoxiously slurp the remaining coffee water through his dunkin straw.
“this doesn’t help me.” shen speaks after a second of enjoying his beverage, one he’d been slowly sipping for the past 12 hours, something you swore took skill.
you gaze rises from jack, falling on your friend in dire need of his colleagues professional opinion on the matter.
“you’re the attending, you should know this,” your level of sass is only emboldened by the closeness you’ve accumulated with your fellow night shift staff. a tone you would have never used on either of the men in front of you if you didn’t expect their reactions by now, “or, you could question the boss.”
your chin nods up to where jack stands, his shoulders bobbing as he exhales a sound you recognize as a softly concealed chuckle. shen makes an equally exaggerated noise, dipped in exhaustion as he reaches down for the chart he’d allowed you to mull over. he tucks it under his bicep, his free hand grasping his lukewarm latte as if it’s fine porcelain.
“different condition each time.” he continues the conversation from before jack had interrupted.
“alright, next time she’s here have her speak with psych.” you conclude shen’s query, if you squint hard enough you can see how you’ve wrapped it with a nice, shiny bow, metaphorically of course. your eyes find jack’s once more, however you find his already focused on you.
shen’s lips form a solid line, inhaling through his nose like he hasn’t had a second of peace all night.
“it’s a plan. you’ll let me know if you need help with the head lac in 5?” he asks, gingerly gathering himself to see whoever is next on the board. you simply nod, a small hum leaving you as you watch the doctor make his way towards the waiting room.
you feel the sear of eyes on your profile, the shadow of jacks form falling into your line of sight, leaning against the nurses station. you decide to throw the man a bone, watching how he’s eyeing the clock.
“hot date?” your smirk is teasing, creeping further into the apples of your cheeks as his face turns to look both offended and caught off guard. then he simmers, like you’d poured ice water over his head.
“if your idea of a hot date is tossing my prosthetic across the living room and nursing a guinness.” you lean into lena’s swivel chair, already ready to tell her you were keeping it warm if she suddenly reappears with a brow raised. you can recall when you’d learned of jacks prosthetic, it was fairly soon into transferring.
a young body had lost his right leg in a head on collision, he’d been unbuckled in the front seat. you can remember the blood, the way his mothers screams were raw and painful as she arrived hand in hand with her unconscious child on a gurney. paramedics looked dour, it had been raining that day, you can recount the way your shoes slipped a few times as you raced against the trauma.
but he lived, with one less appendage than before. the kid was young, maybe too young to process fully what had happened yet not too young to understand what he was seeing when they pulled his gown up, revealing a very bandaged stump.
you’d been to the side when jack explained what would happen going forward with the boy and his mother, flipping pages of medication orders and treatment plans.
you’d seen the look on the child’s face, too small to have such an expression of desolation. then jack lifted his pant leg, exposing the titanium.
you always wished you’d remembered the joke jack had made, the advice he gave. nevertheless, you could never, nor would you wish to scrub the image of the boys grin, ear to ear and absolutely fascinated.
“hey, if he’s causing you any issues let me know, i’ll take him out back and set him straight.” you hadn’t named his prosthetic, or the second spare he had. although you decided not too long ago that treating it as if it was sentient and capable of thought made you snort. jacks eyes fluttered shut, head shaking like he had no clue how to answer or what to do with you.
“one day you’ll let that shit go and i’ll be eternally grateful,” he quips at your attempt to get him to crack a smile, something that could be fairly rare most nights, “maybe if i pawn you off to robby it’ll be a lesson you won’t forget.”
that makes your jaw drop, stuck between thinking of a jab to return or just staring him the man like he’d offended not only you but also your ancestors.
“you wouldn’t, you think any of the day residents could handle your overly sunny disposition?” it’s not really a question, more a sarcastic rebuttal to the man’s words. the fact you had met all of the day shift staff cemented in your mind they couldn’t handle it like you could, even if it sounded arrogant. you were allowed to be full of it every now and then, a healthy level of confidence was good for the soul.
“and please, i know you’re messing with me but robby is like a disappointed uncle,” you stand to approach jack, nudging the chair with your foot as you do, letting it roll back into the counter, “like that uncle you see every blue moon that doesn’t remember your name or birthday yet can tell you everything you did wrong with that intubation.” it’s a contrived explanation that makes jacks mouth curl, ignoring the way the ac hits his overheated skin and allows him to register the scent of your lotion.
“you’re a pro at intubations, think you taught me something the first time i watched you do one.” his words spill through your gut, a sense of pride following you as your cheeks grow sore from grinning, a grin that hadn’t once slipped since jack appeared.
“oh my g-, stop,” you laugh, patting a hand against the man’s shoulder as his expression mirrors yours, “if you think flattery will get you anywhere, you’re correct.” your laughter grows, like you know no one funnier than yourself. jack watches as your head tips back, your presence setting him in such an easy going stance he nearly forgets where the two of you are. he wants to join your laughter, pretend the feel and warmth of your palm against his shoulder didn’t set something in his ablaze. be jovial and normal, allow you to pull him into the serenity he’s seen you carry.
but he can still feel your touch. the way your fingertips practically burned into his scrub top, despite your poor circulation and chilly hands. it lasts, the lump in his throat he continuously swallows just to feel it rise again. maybe it’s bile, maybe he’s sick because his hands twitch at his sides like they need to caress you or he’ll die on the spot. it’s unprofessional, it’s inappropriate. he’s glad you’re still lost in your own world of lessening giggles that begin to fade into soft breaths.
“how about i buy you a guinness in a few hours and you can bring me a coffee sometime to return the favor?” you slow into the conversation once make, eyes more awake then jack swears they were when he’d seen you chatting with shen.
“surprise me, just no double shots or i’ll not just be bouncing off the walls, i’ll become the walls.” sometimes your humor confuses him, but he stays enjoying the way your words are normally silly and ill conceived.
“i can afford my own beer.”
“consider it a thanks for teaching me about FDIS.” you shrug. jacks brows pinch inward.
“you said you already knew of it.”
“alright, consider it my thanks for reminding me of information i knew prior.” maybe someone had opened a window nearby or maybe jack could just breath better around you. like a weight had been lifted and dropped from his shoulders, no longer overbearing and constantly expecting more.
“tell you what, i’ll think about it.” he responds, eyes on the way of your gaze darts to the clock behind his head.
“thinking about staying late?” late as in far into day shift. you always arrived early into the evening, however lately it seemed like you’d been staying longer as well.
jack observes the way you look apprehensive, a tight smile taking over the genuine one you’d worn seconds ago. it made his stomach twist uncomfortably, an expression upon your features he wasn’t aware you could even muster up.
“i can’t, date night.” the words land uneasy in his chest, unable to place reason for the sudden change in the air.
jack eyes the smile lines beneath your eyes, the slight purse of your lips.
“you don’t talk about him.” jack announces.
“what?”
“your husband.”
“oh, yeah,” you chuckle, a hand coming up to fiddle with your badge, “i like to keep my private life separate from work.”
it’s a common response, one jacks heard more times than he can count. professional, letting whoever’s asking know they’re prying a bit, and to mind their business. kindly.
nevertheless, something about that kind of response coming from you settles awkwardly in jack. he knew your coffee order, he knew you liked to wear a long sleeved shirt under your scrubs. he’d noticed months ago how you like gossip with shen and lena, how you were dr parker’s preferred resident, dependable in your right.
he knew what kind of women’s sanitary products you like since this one day your menstrual cycle started and you were stranded in the hospitals staff bathroom. you trusted him with that phone call, for him to bring them to you. he can picture the look on your face after you exited the bathroom, the way you avoided eye contact and sheepishly told him, ‘thanks jack, please never bring it up though’.
and yet, you wanted to keep work separate from your private life. it felt wrong that it bothered him. he respected you greatly, and you were completely in your right to set that boundary. but if jack said it didn’t sting at all, he would be lying.
“do you keep your work life private as well?” he’s prying, but it’s all he could think of to say, glancing at the patient board. you’re a doctor, more often than not you’re working, how could there not be any overlap?
you shift from one foot to the other. then you say a man’s name, clearly your husbands.
“he doesn’t like hearing about my work, even the good cases,” you pause, almost like you’re saying too much. jack finds his gaze back on you, subconsciously leaning in at the sound of your voice, “says he has enough on his mind without me adding too it.” you laugh, but something in the way you do so sounds hollow, like you’re intentionally distracting jack from how off that sounds.
his brows furrow, his mouth opens to retort about how you husband sounds a little full of it, although he’s cut off when you rush to speak.
“he’s a really good man.”
he finds it disconcerting how you felt the need to inform him of that.
a few days later jack is sitting across from robby in the park, bench cold under him, his prosthetic off to his left.
“a good man listens to how his wife’s day went.” he’s steadfast in his words, like it’s only logical. he was married once, he knew how to treat his wife, the woman he loved. to him it wasn’t even a matter of principle, he simply always wanted to.
robby nods like he’s only half listening.
“have you met him?”
“who?”
“her husband.” jack probes, hoping maybe robby had some insight he’d managed to miss. robby leans back into the back rest of the bench, the wooden beams creaking against his weight.
“i haven’t,” robby pauses like he shouldn’t continue, “i do know he works out of town often, she’s usually alone for days on end.” that definitely tracked with the little jack knew about him. and it makes him a little forlorn, thinking about you coming home from a long shift, exhausted, maybe even upset, hurt, just to be met with an unlit house and empty bed.
jack catches the way robby looks uncomfortable, like he’s keeping something else too himself.
“alright,” jack counters, watching the way robby scratches his chin, “and you know this how?” he secretly hopes the whole time you haven’t been speaking more about your life intimately with robby then him, and he hasn’t been overestimating the closeness the two of you have grown to share.
“she’s friends with some of the day shift staff, confides in cassie, dr mckay, sometimes.” robby says, and jack just nods. condensation from the beer can drips down his hand.
“listen,” jack is all ears, “all i’ll say is, she doesn’t speak very affectionately about the fella.”
“she’s spoken poorly about him?” jack leans in further, punctuating his point as his expression twists into confusion. robby shakes his head, like the idea is absurd.
“no, you know her, she’d never speak badly about anyone,” and jack has to agree with robby’s words, you weren’t the type.
“so, dr mckay told you this?” jack inquires, as causally as he can manage. robby hums, looking towards the brick walkway between them.
“i think she was concerned,” that makes jack pause, eyes locking with the man across from him. he feels a pit form in his stomach, burrowing through his muscle and bone, “just a feeling she got.”
cassie had always been good at that, especially considering her own past and patient experience.
“a feeling?” jack implores.
“i wouldn’t look too hard into it, probably just strain from him traveling often,” it makes sense, although the pit in jacks stomach hasn’t let up, in fact it’s more like a crater now, “they got married young, it happens.”
the beer in jacks hand has been completely forgotten.
something about his conversation sat with jack even after a week of trying to push it from his thoughts. even as he was watching you perform chest compressions, his gaze was far away, focused but preoccupied, much unlike him.
“stop compressions,” he spoke, the monitor droned, the room silent, “asystole, resume compressions.”
it was one of those cases where the patient was unresponsive on the scene, unsteady rhythm in the ambulance, DOA.
but there was protocol, a standard of care they had to give all patients brought in, even if the odds were against them.
sweat dotted at the back of your neck, eyes on the monitor as it remained flat, unchanged.
“alright,” you dreaded the words as they prepared to leave jacks mouth, the go ahead to stop care entirely. no matter how tired your arms felt in the moment, you never enjoyed removing your hands and accepting there was simply no more you could do, “time of death, 11:45.”
your hands pumped a few more times, fingers trembling as they then froze against the woman’s chest. your gaze moved to her face, pale, sickly against the overhead fluorescent. a sight you never got used too.
“you did good,” jack spoke as you moved away from the patient, biting at the inside of your cheek, “you always do good.”
you can’t lie and say his words don’t help the ache, he’s always been a voice of reason against the tidal wave of doubt within your subconscious. your eyes meet his, sighing heavy as the knowledge that you’re still only a few hours into your shift falls heavy against your shoulders.
“i was taught by the best,” jack can physically feel himself soften at your comment, in addition the look directed at him, “I-,”
CRASH
a metal tray goes flying, the impact of it landing on the tile floor echoes across the ED, several gasps ringing out as well as voices speaking in confusion. an apology follows, probably a med student that wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings, an accident. jack huffs a chuckle, ready to comment about interns and their lack of awareness, when his body goes cold.
you’re pressed into the wall near where you once stood, hands pressed into the drywall at your sides, fingers slightly bent like you’re trying to stay grounded. although jack is more taken aback by the expression you now wore.
your eyes are wide, wider than he’s seen even in high stress situations, aggressive patients, family, blood spraying across your front, bones sticking out where they definitely shouldn’t be. all pale in comparison to the sheer terror you now gracing your normally relaxed features.
your mouth is open, taking in deep breaths that only seem to worsen the state you’re in. jack can’t tell if you’re hyperventilating, although he’s not going to wait to find out.
he’s taking steps forward in an instant, hands out like he’s bracing, or approaching a scared, wounded animal.
he speaks your name like a question.
“what happened, talk to me,” he’s insistent in his tone, weary, like he’s going to spook you. before he can get any further you’re putting a hand to your chest like you’ve finally taken in some air, eyes fluttering shut for a second before they reopen and land on jack, “are-,”
“i’m sorry,” you speak, voice no louder than a whisper. you face is pulled in shame, running a hand across your forehead before moving to pass the man before you, “that was unprofessional, i’m sorry.”
“no, it’s okay-,” jack is quick to respond, resisting the innate urge to reach out and grab your wrist, keep your from leaving the room. but his hand clamps at his side, eyes following your form and it exits the glass doors and makes a sharp left. jack finds his back pressing into the side of the doorframe, mind racing.
you had brushed off the interaction when jack confronted you in the break room. you were startled, it happens sometimes, you were fine. all things he didn’t really believe, but he’d decide to trust you on this. you were off the next night, and you mentioned you’d been looking forward to an actual night of sleep, not just during the day or sneaking naps in the moments during the week you could. maybe you were just tired, hence the reaction.
jack didn’t cover the day shift often, especially after discovering he was more of a night owl than anything. but sometimes you have to take the hit for the sake of it, even if it means you’ll lose a few extra hours of sleep.
at least that’s mindset jack has as he walks into the doors of the ED, the smell of various people in the waiting room hitting him as well as the pungent scent of sterile products. his bag is slung over his shoulder, badge in one hand as he readies it to show to security. as he approaches ahmad, his gaze pans over all the people in chairs. he can see a myriad of visible, thankfully minor, injuries.
his heart hits a stutter as his scan lands on a pair of eyes he’s very familiar with, no, it’s just a coincidence. it’s a young woman, in casual, comfy clothes like she’d just rolled out of bed. she’s not wearing a badge, eyes trained on her phone screen and she seems to be frantically typing something.
she has a nasty head lac, a recent looking one as well. she’s holding a dripping, probably mostly melted ice pack to her head with her free hand, he can see a wince throughout her body when she presses it into the cut.
he’s seeing things, on two hours of sleep, but then she looks up, and his worries are confirmed when it’s not just any young woman, it’s you. he’s already on the move before his brain can catch up with his body.
he doesn’t bother to speak any pleasantries as he slots through a small crowd, heart beat increasingly rapidly as he grows increasingly closer to you. he can see red on your shirt collar, down the front of your shirt. it’s wrong, you’re not supposed to be in the waiting room as a case, you’re supposed to be the doctor. why haven’t you been seen yet? why are you sitting out here with your head cracked open?
his breathing is erratic as he finally stands before you, chest heaving.
your eyes pan up, suddenly wide and caught as you stare up at him. the ice pack lowers from your forehead and jack has to physically control himself and not immediately grab it from you and press it back onto the wound.
“jac-, dr abbot.” your correction stings, it feels like a set back, something he doesn’t want to think about as a storm is still raging within him.
“does lupe know you’re sitting out here?” by this point a few strangers are staring, quizzical as to the interaction they’re seeing. jack sees the way you seem to withdraw into yourself, hands finding purchase by fiddling with the zipper on your jacket.
“stand up.” it’s not a request, his voice is rough and strained, it’s a demand. one that makes you swallow so harshly jacks worries you’ll choke. his eyes soften, he takes in every bit of your appearance. it’s his turn to withdraw.
he’s on his knees in a second, ignoring the stares. he takes your bag and slides it over his shoulder where his sits, then places a gentle, hesitant hand on your knee, touch feather light.
“please, sweetheart,” you suck in a breath audibly, the exhale coming out shaky. your eyes meet his, “let me take a look at you.”
your nod is all the push he needs to stand, stepping back to allow you room to follow him. he’s silent as he walks to the double doors, badge in the air as he angles it at security. they nod, permission to enter.
jack doesn’t bother greeting dana as she flashes him a quizzical expression, eyes falling to you only to turn to concern. he’s quick to scan for an empty patient bed, leading you to one a few rooms down. as you enter the space, your gaze stays on your sneakers, ignoring how jack closes the glass door, pulls the curtain closed.
“please, sit down,” his voice is tender, softer than moments ago. you follow as he says, “can you tell me what happened?”
he starts gathering the necessary supplies from the wheeled table in the room.
his arms cross over his chest, sturdy. you shift on the bed, fingers clasping in your lap.
“i tripped going down the stairs, hit my head on the hand rail.” it’s almost absurd to jack, you’re not particularly clumsy, and most definitely not to this degree.
“uh huh,” he doesn’t sound like he believes on second of it, and you wince at he applies some pressure to the wound, he mentions you husband by name, “did he bring you here?”
he wants to ask why you’re alone, why your husband isn’t here with you, but he bites his tongue. maybe he’s out of town, that’s the only logical reason he would abandon his wife to deal with a head injury on her own. you nod.
“he doesn’t like hospitals.” so he’s home right now. while his wife is in the hospital. jack feels something in him very similar to anger begin in boil.
“he couldn’t suck it up?” he chuckles with no humor behind it, you can feel the shift in the air.
“he’s squeamish.”
“his wife has a gash across her face.” he says it with a flat tone, straight faced. pulling the gauze away from your temple, he makes a decisive noise at the back of his throat.
“well it’s no longer actively bleeding,”
“i think most of its on my shirt.” you snicker, trying to get a genuine smile out of jack. he doesn’t take the bait.
“you don’t need sutures, thankfully, does it hurt anywhere else?” god he hopes you say no, but the sheepish look on your face says otherwise.
“yeah, when i fell i smacked my side as well,” your hand rises, gripping the edge of your jacket and shirt, he can see the hesitation in your movements, and he hones in on the skin that comes into view as you lift it, “it’s just a bit tender.”
it’s a dark purple, hues of red and pink fading in at the edges. a colossal bruise, covering nearly half of your midsection. he knows there’s no signs of internal bleeding, especially considering the fact that this apparently happened hours ago, you’d be on the floor by now. his eyes shut at the thought.
as he swallows back the bile rising in his throat, you laugh, something light, he can tell it’s fake just to put him at ease again like you’d tried earlier. it still has no effect.
“you got this from a fall?” he wants to ask more, how. how would falling down a few steps land you in this condition, it made no sense. he glances at the necklace tucked into your top.
“where was your husband when this happened?” you shuffle, eyes casting towards your shoes once more.
“out.”
“and he came home and found you?”
“yep.” they’re simple answers, ones that should quell the anxiety bubbling in jacks gut. however the way you’re avoiding eye contact forces him to think otherwise.
he takes in a breath, pulling a chair from behind him to sit himself down.
“this is a serious injury. i have to ask, do you feel safe at home?” it’s wrong the way your face crumbles like he’s figured it out, just to meld into anger.
“what are you implying?” he leans back at your words.
“i’m not implying, i’m concerned-,”
“don’t be. accidents happen.” you shrug, brushing off his comments.
“seriously jack,” you sit up with a slight grimace, scooting to the edge of the bed to place a hand on his knee like it’s your first instinct. he can feel the warmth of your palm on his scrubs, the way you’re looking at him like you need him to listen, so he does. he tries his hardest to ignore your hand on him, the drying blood on your clothes, the irk in his stomach that these injuries are congruent with a fall.
you seem to notice what you’ve just done. hand yanking back like you’d been burned.
“i’m sorry. that was inappropriate.” he chooses to look past the way you sound nervous, look past the way his heart skips a beat at the sound.
“and i appreciate it, but i’m fine, i promise.”
you move to stand, although jacks own grip is applied to your shoulder, softly pushing you back where you sat. he stands, sighing.
“at least say for an hour in observation, let us run concussion protocol on you.” you can hear the strain in his voice, and you allow yourself to agree to his terms. knowing full well as a doctor, walking out of here after a brief run down isn’t how you treat a patient properly. and as of right now, you were the patient. so you just nod.
“okay. i’ll be right back.” before jack closes the door behind him, he switches the lights to dim the room, sending you a tight lipped smile. he shuts the door quietly, facing the herd of noise beyond the minuscule room he’d just been in.
“everything okay?” dana, she’s appeared from the left holding a chart. jack sends her a look before walking towards the nurses station and leaning into the counter.
“she alright?” she asks, more concerned than a second ago. jack nods, trying to convince himself more than her.
“yeah, nothing that won’t heal, it’s just,” he pauses, scrubbing his hands over his face, this isn’t how he wanted to shift to start, not because it’s messed with his day, but because now he won’t be able to think about anything but you. picture the look on your face when you saw him in the waiting room, the nervous twitch of your bottom lip when you’d laughed about your injuries, god, he couldn’t breathe properly, “it looks like the cut you’d receive from a ring.”
jack insists you take the next few days off, he’s asked for a week but you’d been vehemently against that long. robby agreed. you accepted the time to allow healing, either that or two attendings on your ass for not considering your own health above all.
and he won’t lie, everything feels different, not as lively with you around. you had brought something he hadn’t noticed the ED needed until you left with it. he was lucky to have never noticed this, considering you’d always said you’d rather be at work than bored at home alone. however you informed him you weren’t alone this time, your husband had been back since the injury than landed you in this predicament.
he tried to push down the gnawing in his stomach. you were fine, you were healing, you had someone to look after you. then why couldn’t he reason with his instinct that something was wrong.
the day you returned it was like the incident had never happened. or at least you were deciding to put it behind you, and jack would respect that decision. you worked, joked with shen and dr walsh, assisted ellis, like everything was normal. like jack couldn’t see the fading scar on your forehead of a moment he’d never be able to scrub from his brain. a situation that had been keeping him awake at night, hoping he hadn’t sent you back to the person that had done it.
but at the end of the day, that was just a suspicion. jack couldn’t act on that, it could hurt you more then intended. he had to just let it go, if you had, so could he.
towards the end of the night shift, he found himself looking for your familiar face, hoping to congratulate you on an impressive save today. lena pointed him in the last direction she’d seen you headed off too.
he found you on the roof around 7am, watching the clouds slowly travel past, the sun coming up from behind the myriad of buildings. it was brisk out, enough that goosebumps rose across his bare arms.
he watched your silhouette for a minute, framed like a painting against the orange and blues of the awakening sky.
as he began to approach, he noticed you turn slightly, clearly aware someone was now behind you.
his eyes found yours as he placed his elbows against the barrier.
“you saved that kid in 12,” he says, and although you try to act nonchalant about it, he can see the smile creeping onto your face, “it was impressive. everyone certainly thinks so.”
“it’s part of the job.” you say with a sigh, although your cheeks hurt from grinning. jack chuckles.
“without you here, we’d be at a disadvantage.”
“you really think that?” you turn to him, absolutely failing at hiding the reaction to his comment.
“i do.” he nods, watching the way you light up. he’s glad this place hasn’t taken all chunk of your soul yet, he hopes it never happens. he’ll make sure it doesn’t.
“you don’t come up here much anymore,” you say, leaning over to nudge the man with your shoulder, “i thought it would become like, our spot.”
you’re teasing him, he can tell. yet it doesn’t stop the way he feels a slight warm tickle the back of his neck.
“i don’t have any reason too anymore, i guess.”
“you guess?” you remark.
“someone very important helped me realize that.” your mouth goes dry, hands that gripped the barriers rail tightening. the jewelry around your neck feels like it’s weighing you down, it’s too heavy, it couldn’t have been this heavy the whole time, couldn’t it? you stomach does a somersault, bottom lip biting against your teeth and you bite into the flesh.
happy. you felt happy right now. overjoyed. you can’t even think of the last time you felt that way when you were at home, or on date night, your anniversary.
you breath was stolen, something illogical and tingly and just right planting itself in your lungs.
the only time these last two years you’ve felt true, unbridled elation, had been moments you’ve shared with dr abbot, jack, the man standing in front of you. looking at you like this rising sun paled in comparison to your face mere feet from his, like pulling his gaze away from you would be torturous and inhumane.
but the ring against your chest is scratching uncomfortably against your skin, tearing and putting wear on your scrub top.
“jack-,”
it’s then you notice the breeze across your body, specifically your bare arms, and where jack is now fixated on.
ice filled jacks veins.
“what is that.” it wasn’t a question, he knew what it was. a deep bruise, mottled yellow and purple, probably already a few days old. it spanned most of your forearm, and if jack squinted it kind of resembled, a handprint? his breathing picked up, he was worried his legs would give out from the sudden fuzziness taking over his brain.
your eyes moved to him, blinking with furrowed brows as you followed his eye line, down to where you’d pushed up your sleeves.
jack wanted to puke the second you frantically pulled your sleeve down, covering the injury he hadn’t noticed until today. you looked, embarrassed, for what reason? jack wasn’t sure.
“i fell.”
“bullshit.” it’s blunt and jack feels remorse only for the way you look surprised, caught off guard by his tone and abrupt language.
“excuse me?” your attempt at sounding assertive falls flat as your voice wavers. jack takes a tentative step forward.
“is he home?”
you say your husbands name in questioningly, jack nods.
“why does that matte?” you sound worried, unsure as you blink wildly, looking everywhere but jack.
“because every time you show up skittish, and hurt, it’s coincidentally when he’s in pittsburgh,” he can see the panic set in when you realize he’s noticed the pattern, the waver in you behavior. of course he’d noticed, he’s jack, “and i want to help.”
he’s pleading, face pulled in despair that he hadn’t put it all together until now. he can physically see how you’re pulling away mentally.
“why?” your voice is small, scared, trembling in a way that hurts jack in a manner he can’t articulate.
“because i care about you.” your eyes shoot up to his, wide. your mouth opens and closes, shoulders falling from their tense position.
“is that the only reason? because you care?” he’s never heard you so unsure an fragile. he would laugh at your question if the situation wasn’t so dire.
“of course that’s not the only reason.”
“then why? jack-,”
“i’d do anything for you.” that shuts you up. your mouth closing and throat bobbing like that’s the last thing you expected him to say. jack is ready for you to yell at him, tell him you have too much going on in your life, you’re married, regardless of all of that you don’t want his help, most of all you don’t want him.
your lip quivers, he catches it.
“jack, i,” you look close to tears, stumbling over your words as you pull your jacket tighter around you, a particularly chilly breeze flowing over the roof, “this isn’t-.”
you can’t seem to find the words, blinking away the accumulation of wetness in your eyes.
“let me help you.” he begs, silver curls moving against the breeze.
jacks heart cracks as you shake your head, stepping back away from him.
“no, it’s not that simple.” he knows how this works, he’s spoken to women in abusive situations with their spouse. but it feels like all that training and knowledge flies out the window the second tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your delicate skin marred with desolation.
“please-,” he reaches a hand out.
“i’m fine, leave it.” you put an end to his pleading, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand.
he says your name, in a voice so broken you pause in your retreat to the staircases door. picking up into a light jog, you ignore the second call of your name as you disappear through the threshold, back turned away and unaware of the expression of devastation now on jacks face.
what’s he doing?
he’s racing after you as his body catches up with his brain. but you’re gone, no where to be found in the ED, the upper levels, chairs, hell he even checked the woman’s restroom. as his legs carry him to the ambulance bay, he’s pulled back into reality as the spot your car was once in is now empty. a hand combs through his silver curls, stressed.
and that’s how he spends the next hour feeling. even as he clocks out, commutes home, tosses his go bag on the dining room table and tears his prosthetic off. despair, longing to see your face, hear your voice, your reassurances.
until another half hour passes and his phone rings. he lets it go to voicemail, waiting to hear the tone and whoever’s trying to get in touch with him.
but the voicemail never comes, only more incessant buzzing after a brief moment of silence. torn from his stupor, the man reaches across the couch to grab his cell, already prepared to head back to work or tell robby to fuck off.
he’s not expecting your caller id. you never call him, you exchanged numbers for emergencies, and thankfully you’d never had to use them. but it your name, clear as day. he picks up on the fourth ring, afraid the call with cut off and you won’t return it for the third time.
he brings it to his ear, ready to spew apologies, beg for a proper conversation, but all he gets out is a choked sound as a cry comes through the speaker.
he sits up, all exhaustion gone from his body in an instant.
he can hear you sniffling, saying something incoherently, than a sob. he’s frantic, listening to you blubber about something, ready to plead for you to take a deep breath and tell him what you need, when a sentence full of anguish manages to make it through your cries.
“jack, please, i need you to come get me.”
you’ve reached the end of part 1…
thank you for reading! part 2 will be linked to this post when it’s out 💋
“oh my-,” jostled from her thoughts, mel comes face to face with a body going the opposite direction, and unfortunately for them mel has learned how to plant her feet, the respective stranger flying back on their ass, “i’m sorry, i wasn’t looking!”
god this is embarrassing
what’s worse is the way mel can see what looks like an iced latte spilling across the floor, and the front of the person she just body slammed.
she’s scrambling before she realizes her knees are on the ground, hands out and fingers sprawling in panic.
paper towels, tissues, something to clean this up before it soaks into their clothes!
she’s caught by surprise when instead of the angry voice of a disgruntled patient or family, she’s met with, laughter?
and it’s unfortunately a pretty laugh, one that sounds like wind chimes and powered sugar and lazy sunday mornings-
it’s just then mel notices something she hadn’t in her quickness to solve the issue at hand, she hadn’t just knocked into anyone, she’d elbowed a woman.
a woman who lifts her gaze and allows her eyes to lock with mel’s.
oh. oh.
mel’s hastily swallowing back the lump that’s formed in her throat, however pushing it down only lodges a tingling sensation beneath her ribs, something light and fuzzy and tickling her stomach.
something akin to butterflies.
“i-“,
you’re looking at her. not past her, not through her, right at her.
since when were people allowed to be this… breathtaking?
your quieting laughter bubbles to a soft exhale, smiling with teeth and sparkling eyes that don’t match the way you’re dripping with liquid caffeine.
you’re looking at her with eyes she thinks must be illegal because how can you just look at people like that? why do your eyes sparkle, why does it make her heart thud painfully against her chest?
“hey, that’s totally my bad,” you’re shaking your head, that smile still remaining, “i turned without looking both ways, and then my left foot crossed over the right and i think got stuck?”
your explanation is bringing that beautiful laugh back, fumbling to sit up so you’re no longer both soggy and slouched.
“i think i tripped over my own leg, and then face planted against you,” you’re talking so calm, like this is amusing and you aren’t the least bit bothered, “thankfully i’m not wearing anything i paid more than twenty bucks on.”
mel’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and she feels entirely out of her depth. she’s a doctor, a medical professional, however her intelligence and skill is doing nothing to soothe the racing of her heart nor the way she feels her cheeks warm.
the cold touch of coffee of her finger tips jolts her from her stupor and she’s fumbling forward to offer a hand, hoping you don’t notice how it’s trembling under the fluorescents.
“i wasn’t looking either, which isn’t usually like me,” she’s speaking quick, “i have a patient who needs labs done, i guess my mind was preoccupied.”
she’s explaining it like she needs you to understand and not think she’d slammed into you on purpose.
you follow her words by taking her hand. her skin is soft against yours, save for the few calluses you feel across her palm.
mel hopes you don’t pick up on how clammy she can tell her hands have become.
“really, it’s no biggie,” you’re swift to brush off her concerns as you both adjust to a standing position.
mel watches with batted breath as you glance down to your clothes, face twisting slightly as you observe the full damage of the spill across the fabric.
then her eyes fall to the way she’s still gripping your hand.
“sorry!” she’s apologizing as she slips her fingers from yours, ignoring how the loss of touch sinks her stomach.
you say something, brows pinching in amusement as mel locks onto your face.
“sorry?” she doesn’t know if she’s apologized this much in one interaction ever. her brain grows fuzzy when you laugh.
“my name, do you have one?” you’re obviously joking and mel is glad she immediately picks up on it, whether it’s obvious or not the idea of looking anything other than smart in front of you twists her gut uncomfortably.
“mel king, or i guess just mel, which is for melissa but no one calls me that except for back when i was a kid and i would have to inform teachers i’d prefer they’d use, well, mel.” she wants to slam her forehead into a wall. but you’re staring at her like you actually gathered everything she said and took it in, like you enjoyed listening to her spiel on about something you didn’t ask about.
she didn’t ask for your life story, get a grip.
and she’s waiting for you to decide you’ve had enough of this entirely too awkward interaction and leave.
although you don’t make a move to leave. in fact your mouth opens to respond, and mel finds herself nearly leaning in in anticipation for what you’re about to say, when a distant call of your name draws your attention. you turn towards a young woman by the nurses station, left arm in a sling with her other holding her purse.
you respond that you’re coming before your eyes meet mel’s once more.
there’s a sweet scent that follows your movement, almost like a halo.
vanilla? cedar? lotion, perfume? it’s something subtle but unique in a way sticks to your gorgeous skin and nearly causes mel to lose her footing.
“so, sorry for getting coffee on you, mel,” her name is like honey on your tongue, and she thinks she wouldn’t mind hearing it for the rest of her life, “um, but it was nice bumping into you, literally.”
you’re beaming at her again, all pretty teeth and nice skin, and she wants to let you know she’d let you spill a thousand more cups of coffee on her if it meant she had a second of your time.
but all she manages to get out with that rich, deep voice of hers is a tiny-
“yes, it was nice, bumping into you i mean, but not the knocking you over part of course.” mel scratches the back of her neck, golden braid falling from her shoulder as she does so.
your friend calls your name again, this time more pointed as you take a step backward and call a louder but not too loud okay!
“see you around!”
mel wants to ask what that means, does that mean you want to see her around? that must be what you mean, or maybe just a scenario where you’re both in the same place and see each other and go, ‘oh hey its you’! she hopes it’s not the latter.
you’re lightly jogging away before she can ask for a definitive, watching the bounce in your step and how you take your friends purse to lighten her load.
you’re so sweet.
“bye.” mel whispers to really no one but herself, breathing shallow as she comes down from a high she hadn’t realized she’d been on. she’s unable to tear her eyes from you as you exit through the double doors. as they swing, her heart does a backflip, catching the way you glance back over your shoulder.
your eyes find her immediately, and you look caught as they widen and you seem to fluster at the attention, sending a brief grin her way before the doors shut completely.
she looked back.
not just back, she looked back you.
she feels giddy, thoughts muddled and cheeks aching from the smile she didn’t notice had crept onto her freckled face.
“you good?” santos appears from beside just, snorting at the foreign look of sudden longing in mel’s face.
the blondes throat bobs.
“have,” her voice catches, “have you ever read any studies on the legitimacy of love at first sight?”
the tiktok “i found your bsf on hinge” trend made me think of this scenario
“yeah, by the way did you know robby’s on tinder?”
jack reaches for the chart you’re holding out for him, shaking his head with a small smile. you lean further into the counter of the nurses station. dana swivels in her chair to look down her glasses at you.
“and you’d know that how, kid?” she’s definitely not instigating. she’s just curious.
jack doesn’t ask permission before lifting your styrofoam coffee cup to his lips, considering you’d pushed it towards him moments before.
you nod, like it’s obvious. jack looks between you and the first page of the binder, attention divided.
he takes a sip of the watered down macchiato.
the taste isn’t amazing on his palate, however the remnants of your lipstick on the side of the cup make his throat bob as he licks his bottom lip.
“i found his account the other day.”
PAUSE
your gaze casually travels to jack, searching his face. give it a minute. just as the lines in his forehead deepen with contemplation.
dana’s lips curl in, turning in her chair like the wall is suddenly more interesting. her eyes catch shen walking in with his dunkin, and the broad look of I slept well last night.
“anything exciting yet?” he jokes, affectionately bumping your shoulder as he passes to check the board.
jack blinks.
“nope!” you answer, stifling a laugh.
okay now he looks homicidal.
you can feel his eyes on the side of your face, shen staring at the interaction with brief amusement, having no idea what he’d walked into.
“you’re pulling my leg, right?” jack tips his chin forward, falling into your eye-line.
it’s hard to not smile. but you must persist.
“about?” you laugh. waving a hand at him.
you’ve never seen someone so composed look so utterly confused. the expression on his face was almost comical.
he says your name like you’re in trouble.
“you have a tinder?”
your brows furrow, mouth opening like a fish out of water.
“what makes you say that?”
jack blinks again, harder, like he’s hallucinating.
“you just said,” he pauses, inhaling as he places a hand on the counter, the other running through his silver curls, “you’re messing with me, right?”
okay well now he just looks sad. unfairly so.
your lips purse, you can feel warmth filling your cheeks as you notice two extra pairs of eyes on the two of you.
okay. whatever. it was funny until jack was looking at you like you killed his puppy.
“fine!” you concede, “it’s a trend!” your confession is followed by shen’s muffled laughter as you smack both hands over your face.
you didn’t even last 5 minutes.
you can feel a firm hand on your waist, hot breath against your ear as jack moves to pass you, patient chart in tow.
a particularly bad shift ends with you in tears and Trinity scrambling to make it right.
trinity santos x f!reader
______________________________________________
wc. 6.6k
rating. 18+
synopsis. Trinity liked you, probably more than she should and in a way that made her chest tighten and cause breathing problems. she could also be mean
warnings/tags. MDNI, mean!santos, (followed by), incredibly guilty!santos, protective trinity, medical inaccuracies, reader is referred to by she/her, reader is a resident, hurtful words, anxiety attacks, patient death, blood, needles, grievous injury, idiots in love, requited love, trinity is an idiot, emotional constipation, suicide jokes, brief suicidal ideations
a/n requests are always open, i write for multiple fandoms so i plan on making a rules/requests page for your convenience but i haven’t just yet. if you’re specifically interested in requesting for pitt characters i write for all of them, that includes the women ofc, i love my ladies 🫦
your first impression of Trinity Santos wasn’t exactly flattering.
it was your second shift in the pitt, and practically downpour outside the hospital walls as you scrambled to keep up with the work load. MVC, only 2 hours into the day, all hands on deck.
you were practically scurrying around the nurses station trying to discharge patients as quick as possible, free up some beds, move others to the hall if possible.
jackson peterson can go to the hall. he’s stable enough, plus he just finished getting iv fluids half and hour ago.
mrs richardson is good to go home, she just needs her paperwork.
kelly anderson is still waiting for CT but she’s stable, vitals are good, she can sit in the hall via wheelchair.
you pause, brows pushing together as you try to think back on what else dr robby had asked of you.
you turn, feet on a swivel without a glance.
“watch it hun,” dana.
she’s passing you right as your shoulder nearly collides with hers, and although her voice is strict her eyes are soft, amused beneath her glasses. noted. look both ways.
“i hope we get something good,” santos jogs to catch up with you, elbows bumping as you exit to the ambulance bay where you can already hear the distance sirens incoming, “dibs. watch and learn.”
she’s cynical, you can tell by the edge in her voice and the way she doesn’t bother to glance your way. rude. you didn’t even catch her first name, she didn’t even ask for yours. double rude.
your eyes narrow, about to retort at the brunette when suddenly your eyeline has gone vertical, hands shooting out as your body loses momentum, shoes squeaking against the rainwater.
one minute you’re approaching your attending, and the next your ass is smacking hard against the pavement. if your tailbone was sentient it would be cussing, a dull throb crawling up your spine.
the worst you’d get is a bruise if it wasn’t for the eyes that have followed you down, a few ooos and damn’s coming from your colleagues that make your ego shrink beyond repair.
“oh my g-, that was,” santos. she’s still beside you, maybe a few steps ahead but she’s now doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach like it’s so funny it hurts, “that was beautiful.”
damn her.
mohan is already at your side, brows pinched in concern, a hand extending to aid you. you take it gracefully, as gracefully as someone who just embarrassed herself front of her higher up’s can manage. you’re pulled to a stand, groaning low at the soreness presenting itself across your ass. you would rub at the pain if it wouldn’t make you look even more like a moron.
…and santos is still laughing, so much so you’re positive you can see tears in her eyes. okay it wasn’t that funny.
“my day is made, nothing can top that,” she’s acting like you didn’t get hurt, granted it’s a superficial bruise of an injury but still, have some decency, “thanks for the show, slip.”
oh. oh no.
you were there when javadi collapsed. in fact you managed to catch her halfway to the ground. you remember the way santos rolled her eyes, arms crossed like it was an inconvenience.
you were there when she prodded at poor victoria and thus crowned her, ‘crash’. but javadi was a student still, passing out happens all the time for them. you were a resident, technically an equal to santos, both interns, both R1’s. and now what, you’ve been demoted by someone on the same level as you to slip?
it’s not even a creative nickname.
______________________________________________
“head in the clouds slip? or just running on fumes.” two hands grasp at your shoulders with a jolt, they’re off in a second but the way it shocks you out of your stupor lasts. you turn just as the short ponytail of brunette hair flicks to the opposite side of you. trinity leans against the counter of the nurses station beside you, a look on her face that says tell me all.
you sigh half heartedly, ignoring the way you can still feel the warmth of her palms against your shoulders, turning to face her.
“just thinking about the first time we met.” you chuckle, it’s a funny memory now thankfully. trinity eyes you for a second, you swallow, slightly shrinking under her gaze.
“oh yeah,” she says it like she’s too cool to think about it, lips pursing in a way that tells you she’s actually holding back a smile, “and you ignored me for weeks after.”
you snicker. yeah, you remember that part too.
however it wasn’t because you were mad per say, more because of the embarrassment you felt whenever you saw her… okay and you were a little mad.
“i’ve grown to appreciate your comments, no matter how annoying they can be.” you tease, nose wrinkling to really emphasize your point. trinity scoffs but the look in her eyes doesn’t change, gaze locked with yours.
“plus if i didn’t put up with you,” you lean in, mischievous grin creeping onto your lips, you miss the way trinitys throat bobs as you invade her personal space, “you’d be all alone.”
it’s a jab you know is a lie, and so does she, but you still chuckle as you grab your patients chart from the counter and briskly pass her.
the hum of the er drones.
you’re oblivious to the way her body turns towards yours as you leave, like it’s magnetized, green eyes following your frame until you turn the corner and disappear from sight.
trinity sinks forward into the counter, a harsh breath leaving her lips as she plants her elbows and places cheek to palm.
“am i intruding?” trinity’s head snaps up, eyes falling on dana now sitting across the desk. she’s looking over the glasses perched on her nose, a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
“do i sense tension?” samira smiles as she approaches, handing a chart off to dana. she’d seen the interaction, she’s seen all of them. her and dana exchange knowing looks as trinity’s back straightens, face sinking into an expression that reads ‘i have no idea what you mean’.
“i’m gonna get details on the nun with syphilis.” trinity turns to leave, not bothering to address the two women.
“gonorrhea.” dana corrects without a glance up.
“tomato, tomahto.”
—————————————————————————
“how do you put up with it?”
you look up to find victoria standing in the doorway of the break room, hands wringing awkwardly. you pause, sandwich halfway to your mouth.
“uh, context?” you laugh, placing your lunch back down on its wrapper as victoria takes the empty seat across from you.
“santos. she’s, pretty mean,” she continues, that uncomfortable look on her face that just screams victoria javadi, staring into your eyes, “like, how do you deal with that stuff.”
you’re not sure how to answer that. you just don’t really mind. for whatever reason.
“huh, i’ve never put too much thought into it,” you ponder, the question she’s asking now sparking your own interest, “i think it’s just her way of communicating.”
“by belittling?”
“unfortunately.” you chuckle, watching how victoria shifts in her seat. you can tell she wants to say more, it’s like she’s holding a jumpy frog in her mouth.
you glance up and down, taking in the way she clutching her lavender jacket closer around her body like a safety blanket.
“you want me to talk to her?” that gets victorias attention, her eyes widening like a frightened puppy put on the spot. her hands shoot up in mock surrender, palms waving.
“no, that’s not necessary,” she replies, tone a little panicked and speaking quicker than you’ve ever heard her.
“i won’t mention this conversation, i’ll make it seem like it was all me,” you continue, nodding, “i won’t throw you under the bus.”
victoria pauses, hands falling into a clasp on the table.
“um, sure. if you’re cool with that.” she goes to stand, smiling in that way she does where her lips slightly curl into her teeth. you pick up your sandwich, ignoring the dollop of mayo that drops onto your thumb.
then she pauses again, freezing for a minute at the doorway before angling herself so she can address you properly.
“she still calls you slip.” she says, voice a tad softer than before.
you smile. easy.
“i’ve grown to like it.”
______________________________________________
“did you hear about the guy in chairs who’s eye popped out of the socket?” was the last thing you wanted to hear as you took a sip of lukewarm, watered down coffee shen had offered you before he left.
you swallowed with a grimace as trinity stuck her phone in your face, zoomed in on a picture you can only imagine she took in an effort to make you puke. you shove the device away from your face, face screwing up as trinity just laughed like it was the best thing in the world.
“ew. gross trin.” you suck in a breath, watching trinity eye the picture again before slipping her phone in her back pocket.
“you’ve definitely seen worse,” she quips, leaning her backside against the nurses desk, looming over you like a dark cloud as you sit in the chair dana always claimed. you were just keeping it warm for her, “i didn’t take you for a lightweight, slip.”
if your eyes rolled any further back you’d lose them.
“i’m not, but come on i was eating.” you nod to the dunkin cup in your hand, trinity follows your eye-line, landing on the few inches of ‘coffee’ left.
“you don’t eat coffee, babe.”
you freeze before your lips can wrap around the orange straw again, hand unknowingly gripping the plastic cup harder. your eyes are on the counter beside trinitys hip, blinking like a moron.
your lashes flutter, eyes glancing up to land on the woman mere feet from you. a harsh breath escapes your throat when you take in the way she’s seemingly frozen as well, if you just lean in a bit closer you can faintly see what appears to be a pink hue coloring her ears.
“that’s a new one.” you cough.
“shut up,” trinity squeezes her eyes shut, running a firm hand across her face. you follow the movement.
she opens her eyes to glance down at you, and you suddenly feel very small under her gaze, the fact you’re sitting down and she’s standing doesn’t help the situation. nor does it calm the racing of your heart or the fuzziness in your brain.
“um, i-,” trinity starts, the stutter in her voice catching you off guard in a way that’s concerning. however she’s cut off by a frazzled whitaker appearing out of thin air, body practically collapsing while still standing before the two of you.
he’s huffing like he ran a marathon, however you know for a fact the two patients rooms he’s been managing are both only several meters away.
“alien hand syndrome.” he announces it like the two of you are supposed to have a clue what he’s referring too. you and trinity lock eyes, she shrugs and it makes you smile.
“huckleberry, you don’t have to make up excuses for why i caught you jerking it the other day,” trinitys arms cross, leaning further into the desk. that gets a laugh out of you, even though you feel slightly bad at the way dennis’s face drops.
his face says ‘not this again’.
“trin.” you chuckle, bringing the coffee back to your lips.
“what? no!” dennis waves his hands like he’s been accused of a crime, like he’s in defensive mode or fight or flight and he’s about to book it down the hall. how can someone look so much like a soggy, depressed napkin?
“my patient, mr davidson? he was brought in for causing a disturbance at the gym down the street,” he continues while shaking his head like she’s waiting for trinity to keep her joke going, her silence is worrying, “he has alien hand syndrome, i’ve never seen it in person.”
he seems both parts greatly excited and deeply confused. typical dennis. trinity looks back to you, brows raising when she catches your eye, then back to dennis.
she snorts a laugh through her nose.
“it’s okay, we all need time for ourselves.”
whitaker takes a breath, eyes falling shut.
“mr davidson-,”
“is that what you named your penis?” okay. she just says things in a certain way that you find so funny. you choke on a laugh, smacking a hand against trinitys knee as she just smiles at dennis, you don’t notice the way her eyes occasionally glance towards you.
“who named their penis?” oh my god. robby walks up from behind you, crossing his arms in a way that mirrors trinity. he looks amused, however you can also see the urge to reprimand the three of you sitting behind his eyes. your back straightens like you’ve been struck by lightning.
“dennis.” you respond calmly, holding back the howl you want to let out at the way dennis’s soul appears to leave his body. trinity seems to be doing the same, hunched over with her shoulders trembling.
robby eyes the three of you. he shakes his head like a disappointed father. you think you see a brand new wrinkle form on his forehead in real time.
“do i have to say it?” he says, hands on his hips.
you grab trinitys hand, standing to her left as you use your free hand to pick up the chart you’d been using earlier.
“nope! in fact labs are back so we’ll be on our way,” you tug trinity with you, past whitaker who looks like a kicked puppy, “i’ll let you know when mrs martin is discharged!”
you drag trinity along with you, grinning without teeth towards robby one last time as you leave the nurses station.
“um, we’re not on the same case?” trinity whispers, leaning so close you can feel how her breath tickles your ear.
“we just needed to get out of there, robby had that look on his face.”
______________________________________________
it’s been an awful day. there’s no other way to spin it. you’ve had patients die, you’ve had your hands on them as they’ve taken their last breath. you’ve seen children die, so young it hurts your soul and makes you find yourself on the roof. you’ve had belligerent patients, family, you’ve been shoved and hassled by people in chairs.
but that’s the job. and maybe that’s what it is, without a break in so long you slowly sink into the hopelessness of it all. thankfully you can go home at the end of the day, most times at least, flop onto bed still in your scrubs and just try to forgot. but it still takes a toll.
as you stare down at the blood coating your gloved hands, it draws your attention to the red bleeding through your scrubs into the clothes beneath. it’s tacky and growing cold, the edges of crimson around your shoes browning to a rust color.
your fingers tremble, bottom lip quivering. you’ve cried before on shift, it happens. it just always sucks.
“you did a great job.” mohan is beside you, you feel the steadiness of her palm plant on your shoulder. she’s always been kind, she always knows what to say, and yet this time her words fail to ease back the panic in your stomach.
“he still died,” you say it as a fact. his body is still only a few feet away, mckay is currently covering his face with a sheet. red bleeds through, “what’s the point if they just die.”
“sometimes no matter what you do, and no matter how good you are, they still don’t make it,” samira states, you can’t bring yourself to look at her, “it’s not a failure on our part.”
she’s right.
you know she’s right.
but it still stings. you can’t help the shaky breath that leaves your lips, shoulder moving in a way that lets samira know you appreciate the gesture but don’t want to be touched. she listens, grip falling from you.
“how much longer is your shift?” mckay asks and as she approaches, you can see the sympathy all over her face. something about it makes you uneasy. why would she feel bad for you? you didn’t die. he did.
“3 hours,” you reply, but it’s hollow, concerning. samira and cassie exchange a look, “i’ll be fine.”
and it’s the truth. you will be fine, you’re always fine. it’s just difficult sometimes, doesn’t mean you can’t pull yourself out.
“how about you clean up and then get some fresh air before returning, okay?” cassie tells you, and you can tell she’s telling, not asking, “i’ll let robby know. he’ll understand.”
you don’t bother arguing, just nod quietly as mckay motions for you to leave the room first. you do so in silence, head hanging a bit more than usual.
mckay and mohan give you another once over before dispersing.
you tug the gloves off your hands, tossing them in a nearby waste disposal bin, there’s a bit of blood near your wrists, having soaked in right below your sleeves. just as you turn to walk outside and follow the instructions you’d been given, you feel someone flick the back of your head.
you turn, coming face to face with trinity. her eyes widen, and for a second you think something reassuring is about to leave her mouth. you could use a hug from her, make just a pat on the back. someone you trust, someone you like, someone you…
your heart sinks when she smirks.
“damn carrie, who came in with the pigs blood?” it’s funny. really, it’s a good reference, it makes sense, if you saw her like this you’d probably say the same. but her words lodge in your ribs and wiggle up into your chest cavity in a way that makes you want to lurch over and lose your lunch.
you can feel how your face drops further, unfortunately for you, trinity was looking at your once white sneakers now red, when it did.
“seriously, did you actually kill someone on purpose?” she shuffles closer. eyes narrowing like she’s analyzing you, waiting for you to reveal a knife or chainsaw. you shake your head half heartedly, trying to muster up a smile.
“no.” you say it with a tone so forlorn you can see how trinitys brows furrow slightly, like she’s a bit taken aback.
she pauses.
“yeah, no shit,” normally her laughter would brighten your day, make a bad shift good. but right in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to hear it stop, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you cry.”
she chuckles like that’s supposedly funny. you suck in a breath, you can feel the heat behind your eyes returning.
dammit. don’t cry. not now.
“come on, i thought you weren’t as sensitive as the others,” you know she’s trying to be funny. you can recognize it in her tone, you know her. she’s not trying to be malicious but man, she’s really making this worse for you. this is the last thing you needed.
you can feel your pulse pick up, the shake in your legs coming back full force. you need to get away from all of this, it’s embarrassing, you don’t want her to see you like this, it’s not her fault.
it’s not her fault, so why do her words hurt so much?
“scrubs exchange.” is all you can get out without it sounding like you’re about to burst into tears, keeping your voice calm and level. hopefully she gets the message as you move to scurry past her, shoulders brushing at the close proximity.
trinity can feel her smile droop, thrown off by your behavior. did she go too far? no, if you actually felt bad you’d tell her. you know you can trust her, right? her mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words.
come on, say anything.
her thoughts are begging her, she wants to grab your arm, pull you back in. but she doesn’t, because if you were really, actually feeling upset, you’d tell her.
so she turns before you get far, jogging to catch up with you. maybe if she can make you laugh you’ll tell her you were just messing with her, it was a joke, to see her reaction.
yeah. that’s probably it.
she places a hand on your arm, pulling it a little as she manages to stop you in your tracks. you stay facing the other direction.
“come on don’t be such a baby, i’m messing with you,” she jokes, chuckling awkwardly like she’s fixing something, “don’t be so pathetic, slip.”
mistake.
trinity braces herself for you to shove her, faux anger and whip back with you own retort. you always do, you’re slip, she’s santos, it’s your thing.
sniff.
trinity’s smile drops faster than her stomach, like she’s going to be sick. her grip on your wrist tightens subconsciously, which only furthers to splinter her chest in two when she feels you tug.
and then you rip your arm from her, like her touch has burned you, like you can’t stand to be touched by her, like it’s disgusting.
“hey, i-,”
the words die on her tongue when you whip around and she’s met with something that just utterly destroys her.
your face is blotchy with tears, cheeks swollen, bottom lip riddled with marks where your teeth dug into it, the flesh quivering uncontrollably. rivets of tears spill down your face, washing past and carrying drops of blood that had lingered.
then you made a sound, this soft, heartbreaking, whimper of a sob that thankfully isn’t loud enough for any other staff to hear but isn’t too quiet that trinity misses it.
trinity can feel her throat go dry, what? no, no no no, why is she crying?
her hands feel clammy, fingers twitching like she’s resisting balling up her fists, no matter how much she wants to dig her nails into her palms and draw blood.
“wait-,” she sputters, face contorting in fear. what’s she scared of? please, please don’t tell me i just lost her, “don’t cry, i was-,”
“it’s not funny.” you sound so sad so, so sad and she wants to scream. it’s like all the fluorescent lights above trinity are aimed at her. it’s cruel, the way her chest in heaving with heavy breaths she can’t seem to catch.
she watches as you wipe at your cheeks with open palms, which does nothing to clear the wetness of your face as more tears fall.
she wants to grab you, hold you, tell you she’s sorry, probably more sorry than she’s ever been. she’s never once felt bad poking and prodding at anyone before, but now? this? she feels as though she’s staring at the scene of a crime.
a crime she caused.
her hand is shaking as she reaches out, you have to know she’s sorry, right? you know her, she would never intentionally make you feel like this. if you could just take her hand, allow her touch, she could prove it to you.
all the movement does is cause you to take an unsteady step back, then another.
“just, leave me alone, santos.” and you’re turning on your heel again, pretty much speed walking as fast as you can away without getting told to slow down.
trinity stands with her had frozen mid air, fingers extended like an idiot.
her hand drops to her side, balling into a fist.
god. why do her eyes sting so much.
santos. you called her santos
not trinity, not trin, not idiot. you hadn’t called her santos since you’d first been acquainted, since the time period where you’d do anything to avoid her. she never wants to go back to that time, not after knowing you, not after…
she hangs her head, trying to get a grip, gain her momentum back. she can feel the sweat blossoming across the back of her neck, nervous, shaky. she takes a deep breath, and exhales.
she had to fix this. but how, when you didn’t even want to look at her?
______________________________________________
“do you think if i fling myself hard enough off the roof the impact will kill me instantly?” okay. wow.
whitakers head snaps up, eyes wide and rapidly blinking like he’s trying to rationalize that he didn’t actually hear what he thinks trinity just said. his mouth opens, then closes, fingers gripping at the binder in his hands.
“pardon, i, what?” he’s clearly taken aback, still blinking like it’ll shed some light.
“maybe i can blow myself up,” she continues, the serious look on her face fairly concerning, “hospitals have oxygen canisters, it’s possible.”
dennis takes a deep breath, glancing both ways like someone will come and save him from this conversation.
“you’re, joking right?” he needles in, hoping for the love of all things holy she breaks character and starts cackling like normal. instead she turns to him, face blank with a look of utter defeat. everything trinity is not.
“i fucked up.” she concedes. which is rare for her, so much so dennis does a double take, a little dramatic in a way that would make trinity roll her eyes if she wasn’t so damn bothered.
“i made her cry.” she confesses, lowering her voice a bit like anyone else knowing what she’s done would actually end her.
dennis blinks.
he says your name as a question.
“i’ve made people cry before, nothing bad”, she shakes her head, “but like, i have.”
she’s picking at her cuticles, pulling back skin and drawing blood. if it’s painful at all she doesn’t let on, stare empty as she looks to the tile floor.
“so what’s the issue?”
yeah. what is the issue?
“the issue is,” she inhales like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take. she wants the earth to swallow her up, maybe if she grovels enough it will, “she won’t look at me, won’t speak to me.”
a heavy pause.
“it’s been 3 days.” there it is, what’s caused the exhaustion to be present on trinitys face. it’s like in these three days, she’s gone through war.
“everything feels wrong.”
“maybe you should talk to her?” dennis tries, all it gets is that same blank look, like obviously, she’s tried that.
it’s like she has the plague. the day of the incident you finished your shift without looking her in the eye once, which she’ll admit was pretty impressive. even when you ran a code together, you managed to help the patient, stop a major bleeder, speak to her professionally like nothing had happened, and yet after you finished you left the room before she could say your name.
the next day trinity came into the pitt feeling a bit better, obviously you wouldn’t still be upset. you had a whole night to think, lament, hate her, get sleep and rest. maybe you’d come up and forgive her, maybe you’d act like nothing had happened. she just needed to know the two of you would be fine.
that’s until you came in with your coffee, looking well rested, and walked right past her. she watched you walk up to samira and begin chatting. and yeah, you and samira were friends, but you’d never ignored trinity to talk someone else.
however what hurt more wasn’t the fact you’d ignored her, it was how happy you looked. samira made a face and said something she couldn’t make out and you broke into laughter like it was the best thing you’d ever heard.
she was supposed made you laugh. trinity did. not mohan, not dennis, not dana. not anyone.
yet there you were, treating her like a stranger and fluttering around like you hadn’t a care in the world. you’d walked into the break room when she was finishing leftover lasagna, and caught the redness your eyes still had, most likely from the other day. it made her throat tighten, and suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore.
the third day trinity hadn’t gotten any sleep. she spent the night rolling from one side to the other, her pillow was warm, her fitted sheet kept popping up, and her thoughts was running a mile a minute.
what if she never speaks to you again?
she jolted into an upright position, heaving like she hadn’t just been laying down. no, she couldn’t let that happen.
she was knocked from her thoughts by someone clearing their throat. oh yeah, she’d walked out with javadi to check on chairs and make sure no one had kicked the bucket.
“i’ve been here for 4 hours, 4!” the man before them states, having stood up to block their path down the aisle. he’s taller than both of them, chest heaving, eyes wide and bulging.
“we see patients based on severity, so-,” javadi starts, mouth clamping shut when the man focuses on her, taking a bold step forward.
“severe? i could have a brain bleed, my heads been fuzzy for hours now and no one wants to do their damn job!” he shouts, now catching the attention of others, the room quieting down at his level of noise.
javadi checks her chart, locates his name, and nods.
“um, so you were seen briefly to rule that out, unfortunately we can’t bring you back just yet-,” she’s cut off again when trinity speaks up, expression like she can’t be bothered to deal with this.
“you’ll be seen when you’re seen, if you don’t want to wait,” she looks towards the door, angling a thumb at it to catch the man’s attention, “you can sign an AMA and leave.”
it blunt, it’s honest, and it clearly enrages the man.
“you know what, bitch-,”
he looks like he’s about to explode on them, hopefully not physically, they would never find out as dana and security come running up from behind.
“okay! okay no,” dana gets between, hands up like she’s ready to throw a punch if need be, “that’s what we’re not gonna do here.”
“sir if you can’t sit down and be an adult, i’m afraid we’ll have to get the police involved.” dana minces no words, glaring the man down like she really needs him to consider his options. thankfully it seems to have worked, his angered expression not leaving, yet he lowers himself back into the seat and crosses his arms. it’s like watching a petulant child get put in timeout.
javadi releases the breath she was holding, leaving back to the double doors to the pitt.
dana has already began speaking with security, pointing out who they need to keep a better watch on.
trinity sighs, and although her shift only started a few hours ago, she just wants to leave. she begins to follow Javadi, looking up from the various shoes of the people in the waiting room before her gaze falls on familiar eyes.
you stand a few yards away, seemingly having arrived with dana seconds ago which she hadn’t noticed to due facing the other direction. she’s ready to see you retreat, go back to treating her like dust under your sofa. but you don’t. you’re standing with wide eyes, lips parted like you can’t take in air fast enough. and suddenly you’re walking towards her, grabbing her hand before she can ask why, before she can worry you’re just going to say this is the last time you’ll ever touch her.
but you’re dragging her back through the doors, away from the noise of people. she can see you glancing around from behind you, like you’re searching for something. then she’s being yanked into an empty patient room, one that had just been discharged, drops of blood still on the floor.
you release her hand just to turn and yank the curtain shut, pausing after the light from outside dims and the silence becomes overwhelming.
“what, were you thinking?” you say before even turning to look at her, and trinity is properly confused, her hand still tingling from where you’d been grabbing her. she felt something like a caged animal all of a sudden, but maybe not seeing as there’s no where she’d rather be.
“w-what?” there’s that stutter again.
it’s your turn now, shifting to face her with an expression she’s never seen aimed at her before.
“you just riled up a guy twice your size, not to mention he was already pissed before you even opened your damn mouth!” that makes her jaw drop, brain back to static, confused.
“you care?” she replies, not snooty, not in a nasty way. she says it smooth, like a saturday morning, like she needs the answer to be yes or she’ll die right here and now.
you blink, taken aback.
“of course i care,” you say it like it’s easy, like you couldn’t even think of anything else you’d say to that. you don’t approach, you just stand their, staring at her like you also share her confusion, “you think i’d cry over someone i don’t care about?”
that’s a gut punch, and trinity would physically grab her gut if she didn’t think it would make her look even more stupid in front of you.
“i’m sorry.”
she says it barely above a whisper, eyes casting down like she’s ashamed. and quite frankly she is, she wouldn’t be in this predicament if it wasn’t for her and her annoying deflections.
your mouth shuts, processing.
“i didn’t like seeing you cry,” she continues, “i actually would rather go my whole life without seeing it again.”
the air feels heavier, weighing down on the both of you.
“especially considering i was the reason.” she can see the way your face falls at her words, and wishes nothing more than to pull you in and comfort you. but you probably don’t want that, especially after she treated you, after she hurt you.
“trin-,”
her breathing catches in her throat at the nickname, one you didn’t call her often but enough that whenever you did it felt like something real.
“i’m not mad at you.”
“you have every right to be.” she scoffs, lip curling like she has no right for you to forgive her. she’s caught off guard however when you take a weary step forward, rocking back and forth as you balance into the motion.
“i was upset, yes, but i was never mad,” she wants believe you but part of her is also jarringly aware that something in her brain wants you to be mad at her. she deserves it, she aimed her remarks at the one person she never wanted to see crumble from them, “my patient died that day.”
you say it with hesitation, and trinity has to physically hold herself back from approaching you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side.
she can see how your throat bobs, inhaling deeply like you’re preparing for a difficult conversation. she’s ready, ready for you to be done with her. she laughed at you when you’d lost a patient, she’d made it worse even unintentionally, how do you come back from that?
“i was having a rough week, and i was down,” you sigh, pained at the thought, “i’m sorry.”
trinity blanches. you’re sorry?
“what?” she speaks before her brain catches up with her mouth.
you nod, looking forlorn.
“i ignored you, which wasn’t very mature,” you’re clearly putting a lot of thought into your words based on the scrunch between your brows, “i think i was embarrassed, that what you said got to me so much.”
“don’t.”
you look up at that, finding a conflicted expression plastered across trinitys face. she looks distraught, pieces of hair have fallen from her ponytail to frame her face, she doesn’t bother push them back.
“don’t apologize, please,” she whispers, and it’s the more genuine you’ve ever heard her, “i’m the one who needs to, please.”
that’s probably the most you’ve ever heard trinity say please and it’s been twice, and aimed both times at you.
“i’m not good at this.” she huffs.
“this,” she waves a hand between the two of you, “being close like this with someone, not wanting to hurt them so badly it makes me feel sick.”
it’s your turn for your breath to catch.
“i never meant to hurt you,” she continues, as if you would start talking again, like you weren’t standing there at a loss for words, “i’ll never do it again, believe me.”
she’s begging.
if anymore desperation were to pour off her she’d been on her knees, looking up at you and hoping you wouldn’t slam the door in her face.
she doesn’t know how to do this, apologize, actually be sorry. she’s felt remorse, she’s not that emotionally reserved. but this is different, this is you. if she can’t talk normally to people her own age, family of patients, how is she supposed to explain how she feels to someone she’s…
she doesn’t have too.
because before her mouth can open again and spew more sorry’s, she’s pushed against the empty gurney behind her as your body collides with her. it’s warm, the way your hands wrap around her back, pull her weight into yours. your face is shoved in the crook of her neck, breath tickling the hairs at the back of her nape.
her hands shoot out, bracing a second too late and pausing before her brain catches up and she’s realizes what’s happening and wraps her own arms around you. her fingers dig into your scrubs, hands gripping at your waist like she’s scared you’ll slip away or disappear or, god forbid, ignore her again.
she can feel the breaths you take as your chest is pressed to hers, she doesn’t think she’s ever been this close to you. it sends her thoughts on a spiral, she’s so glad, overjoyed that you’ve obviously forgiven her but man.
she can feel the heat flood her cheeks, burning her face as if the ac wasn’t currently is blasting. her fingers tremble against your body, suddenly too aware of every part of you tucked into her. she’s happy, the relief she feeling is overwhelming, however the next breath she takes in is shaky.
“i take that as a-,” she wants to joke, make a quip that you didn’t stay mad long, how she can’t blame you, you must have missed her so much.
until you lean back enough to catch her eye, faces nearly nose to nose, and your head tips forward.
hold on.
trinitys aware of what’s happening. how couldn’t she be when she’s thought about this moment for months, unfortunately so often sometimes you’d catch her staring and make a tease about her being oh so in love.
“i can’t blame you trin, im just too pretty.”
you’re right, you can’t blame her, because that’s just a fact. a fact running through her mind as the plush warmth of your lips press to hers.
of course she tastes good, she’s always smelled amazing, this shouldn’t be shocking.
but it’s shocking enough that she stumbles a bit, the backs of her thighs catching on the gurney. and oh god, your hand is now in her hair, tugging at the roots, adjusting her back like she’d go anywhere.
it’s mean how you’d nails rake across her scalp, tongue darting out to lick at the seam of her bottom lip, it’s pure evil.
right as her mouth opens, heart thudding so quick she’s worried you’d feel it against yours, you pull away.
fuck.
there’s a string of spit connecting your lips, your hand swiftly coming up to wipe at the glistening on your chin an breaking the connection.
“i forgive you.” you say it in this soft voice, all casual like you hadn’t just rearranged her mind and weakened her self control. she can’t help but snort, eyes rolling as her heart continues to race.
synopsis. Being a nurse isn’t easy, especially coupled with an inappropriate patient who thinks physical violence is okay. Dr Robby isn’t good with feelings, most definitely not romantic ones, and he undoubtedly doesn’t know what to do with the rage he feels when his favorite nurse gets attacked.
tags/warnings. MDNI, medical inaccuracies (sry), grumpy x sunshine trope, emotionally constipated Robby,, inappropriate treatment of a healthcare worker, female reader, idiots in love, angst, protective/angry Robby, possible age gap, readers exact age isn’t mentioned but she’s younger than Robby and Dana
Requested? Yes
author note. This is my first Pitt Fic, and I intend to write a lot more. Requests are always open, and you can find my prompt list on my acc. this isn’t my usual writing style but i’m trying something different.
“sir, you need to calm down-“
the floor meets your cheek before you can plant a hand to catch it.
there’s people shouting around you, above you, although for the life of you, you can’t make out who is who. it’s all garbled like they’re speaking in tongues.
the hard tile is cold as the side of your face rests against it, head swimming and eyes shut tight. it feels as though you’ve been turned upside down and dunked in ice water. warmth runs down the bottom of your face, over your lips and into your hairline. it feels sticky, tacky is a way that attaches to your hair and makes you cringe uncomfortably.
your head continues to try and figure out what just happened as two hands plant on your shoulders, the light behind your eyelids dimming a bit. it’s a gentle touch, slightly turning you so you aren’t angled as awkwardly on the floor. a groan falls from your lips, the sound reverberating through the pounding headache that’s making itself known.
more voices above you, now more controlled, some of the worst seemingly over. you try to sit up, immediately regretting it and not bothering to fight as the pair of hands on your shoulders firmly hold you down.
that’s right.
you hit your head, sitting up while unable to hear properly isn’t the right course of action. you may have also hit something else because a stinging sensation is spreading quickly across your face.
a hand is on your face, still calm and not forceful, caressing the skin beneath one of your eyes.
your eyes crack open hesitantly, like you’re scared of what you’ll see. or maybe the reaction on the face of whoever is holding you.
“honey?” dana.
her hands place on either side of your face, its grounding how warm her palms are.
“can you hear me?” her voice is careful, steady in a way that lets you know she has you, but is still cautious. her glasses are on, they make her look so serious, especially coupled with the look of worry in her eyes.
you try to answer, drum up some words to let her know that yes, you’re okay, just shaken. thankfully it’s mostly just a bruised ego and possible nasal fracture. however the thought is cut short when another face enters your field of view
______________________________________________
robby doesn’t know what to except when he walks in at the crack of dawn, maybe the usual. it’s always busy, he always feels the heaviness in the air was he walks past the waiting room full of injuries. his backpack is slotted around one shoulder, his firm grip on the strap tightening as he breaches the double doors, a small gathering of people blocking his view of the nurses station.
he can tell something has happened, the looks on the staffs face, how perlah is off to the side talking with Ahmad, her hands animatedly explaining something. dr mckay is off to the right beside dr mohan and javadi, their faces taut with concern.
okay.
not exactly the situation he wanted to start his morning with, dealing with a police report. he maneuvers past whitaker who is anxiously followed by two medical students, his gaze locking onto each break between people, trying to get a proper look at what’s happening in his ER.
mckay’s eyes flicker up to the attending in question, already making her way towards him once their eyes meet. she looks uncomfortable, one hand pulling at the sleeve of her black zip up.
“patients family got angry, situation wasn’t contained probably,” she’s talking in a way that tells him she thinks he knows what’s going on, as he racks his brain for if he got any texts or calls, he hadn’t, “thankfully he’s been dealt with, but she needs to be on a gurney yesterday, poor thing took the brunt of his anger.”
he pauses. actually freezes mid step.
“a patients family hurt someone?” his eyes scan the room.
“who?”
the expression on dr mckays face drops, realization washing over her features. then slight panic, like she revealed something he shouldn’t know.
he doesn’t let her get a second word in, brushing past her shoulder and dropping his bag on the ground beside the nurses station desk. robby’s stomach flips uncomfortably as he approaches the nurses, heart sinking faster than he thought possible the minute princess pulls away to reveal the last face he wanted to see on the ground.
“fuck,” robby’s knees ache in protest as he drops to them, not bothering to exchange a look with dana as she shuffles to the left, “let me see.”
his tone leaves no room for questioning, large hands coming up to replace where dana’s had been seconds ago. they’re larger, warmer, and rougher on your skin, but comforting in a way that makes you sink forward. it’s hard to see, your vision swimming in and out of blurs, you attribute most of that to the overwhelming pain radiating across your skull.
“robby?” your voice is tired, almost cute in a way if it wasn’t for the situation at hand that put it there. robby’s fingers twitch against his hold of you, a deep pain settling in his eyes, an ache drilling into his chest in a way that makes him want to hunt down whoever did this to you. you must be getting blood on his hands, he doesn’t seem to care.
“we need a gurney.”
robby steals a glance towards dana who was now standing, a frown curving at her lips.
“i’ve got you,” and his eyes are back on yours, a desperate type of noise exiting the back of his throat when the only reply he receives from you is a pained groan, “I’ll get you fixed up.”
the way he says he’ll fix you up instead of them doesn’t go over your head, in fact it’s one of the most coherent things you’ve heard in the last few minutes since getting punched. sleep pulls at your conscious, begging you to let it take over and drag you down. you want to fight it, keep staring into the eyes that have refused to leave yours. but you can’t, the exhaustion and pain is too much, too convincing.
“keep your eyes open for me, okay?”
okay. you’ll try. if it’s for him.
but your eyelids have grown so heavy. and his hands are so warm. your attempt at following directions goes up in flames as you fall unconscious.
______________________________________________
the first thing you feel is sore. it stretches across your body but most of it resides in your forehead, or beneath it. you blink slowly, adjusting to the dimness around you, the way it’s cocooning you in darkness. you groan, legs stretching, facing sideways as your gaze lands on a tuff of brunette wisps beside you. you realize you’re in a hospital room, the exact hospital you work in in fact.
“morning.” your throat feels raw, in need of a nice glass of water. the hair beside you shoots up, the familiar face of robby coming into view. your brain feels fuzzy at his appearance. the way his eye bags look worse than usual, the redness around his eyes, the way his face just looks so sad. you want to reach out and caress the lines between his brows, tell him not to stress so much, but you settle with allowing him to take your hand in his.
he’s gentle, holding your hand like it’s fine china, careful not to jostle the iv in your arm.
“hey.” he says, choking a bit on the word and clearing his throat.
“you have a moderate concussion, a nasal fracture, and a pretty sizable bruise that’ll probably get worse in the next few hours,” he speaks like a doctor, professionally, slightly awkward, just like robby, “the concussion should resolve on its own with rest, that means a few days off so you can heal.”
he’s still holding your hand, which seems vastly more important than the headache you’re feeling.
“how do you feel?”
it feels like you should be asking him that.
“how do you feel?” you turn the question onto him, watching the way he sucks in a breath. his brows push together, like he’s deep in thought.
“i’ll feel a bit better if you tell me how you’re doing.” he nods in agreement to his own statement, something he’s known to do that always awakens the butterflies in your stomach.
“well, i’m a little thirsty,” he’s up before you finish the sentence, grabbing the cup of ice water that was obviously prepared earlier from the table to the right. he’s quick to deliver it, angling the straw so you don’t have to lean too far forward, “thank you.”
the chair he’d been in previously creaks beneath his weight as he sinks back down. his elbows press into the bed, eyes downcast on the sheets as you drink. you lower the cup to your lap, staring at the remaining surface of water.
“i was scared.”
you can see robby shift out of the corner of your eye, gaze now focused on the side of your face. you shuffle a bit beneath the covers, lips pursing.
“i know how to handle myself but he was just so upset and i,” you suck in a breath, feel the unsteady way it travels to your lungs, “next thing i knew i was on the ground.”
you can hear how he sucks in a breath, harsh, uneven, the chair creaks again as he leans forward.
you glance towards him, searching his face for anything, you’re not quite sure. there’s a storm behind his eyes, something you’ve seen simmering before but have never seen so hardened. he looks like any second he’s going to get up and storm from the room, hunt down whoever did this to you. you know he won’t, robby’s always been good at the calm for the most part. yet you still reach out, grabbing one of his hands like it’ll ground him, keep him rooted beside you.
“don’t go,” you say, voice more desperate then you had intended, surprising even yourself. you squeeze his fingers, hoping it’ll convince him, “i’m okay.”
his other hand comes up to clasp around your joined ones, tightening his grip at your words.
“seeing you like this,” he stutters, something so out of character you baulk, “seeing you on the ground like that.”
he seems to retreat into his thoughts, face drawn tight again with anguish, “i never want to experience that again.”
he looks up, eyes locking with yours, thumb soothing over your wrists pulse point.
“i’m okay.” you repeat, with more weight behind it this time, like you need him to really hear what you’re saying.
“i know,” he replies like it’s easy, like you can’t see the pain he’s holding onto, like you can’t feel how his hold on you is warm and comforting and so robby.
“i don’t know what i’d have done if you weren’t.”
sorry if there’s any errors, i haven’t gone back does it this yet so hopefully y’all don’t feel particularly like the grammar police today
and thanks for reading! i’m always taking requests 💋
